Rabbi Jaffe's Sermons and Divrei Torah

Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon: Intermarriage As A Blessing

2011-09-28T10:34:00.000-07:00

Rosh Hashanah Sermon 2011 – 5772
Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

In my final months of high school, my parents became increasingly afraid that I would one day marry my best friend. Let’s call her Lisa. That’s not to say they didn’t like Lisa. She was incredibly kind, generous, a straight A student; all of the things a parent would wish for their child. But as you might have guessed, Lisa was not Jewish. The great grand-daughter of Protestant missionaries, Lisa’s family had two Christmas trees.

While Lisa and I were only friends, I bristled at the idea that my parents would reject even the notion of such a relationship. After all, they had left the Jewish community of Chicago to pursue careers and raise a family in the non-Jewish wilderness of Honolulu. And though they did everything they could to imbue my sister and me with a love of Judaism, the question still nagged at me: How could my parents make the process of assimilation rather easy and then react so sharply when they encountered even the slightest chance of my acting upon it?

Later, I realized that I was not alone in this question. As we well know, post war American Jews made it their mission to assimilate into American culture. The melting pot theory dictated that one leave their Yiddish and European ways at the door. Identifying Jewish marks such a kippah, tallis or even a beard were removed. Meanwhile, American Jews entered into previously unchartered cultural territory. They flooded universities once kept out of reach through the quota system. They entered non-Jewish suburbs and preached the virtues of public schools as the great social equalizer. All barriers and distinctions between Jews and Christian America were removed.

As anti-Semitism dissipated, a funny thing happened. The children of these Jewish assimilationists began to marry their newfound neighbors. Only 60 years ago, less than 10% of American Jews were intermarried. By 1990, the National Jewish Population Survey reported that over half of American Jews were married to non-Jews. In highly assimilated communities such as Marin, that number now reaches 75%. To this, the elder statesmen of the Jewish community wring their hands and frown upon their subsequent generations. To which we may respond – what exactly did you think would happen? If you raise us to look, act and feel like other Americans, then of course we will eventually fall in love and create families with them. It is as if you sent us to swim school, equipped us with goggles, snorkels and flippers and are then shocked and dismayed to see us jump into the water.

The issue of intermarriage is nothing new. Yet the Torah offers at best a mixed perspective on the matter. Our patriarch Abraham instructs his servant, Eliezer, to avoid selecting a wife for his son Isaac from the surrounding Canaanites. A generation later, Isaac’s wife Rebecca insists that her son Jacob not marry from the “daughters of the land”. And yet when Abraham’s grandson Joseph happily marries an Egyptian wife, her foreignness is not an issue. Moses, the greatest prophet of all, marries the daughter of a foreign priest. When his sister, Miriam, publicly criticizes Moses for his choice, God forcefully rebukes and punishes her.

This evening, I would like to consider how we may transform the reality of intermarriage into a blessing for the 21st century Jewish community. No, I am not encouraging intermarriage; but this issue need not be cast as the threat it is often made out to be. And since intermarriage is a fact and is here to stay, we ought to figure out how to incorporate or even benefit from this newfound reality.

Let us begin by observing that the high rate of intermarriage is a sign of the amazing success of our past generations’ mission to assimilate and to therefore ensure equality and opportunity for the Jews of today. The fact is, the average American considers a Jew to be an “up” marriage - they like the idea of marrying and spending their life with a Jew. We are considered to be hard working, intelligent, educated and decent parents. As this is directly related to the assimilatory efforts of our earlier generations, the only way to dramatically reduce the rate of intermarriage would be to weaken this positive view. So unless you are hoping for an anti-Semitic resurgence, you should probably get used to high rates of intermarriage. Take it as a compliment.

Nevertheless, intermarriage clearly poses a threat to Jewish continuity. Those refusing to officiate at intermarriage ceremonies often cite research showing that up to 90% of the children of intermarriage will intermarry themselves. The children of intermarried couples overall demonstrate lower rates of affiliation and expressions of Jewish identity. For a small and shrinking population of Jewish Americans, this should give us great pause when we consider such a sensitive issue. Rabbi Eddie Feinstein astutely summarizes this view when we writes, “If you love Shabbat candles and Passover seders, building a sukkah and lighting the Hannukah menorah, going to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah; if you love hamantaschen, latkes, fried matzah, apples and honey, if you think about the Holocaust, about Israel, about Torah, wouldn’t you be happier spending your life with someone who shared all this with you?”

But at the same time, I believe that we do ourselves great damage when we hasten to write off the hundreds of thousands of descendents of intermarriage who think of themselves as Jewish or at least have the potential to do so. Furthermore, I believe that the low affiliation rate of intermarried couples is at least somewhat due to the frigid response often delivered by the Jewish community. What would the numbers look like if we developed a welcoming and encouraging posture towards interfaith couples?

Let us consider two narratives. Adam and Cristina meet with the rabbi, who explains that he simply cannot marry a Jew to a non-Jew. Yes, he will happily marry two atheist Jews so long as their mothers are both Jewish. But a marriage between a Jew and a supportive non-Jew is prohibited by Jewish law and therefore cannot be blessed as anything holy. Cristina is hurt and Adam ashamed that the rabbi does not deem them to be worthy of his blessing. Years later, this anger and resentment remains and Adam drifts away from the Jewish establishment which rejected him and his bride. Adam and Cristina raise their children as secular citizens or within Cristina’s religious community, sheltering them from the Jewish establishment that rejected their parents. I would surmise to say that many of us have family members who can identify with this story.

Now consider an alternate path. Adam and Cristina meet with the rabbi, who explains that a Jewish wedding is a celebration of the creation of a Jewish home. While Cristina is not ready to convert, she agrees that children thrive in a home united by a single religion and so agrees to build and sustain a Jewish household. The rabbi invites Adam and Cristina to take the year long introduction to Judaism class together, so that they may explore and discuss primary issues of Jewish religion and culture. They are guided through discussions regarding raising their children, Jewish education and how ritual and the Jewish calendar will exist in their home. On the day of their wedding, both Adam and Cristina understand and honor the symbols of the chuppah and the breaking of the glass. They embark on a life together with a deep appreciation for Jewish custom and a shared understanding of what part it will play in their lives. A month after the wedding, the rabbi invites the couple to discuss how they can be best served by the synagogue and incorporated into the Jewish community.

I believe such an approach presents a game changer and carries the possibility of significantly lifting the affiliation rates cited earlier. Through this example, I am urging us to reframe the discussion from how to limit intermarriage to how to best welcome and incorporate a spouse who is not Jewish into Jewish life and therefore sustain the Jewish home.

Already, the supportive non-Jewish spouse plays a pivotal role in the Jewish community. Karen Kushner, chief education officer of interfaithfamily.com (and wife of our own scholar in residence Rabbi Larry Kushner) uses the term “common law Jews” for those non-Jewish spouses who support and sustain Jewish households. Here at Congregation Emanu-El, I come into contact with many common law Jews. We are blessed by their presence here today. You are the non-Jewish spouse who regularly brings your kids to religious school. You are the non-Jewish spouse who encourages your Jewish partner to light Shabbat candles. You are the non-Jewish spouse who finds comfort and support mourning for family members through Jewish ritual. You are the non-Jewish spouse who carefully prepares food for your Passover seder and perhaps even brings your ambivalent Jewish partner to erev Rosh Hashanah services.

This evening, thousands of Jews throughout San Francisco are at home, still at work, maybe at the gym or the movies. Either way, they are not here. And yet tonight, hundreds of you non-Jewish partners and spouses join us. You are here to support and be supported by the Jewish community. You are here for your partners and your families and for yourselves. Let me say something which you ought to hear from the Jewish community more often: Thank you. We really appreciate all that you do. You bless us with your presence and make us all into better Jews.

In researching the effect of supportive non-Jewish spouses, UC Davis Professor Ari Kelman comes to a surprising conclusion: A weakly connected Jew is actually more likely to participate in the Jewish community by marrying a supportive non-Jew rather than a fellow ambivalent Jew. Let me say that again – A person who is only ambivalently Jewish is actually more likely to raise their kids as Jews by marrying a supportive non-Jewish partner than someone like themselves.

If you think about it, this makes sense. The curious spouse brings all sorts of questions to their partner. What is Passover? Why are some foods kosher? Why do we fast on Yom Kippur? The Jewish partner is forced to revisit issues long ago forgotten and to encounter Judaism on an adult level for the first time. They are often embarrassed by their own ignorance and inspired to learn more about their heritage. This is not a curse but rather the blessing of intermarriage. The fact is, marrying Jews to other Jews alone doesn’t produce Jews. Jewish experience is the key, not Jewish lineage. And there is nothing to say that a non-Jew cannot play a crucial role in this process.

Just last week, I asked my 8th grade class the following question – “who here believes it is important to marry someone Jewish?” Out of 40 students, not a single one agreed. I then asked, “Who here intends to raise their children as Jews?” Every single one agreed. Now you may simply call these students naïve. But remember that a majority of them are being raised themselves in interfaith households. And yet they are choosing to continue their Jewish education post-bar and bat mitzvah. Their mere presence illustrates the fact that Jewish experience is not necessarily bound to Jewish lineage.

On the other hand, from time to time, I encounter interfaith families who choose to raise their children under dual religions, with the hope that one day the child will decide which one to follow. In this case, what sounds like a good idea can often turn into the projection of an unresolved argument onto the child. Ultimately, choosing a single religion may become akin to choosing the parent who subscribes to it. And if the child ultimately refuses to decide, they lose both religions, because to admire all religions is to lack a claim or identity with any religion. We must tread carefully in such situations.

It is for this reason that our clergy here at Emanu-El adhere to a basic policy regarding intermarriage. We are honored to officiate over interfaith weddings, given that the bride and groom do three things. They must commit to creating a uniquely Jewish household. They must both take our nine month introduction to Judaism course. They must raise and educate their children uniquely as Jews. Thus we hope to welcome and embrace our interfaith families while at the same time protecting the continuity of the Jewish people. No, this system is not perfect, but I have yet to encounter another which so effectively answers these dual goals.

I have a second message beyond mere praise for the non-Jewish members of this community. Please understand that Jewish custom surrounding proselytizing and conversion are based upon 2,000 years of anti-Semitism and political powerlessness. The notion that we could be considered an “up” marriage was unthinkable until only very recently. Conversion to Judaism meant giving up one’s political and civil rights. And so we have built a societal habit of downplaying and even dissuading conversion. But as we no longer live in this world, tonight I say to you the opposite – as we enter into a new year, full of promise and opportunity, perhaps it is time that you think about formally becoming a Jew. Many of you have been trying on Judaism for so long – and it clearly fits you so well. Maybe its time to make public and certain what has clearly evolved over years of personal practice.
If this prospect intrigues you, I invite you to speak with me or any of my colleagues and to sign up for our introduction to Judaism course, which begins after Yom Kippur. Join Rabbi Bauer’s conversion discussion group, also beginning in a few weeks.

Despite all I have said, many of you might be surprised to hear that many non-Jews attend RH services here at Emanu-El. We as a Jewish community often make the mistake of assuming our own communal homogeneity. But this is clearly not the case. Professor Marc Dollinger, head of the Jewish Studies Department of San Francisco State University was recently posed the question: What percentage of American Jewish families qualify as traditional, which he defined as two heterosexual parents, both in their first marriage, both born Jewish, with children, who are not adopted. This family serves as the mythical target audience for Jewish policy and institutions even to this day. The answer: five percent. We cling to a mythical ideal of Jewish identity for which 19 out of 20 of us fail to qualify. The sooner we dismiss this idea, the better we will properly understand our constituency and effectively embrace the many non-Jews who support and nourish us every day.

Tonight, I put myself in my parents’ shoes. How would I respond if one of my children were to consider marrying a non Jew? As a parent I would largely worry about continuity. Its not that I think that people from other religions make for worse spouses. Its that I worry that my grandchildren won’t inherit the precious gift with which we were bestowed; a gift which survived the fires of Auschwitz and expulsion from Spain – that I would become the broken link in this valuable chain of tradition.

As an active Jew, I see the world through Jewish eyes. My sense of time beats to the rhythm of the Jewish calendar. I relate to the world in terms of mitzvot and the ideal of tikkun olam. I fear that my grandchild or even my child might not feel the same connection to Judaism and that we may become distant because of it. That I one day will invite my granddaughter to Passover seder and she will ask me what it is. I am terrified by this prospect.

At the same time, I realize that my child’s future partner does not have to be Jewish in order to share and contribute to this tradition. That an interested, participative non-Jew can play a significant role in the creation of a Jewish home. That there is no one set model for the Jewish family.

Most of all, I believe in Judaism and refuse to subscribe to our image as the eternally dying people. I believe in the traditions, rituals and structures that have evolved over thousands of years. I believe in Judaism’s malleability, in its ability to change shape to conform to the needs of every environment. I believe that we endure and prosper by the maintenance of a highly porous membrane, which brings in the best of external influences. Surely Judaism will adapt to this moment as well, so long as we focus less on what happens during the half hour spent under the chuppah and more on the lifetime that ensues once the couple walks down the aisle.

Two years ago, my parents’ prophecy came to fruition. I married my high school friend, Lisa. In fact, I married her to a really nice, Jewish guy. My high school friend and non-Jew par excellence is now the proud step mom to two Jewish boys and mother to an adorable baby girl with another on the way. She is helping her oldest step son to prepare for his Bar Mitzvah. This past December, I received my first ever Channukah card from my old friend. And I smiled and cried a bit when I saw it. Such things give me faith that this moment may not consume us, but rather, may bless us with the opportunity to make us better.

Chag Sameach and Shana Tova.

Questions for Israel Panel

2010-09-19T23:00:00.001-07:00

As I have received requests for a copy of the questions asked at yesterday's Yom Kippur Israel discussion, I am posting them below for your consideration. Please know that I did not have time to reach all of them but jumped around as needed. Thanks

---------------

Questions for Israel Panel
1. Introduce yourselves by telling us in what way your works
strengthens the relationship between Israel and the American Jewish
Community.

2. Peter Beinart begins his well known article entitled "The
Failure of the American Jewish Establishment" by writing,
"In 2003, several prominent Jewish philanthropists hired Republican
pollster Frank Luntz to explain why American Jewish college students
were not more vigorously rebutting campus criticism of Israel. In
response, he unwittingly produced the most damning indictment of the
organized American Jewish community that I have ever seen.
The philanthropists wanted to know what Jewish students thought about
Israel. Luntz found that they mostly didn't. "Six times we have brought
Jewish youth together as a group to talk about their Jewishness and
connection to Israel," he reported. "Six times the topic of Israel did
not come up until it was prompted. Six times these Jewish youth used the
word 'they' rather than 'us' to describe the situation."
UC Davis Professor Ari Kelman, in his survey "Beyond Distancing: Young
Adult American Jews and Their Alienation from Israel" he includes the
following statistic:

Whereas almost 80% of all American Jews age 65 or older say that
Israel's destruction would be a personal tragedy, less than half age 35
or under feel the same way.

Two questions here:
a. What do you think is the cause for this dramatic shift?
b. How do you suggest we communicate to younger Americans about
Israel in order to change this perception?

3. Whereas historically, Israel has been criticized for its
actions, more recently, a newer critique has emerged which questions
Israel's right to exist; that is, the immoral foundation of a Zionist
state. This critique was recently and most famously voiced by longtime
white house reporter Helen Thomas. Similarly, in his controversial 2003
piece entitled, Israel the Alternative, Tony Judt writes:
In a world where nations and peoples increasingly intermingle and
intermarry at will; where cultural and national impediments to
communication have all but collapsed; where more and more of us have
multiple elective identities and would feel falsely constrained if we
had to answer to just one of them; in such a world Israel is truly an
anachronism. And not just an anachronism but a dysfunctional one. In
today's "clash of cultures" between open, pluralist democracies and
belligerently intolerant, faith-driven ethno-states, Israel actually
risks falling into the wrong camp.
A few questions here:
a. Is the idea of a Jewish state an outdated model which we have
grown out of?
b. Can a state indeed be both Jewish and Democratic?
c. If so, how do we rebut Judt's critique?

4. I'm going to quote from a far less prestigious source here: My
Yom Kippur morning sermon from last year. I wrote:

Historically, the American-Israel relationship has been based on two
models. Ben Gurion's original model held that Israelis would build the
Jewish State and American Jews would come. Our presence here today
belies the fact that Ben Gurion's dream never came to fruition. His
generation of Israeli leaders went to their graves full of resentment
and bewilderment over a Jewish Diaspora that did not flock in huge
numbers to the Jewish Homeland. A second model held that Americans
would support Israel and in return Israelis would provide American Jews
with Jewish identity. America would serve as Israel's patron and Israel
would unite and motivate American Jewry. Or to put it simply, we give
Israel money and political will and Israel will give us character. This
relationship worked wonders for those generations that preceded me. But
here in 2010, it has become stale and ineffective.
How can we reimagine the Israel-America relationship for this new era?
What does Israel need from us?
What do we need from them?

5. Another quote from the same author:

Contrary to popular belief, the Jewish State is no longer the poor
struggling nation to which we once donated our clothes and stuck coins
in a can. Rather, it has grown into an international center of
business, technology and science. Whereas we romantically hearken to
pioneer farmers transforming the land from desert to an oasis, the
reality is that only 2% of the modern population works in agriculture.
The land of milk and honey is now a world of skyscrapers and fiber optic
cables, and claims the highest per capita rate of PhDs in the world.
Last year, Israel's gross domestic product topped 200 billion dollars,
up from only 3 billion in 1960. In fact, Israel's closest modern
comparison in terms of both population and economic output is Hong Kong.
Yet we Americans often relate to Israel as if it was still the
struggling agrarian community of the past and not the modern day Hong
Kong of the Middle East.
Can we package this message in order to introduce Jewish Americans to
this new Israel? How do we move reading Leon Uris' "Exodus" to Dan
Senor and Saul Singer's "Start Up Nation"?

6. I spent two and a half weeks in Jerusalem this summer. In that
small space of time, the Knesset took up a bill to give the
ultra-orthodox establishment full control of the issue of conversion and
Israel Relgious Action Center executive director Anat Hoffman was
arrested while holding the Torah while praying with the women of the
wall at the kotel; that is, the wailing wall. How should we Reform Jews
respond to the Jewish State's actions? What should be our response other
than alienation?

7. Israel was founded through the secular Zionist movement, which
claimed that Israel was a people and not a religion. Meanwhile, the
Reform movement was born from the belief that Israel was a religion and
not a nation; that we should harbor no nationalistic or political
aspirations. Where do you see each side standing in the modern era?

8. We are speaking about the disconnect between Americans and
Israel. But what about Israeli sentiment towards America? Let me share
these poll numbers from the Jerusalem post:

The question was asked whether Israelis see Obama's administration as
more pro-Israel, more pro- Palestinian or neutral. Results:
The first poll, which was taken before the first Netanyahu-Obama meeting
in the White House and Obama's landmark speech in Cairo in June 2009,
found that 31% considered this presidency more pro- Israel and 14% more
pro-Palestinian.
The next poll, taken just one month later, found a huge shift, with the
proportion calling the Obama administration more pro-Palestinian rising
from 14% to 50% and the proportion calling it more pro-Israel falling
from 31% to only 6%.
As of the latest poll, in July, just 10 percent of Israeli Jews said
more pro-Israel, 46% said more pro-Palestinian, 34% said neutral and 10%
did not express an opinion.
At the same time, Obama won nearly 80% of the Jewish vote in 2008.
- How can we explain this incredible divide in opinion?
- Given the wariness of most Israelis to the Obama administration
and American policy in recent years, where do we stand in the eyes of
Israelis?

Yom Kippur Morning 2010 Sermon: Life is a Scroll

2010-09-19T15:12:00.000-07:00

Yom Kippur Morning 2010 Sermon: Life is a Scroll
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El

I propose a modest goal for this morning’s sermon. To give a uniquely Jewish answer to the age old question, “What is the meaning of life.” After all, Yom Kippur is the day upon which we search for meaning in the memories of yet another year passed by. I believe that Judaism offers a salient answer within the five scrolls or megilot read on five specific holidays throughout the year. While the Torah and Prophets are read publicly each week, the texts of The Writings, or Ketuvim, the third and final volume of the Hebrew Bible, are only read on these five days. As this calendar of readings may be unfamiliar to many of us, I have included visual aides (point to posters)

The cycle of megilot, begins each Spring with the reading of The Song of Songs on Passover before continuing with the book of Ruth on the early Summer holiday of Shavuot, Lamentations on the late Summer Tisha B’Av day of mourning, Ecclesiastes on the Fall holiday of Sukkot and finally, Esther on the Winter holiday of Purim. Each text represents a specific stage in our lives, so that over the course of the year we move from the optimism of youth in spring to the wisdom of our later years in winter. By the time we reach Esther, our text will reveal its answer to the question of life’s true meaning. So let us embark on this journey together.

Our cycle begins with the Song of Songs, the Hebrew Bible’s volume of steamy love poetry. The book provides a first person account between lovers, burning for one other’s touch. The poet writes:
“How much better is your love than wine;
the fragrance of your perfume is better than any spice
Your lips drip sweetness like the honeycomb, my lover,
honey and milk are under your tongue.

Hot stuff. The text was included in the Hebrew canon by reading it as a metaphor for the relationship between God and the people Israel, yearning for unity with one another. Nevertheless, we may consider this the Biblical equivalent of the Danielle Steele novel.

We read the Song of Songs on Passover to represent the optimism and vigor of youth and the potential for rebirth in Spring. As the flower buds emerge and the natural world comes back to life, we look forward to a year of building and growth. It is a time of fertility and abundance. The Song of Songs is said to be written by the young King Solomon. He is not in love so much as in lust – his infatuation being entirely physical. For the poet, everything about the other is perfect – every detail of the body, each pore of skin. All is potential; nothing has been lost or used.

As we move from Spring to the early Summer, we turn from puppy love to mature relationship. The book of Ruth details a convoluted and difficult marriage between the Moabite Ruth and the Israelite Boaz, whom she is forbidden to marry. Their relationship requires compromise and negotiation, risk and reward. The physical imagery of the Song of Songs is absent, replaced by concession and give and take. The book of Ruth represents our own transition from youthful exuberance to mature forbearance. The book reaches its culmination not in passionate lust but rather a public ritual by which the relationship may be legally sanctioned. Whereas the poet of the Song of Songs is infatuated with every detail of his lover, Ruth acknowledges the blemishes we all carry within us and which over time, further endear us to one another.

Shavuot celebrates the giving of the Torah at Sinai, the imperfect marriage between a people of stiff-necked golden calf worshipers and the God who has allowed them to toil in slavery for 400 years. It is a pact between flawed lovers who nevertheless believe that the relationship can endure.

This elegant love story comes to a sudden crash in our third book, Lamentations, read in the late summer on Tisha B’Av, the annual day of mourning over the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in the 6th century BCE. The prophet Jeremiah witnesses the plundering of his city and the exile of its inhabitants with terrifying detail. Jerusalem is likened to a maiden, abused and left bleeding in the streets. Jeremiah writes,
“I reside in the deepest darkness like one who died long ago.
I am walled in so that I cannot get out;
I am weighed down with heavy chains.
When I cry out in desperation my prayer is ignored.”

Read within the cycle of megilot, Lamentations represents our most painful moments of failure. If the Song of Songs illustrates budding love and Ruth mature relationship, then Lamentations represents the moment when no matter how much you love someone, he or she no longer loves you back. Or when the enterprise you have so carefully constructed, suddenly falls apart, despite your best efforts. It is the sound of woe and lament when we come to realize that we are really not in control of our lives. When the house of cards we have lovingly constructed, piece by piece, comes tumbling down and we are forced to start all over again.

It is late summer, the solstice has passed and the days are getting shorter; life around us wilts and we encounter failure in the most personal way. Soon the world will be a colder place and we will be left to suffer, alone.

As we enter into Fall, we encounter our fourth book, Ecclesiastes. Like both the Song of Songs and Proverbs, this volume is also said to be written by King Solomon. But this is an older and wiser Solomon, who has learned from his defeats. It is the product of one who has seen the ebb and flow of history, and has gained the wisdom of perspective. The book famously reads,
“A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under heaven: A time for being born and a time for dying, A time for planting and a time for uprooting the planted; A time for slaying and a time for healing, A time for tearing down and a time for building up…”

We read the book of Ecclesiastes on Sukkot, when despite all we have seen – the production of the Spring to the destruction of the Summer, we nevertheless plant again. We see that indeed there is a time for everything and so this painful moment too will pass.
Lamentations has revealed how little control we possess; that our lives indeed hang by a thread. And now here in Ecclesiastes, we gain spiritual awareness through acknowledging our own mortality and insignificance. Our hearts have been broken and so only now can we recognize the true value of love. Our ambitions have been torn asunder and only now can we identify our pitfalls. And yes, our hearts will be broken again. We will fall on our faces and lie humiliated before our peers. But we have learned how to heal, to pick ourselves up, dust off, and make a valid effort to be just a bit better the next time.

Finally we reach the one scroll, the one megillah of which we are most familiar: The reading of Esther on Purim. We have heard the story of Esther many times, of the beautiful queen who marries the Persian King and uses her influence to defeat Haman’s plan to kill the Jews. We have now moved from the passion of the Song of Songs, to the maturity of Ruth, to the woe of Lamentations to the despair and perspective of Ecclesiastes. What nuggets of wisdom could Esther have to offer us? I believe we arrive at not one but rather two answers to our original question of life’s meaning.

The first answer becomes apparent when we recognize Esther as the biblical form of Shakespearian comedy; a slapstick farce not meant to be taken too seriously. The story opens as the dim witted Ahasuerus holds a six month banquet and in a drunken stupor, commands his wife to dance for him and his friends. Esther and the other beauty pageant contestants prepare by applying perfume and makeup for an entire year. Haman is repeatedly humiliated and the great ruler Ahasuerus made to play the fool. The ridiculous nature of the book is mirrored in the silly revelry which distinguishes the Purim holiday. Indeed, our sages instruct us to drink until the point at which we no longer can distinguish Mordecai from Haman.

And so having moved through these stages of life, Esther playfully offers her response - Don’t take yourself so seriously that you can’t enjoy your life. Merrily merrily merrily life really is but a dream.

The second and more important answer to the question of life’s meaning demands a more nuanced reading of the text. Esther is the story of a young woman asked to risk her personal wellbeing for that of her people. Her Jewish background is unknown and she has intermarried with Persian royalty. Therefore, she is in no personal danger. Yet Esther must decide where her loyalty lies – with the community or with her own ambitions. Her Uncle Mordecai cautions her, saying,
Im le-et Kazot Higat La-mal-chut
“Perhaps you, Esther, have attained this position for exactly this moment. Now go” (4:14) That is, maybe this entire journey which you have undertaken, from one stage to the next, was meant to prepare you to answer the call of your people.

And so in a more serious tone, the book offers us the second answer to life’s meaning - Its not all about you. From the Song of Songs to Ecclesiastes, this has been a personal story. My passion, my compromises, my failures, my lessons. Esther caringly knocks us on the head and says, “Its about us.” As Rabbis Bauer and Mintz reminded us on Rosh Hashanah, life is lived within community. We are taught that we pray on Yom Kippur not for personal, but rather communal salvation. We ask for forgiveness, even for those transgressions for which we bear no guilt. Because after all, the person sitting next to me might need the help and yes, I am my brother’s keeper.
Earlier this morning, we took the Sifrei Torah from the ark. Each Torah is pristine and unspoiled, protected by regal covering. Like a baby, we cradle the Torah in our arms as it is passed lightly from hand to hand and adorned with kisses, each of us careful not to break it; or heaven forbid, drop it. We read the Torah with a silver pointer, less our finger deface the text, like over conscious parents armed with wipes and Purell.

(Hold up Scroll of Esther)

And here I hold the scroll of Esther. This is it, plain and simple. What you see is what you get. You can touch it with your hands, or even drop it without fear of penalty. It stands vulnerable before us, with thinning skin and gentle wrinkles, smudges and blemishes; the end of this great chain of tradition. If the Torah represents our youth, then surely megilat Esther represents the wisdom and beauty of our final years. There is no pretense or mystery; only comfort and security. It is what it is.
Today is Yom Kippur, the day we gather as a community and ask ourselves, “Who am I?” The story of the megillot is the story of another year gone by.

During the past year, each of us here has experienced moments of the Song of Songs: great passion and enthusiasm, inspiration and joy. Something or someone has grabbed us and refused to let go - and we have held on for the wild ride.

Likewise, in our moments of Ruth, each of us here today has matured over the past year. We have compromised, adjusted and reacted to those around us. We have planned for the future and sacrificed for better times ahead. We have learned to not allow perfection to be the enemy of the good. That if the person I love is only 90 percent right for me, the other 10 percent is probably me. Our Ruth moments have allowed us to embrace imperfection in all of its beauty.

And then, like Jeremiah lamenting through cries of woe, each of us here today has experienced complete and utter failure. I know that I have. We have come to recognize that there are times at which our best is simply not good enough. After all, we are only human.

As we turn to Ecclesiastes, hopefully each of us is wiser than we were last Yom Kippur. We have grown, added to our skill sets and gained wisdom in our perspective. We have survived and prospered from another year of tumult and transformation. The seats in which we sit are the same as last year, but we have changed; we have grown. We read familiar words of prayer, listen to the same readings from the Torah, but come away with different interpretations as we have changed. Yom Kippur is at its best a mirror, reflecting the dissonance between who we are and who we want to be; between is and aught.

And with this simple yet elegant scroll of Esther, we join together today, a family of sojourners through life, stopping to assess from where we have come and where we are going. To first laugh at the wonder of it all, that life truly is a dream. And at the same time, to commit ourselves to our community, to our mutual responsibility as one people.
The sages of the Talmud compare Purim and Yom Kippur through a play on words. Yom HaKippurim – The Day of Atonement – can be read as Yom K’Purim – a day like Purim. Yom Kippur and Purim indeed share many themes. On Purim, we dress in costume. On Yom Kippur, we dress up as well, specifically as one who has died. We don’t engage in the activities of the living – eating, drinking, bathing, and so on. Some of us even wear a kittel, the robe in which we will be buried. All of this in order to contemplate our mortality and make the necessary changes.
Furthermore, on Purim, Esther beseeches King Ahasuerus to show mercy to her people. On Yom Kippur, we beseech the King of Kings to show mercy upon us.
But there is one major difference between the two holidays. While Yom Kippur is full of awe and reverence, God is completely absent from the text of Esther. The word does not appear once. But through viewing Esther as the culmination of this journey, stage by stage, we realize that God is very much present within the actions of Esther and the inhabitants of Shushan; and so within each of us. We all carry a spark of the divine within us. And so we answer the challenge of Esther on this Yom HaKippurim; this day like Purim.
We renew the promise to act as God’s partners in the continuous creation and renewal of humanity. To take part in tikkun olam, the repair of our broken world. To act as God’s hands when we lift up those who have fallen. As God’s ears when we hear the cries of the needy among us. As God’s heart when we show compassion in moments of frustration and anger. As God’s back when we support our friends and neighbors in need of relief, especially in these lonely and difficult times. To bring godliness into the world through our actions.
Today, as we enter into a new year of opportunity and potential, Mordecai challenges each of us anew.
Im le-et Kazot Higat La-mal-chut
“Perhaps you (and you and you) have attained this royal position for exactly this moment.” Now go.

Parshat Lech Lecha: Imbecile Husbands and Their Nurturing Wives

2009-11-05T09:34:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I’d like to consider our Torah portion, Lech Lecha, through a somewhat different and perhaps irreverent lens. A recent New York Times style section featured an article by TV critic Rick Marin entitled, “Father Eats Best” he commented on the trend of shows featuring clumsy fat man with attractive wives. Judging by this year’s primetime television schedule, Marin writes, America views its middle aged dads as chubby, hapless goofs; deeply in need of the guiding influence of their younger, smarter and skinnier wives. Call it the Homer Simpsonization of America. Even “reality” shows feature B-List actresses and America’s Top Models, while the most famous reality show winner is a gawky, flabby, middle-aged man best known for his annoying, arrogant nature and running around naked. It seems as though our culture’s standards for women have never been so high, while our expectations of men so low.
Says Marin, “[These characters are] lazy beer-and-TV slobs who never lift a finger around the house, have barely met their kids and think an emotion is something you only express on the Back Nine. Somehow they've landed these hot wives who look great in jeans.”
This stereotype is a far cry from TV’s golden era, when lean and dashing dads such as Dick Van Dyke and Ward Cleaver graced the set. Or maybe not. Let me offer you a hypothetical script for today’s TV generation, courtesy of the Torah portion.
Schlumpy dad-to-be, sensible and supporting wife and irreverent nephew travel aimlessly up and down the country looking for a home. Arriving in the big city, dad has a zinger of an idea: Let’s pretend that mom is actually dad’s sister so she can use her stellar looks to wow the big city dwellers and get some food for the family. But all hell breaks loose when the local governor falls for the mrs., only to gain his constituents’ wrath by consorting with an apparently married woman! What a hoot! The laughs transform to tears as sensible supporting wife is returned to schlumpy dad, along with the governor’s tribute and blessings. Oh yeah, and a suitcase full of dough to make sure that the governor’s secret isn’t passed on to any other districts. And so the family high-jinx continue…
Sounds about as plausible as Katherine Heigel falling for Seth Rogen, right? Actually, this is an updated version of what we read in this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha. Rumbling, bumbling, stumbling Abraham drags Sarah and Lot up and down the desert, building alters and tents, heading heavenly calls, and even lending out his wife to Pharoah under the guise of being his sister. Later on, the male shenanigans come to a crescendo as Abraham asks Lot to choose a territory North or South to acquire and Lot picks…. East. It’s like a Marx Brothers routine. What in the world is going on with the men in this week’s torah portion?
This trend of clumsy men paired with intelligent women doesn’t pertain to just this specific torah portion, but to the entire Hebrew bible. If we assume that the torah is an amalgamation of documents written by men, for men, and about men, it is surprising that like today’s TV dads, our forefathers are depicted as constantly needing the better judgment of their better halves.
Women consistently exert their maternal will throughout the Torah in three ways. First, the bible presents a regular pattern of men addressing their crises by seeking the shelter of relationship. That is - finding a wife. Adam is created alone and God instantly realizes that a woman is needed as well. One generation later, Cain addresses his punishment of banishment by immediately settling down and marrying. Upon being abandoned by two women (Sara and Hagar) in a single day, Ishmael marries a woman of his own tribe. Isaac does the same following his binding on the top of Mt. Moriah.
Secondly, women are often depicted as having superior judgment over their male counterparts. Rebekah dupes her husband Isaac into giving his blessing to Jacob over Esau. The midwives of Egypt ignore Pharoah’s evil decree to kill all Israelite male babies. Moses’ life is saved by the wits of his sister and the care of Pharoah’s daughter. And Zipporah saves Moses’ life by circumcising his son and thus satisfying God.
Finally, the bible depicts women as conquerors over mighty men, as Sampson, and invading generals Sisera and Holofernes all fall to the cunning of Delilah, Yael and Judith. It appears as though the woman is mightier than the sword.
The Torah designates women with the responsibility of molding their men into better people. Dr. Scott Haltzman, professor of psychiatry at Brown University comments on the trend of imbecile husbands and superior wives on television, saying, “Men are foolish, and now they have to be taught by their wives through the lesson of the dumb mistake they've made not just how to be a better husband and father, but how to be a better human being. Their role is to shape the men figuratively and literally.”
I don’t know about you, but I think that Dr. Haltzman is on to something here. From the beginning of history with the creation of Adam, man is clearly not meant to be left alone. As Rabbi Ishmael declares in the Talmud (Kiddushin 29b), “As soon as one attains twenty and has not married, ‘Blasted be his bones!’”. Or perhaps as Rabbi Hanina more succinctly explains (Berakot 8a), “Whoso findeth a wife findeth a great good”. While the Talmud is clearly written from a male perspective, and thus ignores the question of if a woman ever needs a man, Jewish tradition clearly values the qualities which only a partner can bring into a relationship, a lesson which we can extend in the modern world past simply heterosexual norms. Women may need a man like a fish needs a bicycle, but men clearly need women, just in order to keep their heads above water.
It is interesting to note that the Talmud considers a wife to be a man’s house (Shabbat 118b) and a man’s tent (Moed Katan 15b). Returning to the text, we see Abraham searching for settlement, erecting altars and edifices throughout the land, but never feeling fully comfortable or stable. Maybe this week’s torah portion resembles fall TV’s lineup in a way, with Abraham failing to realize that the shelter he is searching for has walked beside him all along. Perhaps this is why Abraham finally purchases land only after Sarah dies, acquiring the cave of Machpelah in which to bury her. Without his lifelong refuge by his side, he seeks safe harbor from the fear and loneliness that come with isolation. For as clumsy and clueless as modern TV depicts the dad, the one thing he knows is how much more clueless he would be without his partner. May we all receive the comfort and warmth we need from the shelter of our own relationships, and give to one another in the example set by our tv wives and biblical matriarchs.

Yom Kippur Morning 2009: Redefining our Relationship with Israel

2009-09-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 2009
Redefining our Relationship With Israel
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

In the summer of 1982, my family joined a United Jewish Appeal Mission tour of Israel. At the church of the Holy Sepulcher, reputedly built upon the site of Jesus’ crucifixion and burial, this six year old strayed from the tour and crawled down a small dark cave. About eight feet in, the ground suddenly gave way and I fell into one of the tombs. Luckily, a monk heard my cries and pulled me out. While my parents were mortified, I came away rather intrigued. When I returned to school that fall and was asked to share what I did over the summer, I proudly declared to my class, “I fell on Jesus!” Thus began my love affair with Israel.
A second experience took place on our tour bus on the last day of the trip. As its youngest member, I was asked if I wanted to say anything to the group. I nervously walked to the front of the bus, clenched the microphone in my small hands, and declared how happy I was to have gone on the trip and that I was proud to be a Jew. The tour guide was so pleased that when we met that evening for the closing banquet, I was asked to address the assembly and repeat my words. And so it was literally UJA Mission accomplished: another American’s Jewish identity strengthened through Israel.
I share this latter experience to illustrate how my view of Israel differs from many of my generation. The fact that my age cohort of Jewish Americans holds less affinity towards Israel is well documented. Yet I have felt a deep connection with the Jewish State for my entire life, having lived there twice and visited regularly. Only ten days ago, Rabbi Wolf-Prusan stood upon this pulpit and urged constructive dialogue about Israel and Rabbi Pearce added his own sentiment last night. Today, I accept this challenge by considering why my generation fails to connect with Israel and to propose a new model for engagement.
I was not alive to witness Israel’s heroic birth in 1948. Nor did I live through the triumphs of the Six Day war of 1967 or even the 1973 Yom Kippur war, 36 years ago today. My generation has never known Israel as the fragile David facing the Arab world’s Goliath. It is a strange and unfamiliar concept to us. We take images of Jews driving tanks and fighter planes for granted. Similarly, none of us under the age of 60 have ever lived in world without a Jewish sovereign state. Thus when my parents’ generation and my generation look at Israel, we see two very different things. In short, my generation has never known Israel the feel good story. Whether right or wrong, and even given Iran’s recent provocations, few consider the Jewish nation as drifting towards the brink of annihilation but rather as a nuclear power with the world’s fifth largest air force. Thus we lack both a sense of urgency and affinity towards the Jewish state.
Whereas Israel once stood as the proud child of the Jewish community, it has become the controversial uncle which none of us want to talk about. We live in fear of what it might do and what might be said about it. It shows up at moments of Jewish pride and at times, forces us to uncomfortably defend its existence. Whereas my parents’ generation gained pride from honorable leaders like David Ben Gurion and Yitzchak Rabin, today’s Israeli leaders match their American counterparts’ feats of scandal and corruption. And so we turn our attention to seemingly more noble issues of black and white, good versus evil, like Darfur.
Historically, the American-Israel relationship has been based on two models. Ben Gurion’s original model was simple: We Israelis will build the Jewish State and you American Jews will come. Our presence here this morning belies the fact that Ben Gurion’s dream never came to fruition. His generation of Israeli leaders went to their graves full of resentment and bewilderment over a Jewish Diaspora that did not flock to their newly established home. And so a second model of relationship emerged: We Americans will give Israel our support and in return we will receive our Jewish identity. America will serve as Israel’s patron and Israel will unite and motivate American Jewry. Or to put it simply, we give you money and political will and you give us character. This relationship worked wonders for those generations that precede me. But here in 2009, it has become stale and ineffective on both sides.
Let’s begin with the idea that Israel’s survival hinges upon our total support. Contrary to popular belief, the Jewish State is no longer the poor struggling nation to which we once donated our clothes and stuck coins in a can. Rather, it has grown into an international center of business, technology and science. Whereas we romantically hearken to pioneer farmers transforming the land from desert to an oasis, the reality is that only 2% of the modern population works in agriculture. The land of milk and honey is now a world of skyscrapers and fiber optic cables, and claims the highest per capita rate of PhDs in the world. Last year, Israel’s gross domestic product topped 200 billion dollars, up from only 3 billion in 1960. In fact, Israel’s closest modern comparison in terms of both population and economic output is Hong Kong. Yet we Americans often relate to Israel as if it was still the struggling agrarian community of the past and not the modern day Hong Kong of the Middle East.
At the same time, the American Jewish community is no longer dependent upon Israel for its identity. Just as my generation has never known the underdog Israel, so too have we never faced the sort of Anti-Semitism and persecution at home once suffered by our parents and grandparents. We were raised in a world where it is safe and acceptable to wear a kippah or large Jewish star in public. Our modern pop stars even dally in Jewish spirituality and enlightenment. Just last week, seven hundred young adults packed into this synagogue to hear a rock concert based on the High Holiday liturgy. In America, Judaism is, for the lack of a better world, cool. And as Israel has weakened as a source of Jewish identity, we have grown to rely less upon it, to the point that many of my generation openly question whether any relationship should be maintained. To wit, consider that whereas almost 80% of all American Jews age 65 or older say that Israel’s destruction would be a personal tragedy, less than half age 35 or under feel the same way.
So there you have it. Israel is no longer utterly dependent upon our support and likewise we are no longer entirely dependent upon it for our Jewish identity. The model is outdated and demands rethinking, lest future generations of American Jews stop caring altogether.
Today I propose a new model, a “new deal” between our communities: We Americans will share our pluralistic and spiritual brand of Judaism. And in turn, Israel will share with us the unique way of life that it has developed while granting acceptance and recognition of our modern Jewish practices. Allow me to explain.
Why would Israel need America’s brand of Judaism? After all, many of us take for granted the depth of Jewish knowledge held by even the most secular Israeli. Israeli children grow up speaking and reading the biblical language of Hebrew, living the Jewish calendar, celebrating the seasons, and studying Jewish text in their schools.
When I was a first year rabbinical student in Jerusalem, I would often discuss my subjects with my Israeli girlfriend and now wife, Yael. One day I brought home what I thought was the most brilliant text I had ever read from my Talmud class. I was so happy to share it and bask in its magnificence. I proudly handed Yael the sheet of paper. She carefully examined it, paused for a moment and replied, “Oh yeah, I remember this one from 8th grade.”
But as Professor Yoav Shoham of Stanford University argues, precisely because Israelis are exposed to Jewish customs with such intensity, usually without having a choice in the matter, and in the uniform flavor reflecting the Orthodox hegemony in Israel over progressive streams of Judaism, the majority of Israelis conceive of religion in concrete rather than spiritual terms. Indeed, they often develop a deep antagonism towards religion and the establishment that represents it. For the average Israeli, Judaism is most definitely not cool. It is a heritage which they deeply honor, but rarely think about.
On the other hand, why should we American Jews care about Israel? What does Israel have to offer us other than ancient sites and modern controversies? To my generation, I offer four answers.
Let’s begin with the realization that within the next decade, Israel is poised to eclipse America as the largest Jewish population in the world. Some demographers believe we have already reached this point. A meager birthrate and generations of assimilation have shrunk the American Jewish community. As our percentage of the population has dropped from almost 4% in the 1950s to under 2% today, while the populations of other ethnic and religious groups have soared, our influence is clearly waning. At the same time, a growing birthrate and steady inflow of immigrants have bolstered Israel’s population and economy. Like it or not, Israel sits in the driver’s seat of Judaism’s future.
Secondly, while the image of Israel as the plucky underdog no longer holds water, one historical truth endures: That Israel stands as the greatest social experiment of our age. Years ago, a dream was born to collect people from all corners of the earth, each with their own language, customs and norms, and build a society based upon Jewish and democratic principles. Today’s Israel is a messy hodgepodge of clashing cultures and viewpoints, hastily sewn together into a haphazard social fabric, like Clement Street, but on a national level. It is for this reason that you simply cannot visit the country without entering into deep reflection. Touring the modern state of Israel gives the visitor a glimpse into the processes that form and sustain a unique nation. It may lack the serenity of visiting Hawaii, but the modern Jew will find no parallel in intellectual stimulation and self discovery.
Thirdly, this scenario will hopefully lead towards an authentic acceptance of our brand of liberal Judaism from our Israeli brethren. Only two years ago, Israel’s Chief Sephardic Rabbi argued that the Holocaust was God’s punishment for the emergence of Reform Judaism. Similar polemics against progressive Judaism are common in the Jewish State. And although a small minority of Israelis observes traditional Jewish laws, Orthodoxy enjoys a unique monopoly over civic and religious affairs. Reform life cycle events such as marriage and conversion are not recognized by the state. Orthodox synagogues receive public funding while progressive synagogues must charge membership dues and are thus removed from broad public access. My generation receives a clear message from Israel’s religious leaders: your pluralistic religious expression is dangerous and inauthentic. Stay away. And so we do.
But were we to invigorate the millions of self identified non-orthodox Israelis to develop their own indigenous brand of progressive Judaism, we could achieve acceptance and connection to our brethren across the world. While we Americans hold a clear love and respect for Israel, many of us desperately want it to love us back in the form of acceptance of our beliefs and practices. We anxiously await the day when Israel will grant legitimacy for women rabbis, same-sex partnerships, and Reform conversion, marriage and burial rites. We want to share our love of Judaism and our ability to blend our sacred heritage with our modern sensibilities.
Finally, allow to me share the fourth reason why this relationship would benefit us Americans. Given its population’s deep knowledge in Jewish practice and history, Israel constitutes the greatest untapped potential of biblical scholarship and Jewish leadership in the world. Think about it: The average Israeli receives a world class Jewish education, yet encounters few opportunities to develop a career around it. Imagine if here in America, our children received a comprehensive education in mathematics, but were told they could only use it to become bookkeepers. We would lose the potential of all those who might have pursued alternate paths. I look at Israeli society and see a potential incubator for great Jewish scholars and innovators.
So there you have it: our relationship with Israel will be redefined and renewed. We Americans will share our modern spiritual brand of Judaism. And in turn, Israel will share with us the lessons of its unique makeup while granting acceptance to and forging leadership from our progressive practices. Whereas we Americans were once united through the foundation of the Jewish State, we will now be galvanized through the development of its modern spirituality. As historian Jonathan Sarna writes, “The great causes that once invigorated and united American Jewry – immigrant absorption, creating a Jewish state, rescuing endangered Jews – are essentially behind us. Diaspora Jews today are the poorer for not having a well-defined, elevating Jewish mission to inspire us.” I believe that this is the mission we have been waiting for.
The outdated model of money for identity suggests that we Americans should send Jews of weak identity to Israel and Israelis of strong identity here to the United States. This is the philosophy behind both the Birthright and Sheliach programs. We send our children on birthright to learn about Israel and thereby become more Jewish. We then bring Israeli Shelichim or emissaries here to the US to continue the relationship. I believe that this exchange should be reciprocated. Currently, whereas we Americans go to Israel to visit Masada and the Western Wall, Israelis only come here to see Fisherman’s Wharf and the Golden Gate Bridge. Let us bring them here to our centers of progressive Judaism. And let us create pluralistic institutions in Israel to serve as incubators for modern Judaism.
I take great pride in serving as the rabbinic member of the Jewish Community Federation’s Peoplehood Commission. This group oversees the allocation and distribution of our community’s funds towards Israel and Israeli programming. Our flagship program, Gvanim, promotes support and seed money for pluralistic programming in Israel. To date, over 20 such programs have been launched, including an upstart synagogue in Tel Aviv called Beit Tefilah.
We took our boldest initiative this past June, when we received 15 representatives from Beit Tefiah here at Emanu-El. With an idea planted by Rabbi Pearce and funding from the Jewish Community Federation, these 15 leaders flew to San Francisco to share best practices with our team and the San Francisco Jewish community. We held workshops with our staff members to describe how Emanu-El meets the prayer, study and social action needs of our congregants. We talked about how, as Rabbi Mintz explained last week, we build a sacred community.
In turn, the members of Beit Tefilah shared their current initiatives and left us with many ideas for future experimentation. What is the lasting effect of such interaction? Rather than explain it myself, I prefer to read you a letter I received from one of our visitors from Beit Tefilah just last week:

Dear Rabbi Jaffe, we would love to wish you, your family and the entire congregation a sweet and happy new year. The Emanu-el experience is still deep in our hearts and inspires us in our efforts to do things better. Your custom of asking people to make a chala chain is already a must in our kiddush and just yesterday we held a new member reception which drew 40 people, deeply inspired by your practice at Emanu-el. Thank you so much for this partnership. Shana tova, Avi.

You may ask, how can I take part in this challenge? For starters, and here I speak with special emphasis to my own generation: visit Israel. It is not the country you think it is. Consider joining our Emanu-El Winter trip led by Rabbi Wolf-Prusan. But when you go, keep two things in mind. First, do not limit yourself to the heavily scripted sites of Israel’s past, such as the old city of Jerusalem. I urge you to explore the emerging communities of Israel’s future, such as Rosh Ha’ayin and Modin. See both Ancient Israel and Hong Kong Israel. Second, while you should take in the amazing sights and history, don’t forget to communicate the ideals of progressive Judaism which you honor today. Don’t just be a tourist. Be your own sheliach – an emissary for the Judaism you know and love and that we celebrate here at Emanu-El. And when you finish visiting the Western Wall and its partition separating the men from the women, continue on to our sister congregations of progressive Judaism throughout the country where men and women not only pray together but also share equal religious status.
There is much you can do at home at well. I have posted links and information several organizations promoting progressive programming in Israel on the front page of the Congregation’s website – I urge you to look at them. If you prefer a more personal touch, I invite you to contact me directly to explore how we may foster a sense of Judaism in Israel more akin to the tradition you come here to celebrate today. I promise you will not regret it.
27 years after my first visit to Israel, I may have earned the title rabbi, but deep inside I am still the same six year old kid, nervously declaring my love for Israel and Judaism into the microphone. I am saddened that my peers do not share my sentiment and deeply desire to foster a connection with the land I love and the people I so admire. I want my brothers and sisters in Israel to respect my love for Judaism just as I respect theirs. Yom Kippur is our day to sweep out the old and take hold of the new, to shed past iniquities and dedicate ourselves towards the future. And I believe that the opportunity for a redefined and renewed relationship with Israel lies before us today, if only we choose to engage. Please won’t you join me.

The 8th Anniversary of 9/11 - Parshat Nitzavim

2009-09-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

The number 7 carries special significance in Jewish ritual. After all, 7 represents shelimut – wholeness. The Torah records the 7 days of the world’s creation. Tonight we enter into the 7th day of Shabbat, thus completing our week. If 7 represents such fullness, then 8 signifies the opportunity of a new beginning. In a few weeks, we will celebrate the 7 days of sukkot and on the 8th day, shemini artzeret, we enter into the fall season. Similarly, the 8 days of channukah represented a new beginning for the Maccabees who rededicated the temple, and likewise represents our emergence from the winter solstice. I say all of this in honor of the 8th anniversary of 9/11, which we remember this evening. Tonight we observe the yahrtzeit for the 3,000 men, women and children who tragically lost their lives on that day. We remember them with honor and affection and reach out to their loved ones whose lives remain shattered by the events of that day. We mourn as a global community.
In the eight years since that tragic day, our world has witnessed additional tragedy and loss. Two major wars which have taken the lives of over 5,000 brave American soldiers, as well as tens if not hundreds of thousands of Afghani and Iraqi citizens. The chasm between East and West has widened and Iran has emerged as major power broker in the region. As we enter into the 9th year of these conflicts, the American people are engaged in fierce debate over the merits and goals of our military actions. Needless to say, it has been a challenging period. We are in desperate need of a turning point.
The 8th day celebration of shemini artzeret includes an important line of liturgy, in which we call out for the new season of rain. The blessing reads, “Livracha ve lo liklalah, lesova velo leratzon, lechayim ve lo lemavet. [Let this be a year of] blessing and not curse, for plenty and not scarcity, for life and not for death.” And so on this 8th anniversary of 9/11, we ask this blessing be bestowed on each of us. For just as 9/11 has fostered great loss and tragedy, so too does it present an opportunity for reconciliation and eventual blessing. Let me give you a personal example.
One year after 9/11, I was a first year rabbinical student in Jerusalem. It was a tough year for all of us. The Iraq war lay on the horizon, eventually beginning in the Spring semester. We students were given gas masks to carry with us in case of a biological attack. I had to seal my bedroom off with plastic and duct tape. A fog of fear and apprehension lay over the country. For the Sukkot break, I decided to leave the stressful environment of Jerusalem and volunteer on a kibbutz in order to work on my Hebrew. And so I moved to Kibbutz Ginnegar in the central Yisrael valley, where I was placed on a construction crew with a team of Arab Israeli workers. They would become my Hebrew teachers for the next 2 weeks and my vocabulary grew to include such words as mazmir (nail), sulam (ladder) and patish (hammer).
One morning, my co-workers asked if I wanted to put any of my music into the stereo that accompanied us everywhere. I just so happened to be listening to “The Rising”, Bruce Springsteen’s album about 9/11. I remember putting on the song, “Into the Fire”. The song opens with the words,

The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

My co-worker Jamal, asked me to translate the lyrics for him. I did my best in my broken Hebrew. He turned to me and asked, “The two towers falling on 9/11 – did that really happen?” “Yes it did”, I responded. “Did you know anyone in the towers?” “Yes, I did.” He paused for a moment. “How big were the two towers?” “Really, really big”. “Taller than the chadar ochel?” The chadar ochel, our cafeteria, was a two story building of around 3,000 square feet. “Much, much bigger,” I said. Imagine 100 of those buildings stacked one on top of another, all the way into the sky.” Jamal looked up and shook his head. “I can’t even imagine it…Can you translate the rest of the song for me?”
I did my best to meet his request. And in the coming days, our discussion over 9/11 opened a window into an honest and deep dialogue over American/Arab and Jewish /Muslim interactions. As we tarred a roof, we talked about the relationship between Jewish and Muslim Israelis. As we pruned bushes, we talked about low literacy and high unemployment rates in the Arab world. As we built a fence, we talked about the role of women in society. As we rode in our mini-tractor, we talked about the Israeli war of independence from both the Jewish and Muslim perspectives. Jamal and I became friends to the point that he invited me to his home to eat with his wife and children. When my parents visited from the US, we met Jamal in his Arab village for lunch. While we spoke in polite and respectful terms, we held no punches and avoided no topic. This became one of the most meaningful educational moments of my experience that year.
Livracha ve lo liklalah – For blessing and not for curse. In this pivotal moment, 9/11 created an opportunity for learning and understanding. The pain of tragedy was transformed into sympathy and thoughtfulness. And so on this 8th anniversary of 9/11, may we call this our great challenge. Yes, we are still at war. Yes, animosity between East and West grows stronger. Yet we stand at a crossroads in history as we decide what to make of this moment. Signs for optimism abound – whether it be albeit disputed elections in both Iraq and Afghanistan; the election of an African American President born to a Muslim father or the introduction to the first Muslim member of the House of Representatives. Throughout the world, synagogues and mosques are beginning to create lasting ties. On Sunday night, Rabbi Wolf-Prusan and I will celebrate Ramadan with the Islamic Society of San Francisco mosque alongside other members of the interfaith community. In November, we will continue our twinning relationship with the ISSF and invite their imam to speak here at Emanu-El. The Interfaith Council of San Francisco has developed several programs dedicated towards greater understanding between our communities. Overall, 9/11 has served as a galvanizing force to create peace and goodwill in the face of conflict. It has opened our eyes to the festering sore between our communities, and gave us good reason to address them now.
In the rabbinic homilies of Pirke Avot, Ben Azzai says: Mitzvah gorreret mitzvah. Averah gorreret averah. (4:2) That is, one mitzvah leads to another and one transgression leads to another. Today, we remember 9/11 with great sadness. We dedicate ourselves towards continuing down the path of mitzvah and not averah; towards blessing and not curse; life and not death. In tonight’s Torah portion, Moses addresses the Israelites on the eve of entering the land of Israel. He offers these words of God, “I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – so that you and your offspring will live.” (Deut 30:19) As we enter into the new opportunity of this 8th year of commemoration of the tragedy of 9/11, may this task be our great project. Ken yihiyeh ratzon. May it be God’s will. Amen.

Parshat Re’eh Dvar Torah – The Important of August the 2nd, 2009

2009-08-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

Parshat Re’eh Dvar Torah – The Important of August the 2nd, 2009
Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El
8.14.2009

Saturday, August the 2nd was just another day in the life of Israel. Being Shabbat, the streets in Jerusalem were quiet. In synagogues far and wide, people prayed and read from the Torah. In other parts of the country, people tended to their business. And yet in three seemingly isolated moments of the day, the country was rocked to its core. I would like to take the opportunity this evening to walk you through these important moments, all within a single day.
It was just after midnight when a protest against the expulsion of migrant workers in Tel Aviv came to an end. Thousands of Israeli and migrant workers, including children, had formed a human chain in protest of Israel's decision to deport families of illegal aliens, most of them from Africa and Asia. Many of those slated for deportation had been born in Israel but did not receive citizenship due to their non-Jewish immigrant status. In all, more than 20,000 people expect to be deported by the end of the year as part of a government policy to have all migrant workers out of the country by 2013. In 2005 the government expelled 145,000 migrant workers in a similar campaign. Many workers lose their status because of the Immigration Authority's policies. Legal status can be revoked when a person quits their job, is fired, gets pregnant or is even married. And while the government claims to deport illegal migrants to free up jobs for Israelis, it nevertheless issues thousands of visas for new workers each year. The inherent message is that foreign workers are encouraged to come, just so long as they don’t become settled and think about staying.
Israel’s employment of immigrant workers has soared following the 2nd intifada. At a time when the average Israeli is leery of Palestinian day laborers, many workers have come from the Phillipines, Thailand and Africa to fill the void. They are awarded temporary visas for their employment, but most often denied the opportunity to pursue citizenship. After all, too many immigrants threatens the majority status of Israel’s Jews. And so Israel’s Supreme Court has ruled their deportation as legal, based upon the protection of the Jewish nature of the state.

Fast forward six hours to the early moments of dawn. It was at that moment that 100 Israeli police officials arrived at the homes of the the al-Ghawe and the Hannoun families in East Jerusalem. They broke through the doors and windows, arresting twenty-one international and Israeli volunteers who were sleeping inside. In all, 53 family members were evicted including children and infants, their belongings thrown onto the street. They had been living in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood of East Jerusalem since 1956, when the Jordanian government and the UN had settled refugees of the 1948 war of independence.
However, the Israeli government has recently pursued an agenda of “Judification” of this East Jerusalem neighborhood. After all, as former Jerusalem Mayor Uri Lupolianski explains, the presence of Arab Israelis in this neighborhood just beyond the walls of the Old City threatens the continuity of Jerusalem as a singularly Jewish city, exposing the division of Jerusalem as a potential bargaining chip in two state solution talks.
We should only expect such wisdom from a man who despite Jerusalem’s soaring unemployment rate, the highest in the nation, rebuffed offers from IBM to open offices in the city center as it would distract people from focusing on Torah. As of this week, members of both the al-Ghawi and al-Hanoun families were sleeping on the sidewalk in front of their old homes. Skirmishes have broken out between local Arab-Israelis and ultra-orthodox settlers in the neighborhood. The conflict is yet to be resolved.

We fast forward again, to the early evening. It was at this time that with trepidation and excitement, 19 year old Raziel Mishkin made his first visit to a local Tel Aviv club, catering to its large LGBT community. It had been a momentous few days for Raz, who had come out of the closet to his parents just earlier that week. He decided to visit this club for the first time, to meet other kids like him. Raz was seated at a table, playing chess with a friend, when a masked gunman entered the room and started spraying bullets. As people screamed and fell to the floor, a bullet flew across the room and entered Raz’s back, piercing his lung. He was rushed to the hospital for damage to his spinal cord. As of today, he is paralyzed from the chest down. And yet he and 9 other injured kids were the lucky ones as at least they did not lose their lives. Over the past week, our dear friend Avi Blecherman from Congregation Beit Tefilah, who visited us back in June, has been visiting with Raz daily and has asked that his name be included in our healing prayers tonight.
So here is a snapshot of Israel in a single day. A protest against the deportation of foreign laborers. The eviction of two large Arab-Israeli families from their East Jerusalem neighborhood. A hate crime against Tel Aviv’s LGBT community. All in a day.

Leviticus 19 instructs us:

When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him.
The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt:

Or to put it more succinctly:

Love your neighbor as one of your own

I take this to mean, the treatment of the other is ultimately indicative of the way you treat members of your own community. On August the 2nd, the Israeli government engaged in abusive treatment of two “others” within its borders: Arab Israelis and foreign laborers. Many in Israeli society have grown accustomed to approaching these populations as “other”, to dehumanizing them through xenophobic attitudes and policies. And that evening, the proverbial chickens came home to roost: An Israeli terrorist attacked yet another “other” within the community. Because once we learn to dehumanize externally, it is only a matter of time until we do so internally.

Love your neighbor as one of your own. Hatred for the other leads to hatred of your own. Fear breeds fear and contempt breeds contempt. It just comes in different brands.
This week’s Torah portion, Re’eh, begins with words we will recite again in one month during the high holy days:

26 See, this day I set before you blessing and curse: 27 blessing, if you obey the commandments of the LORD your God that I enjoin upon you this day; 28 and curse, if you do not obey the commandments.

Ultimately, it is up to us to decide how we consider the other. Our reaction will ultimately decide our blessing or curse. At the height of the cold war, our fear of communism drove us to rabid McCarthyism at home. More recently, our post 9/11 paranoia led to mistreatment of Arab Americans. Factions within Israeli society seem to be trapped in just such a pattern, as illustrated so clearly on August the 1st.
Turn the page to the next day, August 2nd. Back in Israel, people were waking to a new morning. The al-Ghawi and al-Hanoun families awoke from their makeshift accommodations in front of the homes they had lived in for half a century. As Shabbat ended, thousands of foreign laborers went back to work, in fear of losing their jobs and along with them their visas. Throngs of people flooded Rabin square in Tel Aviv to support the LGBT community. Meanwhile, funeral preparations were made for the two people who had been murdered. The injured were cared for, the psychological toll still to come.
At the very same time, hundreds of representatives of the Jewish community of San Francisco were packed inside of the Cow Palace, welcoming hundreds of “others” from around the country and the rest of the world for the Maccabbi games. A legion of volunteers, some of them with us tonight, proudly hosted student athletes, volunteered, donated money and put on a happy face to receive our guests here in San Francisco. The response to this year’s games was simply amazing and something that our community should be proud of. Personally, I took great pride in seeing so many families from our Emanu-El community present at these games. The welcome mat was laid out for the “others” among us. And in the end, San Francisco ultimately benefited. We were brought closer together through our outward efforts.

See, this day I set before you blessing and curse.

Ultimately, the blessing or the curse is within each of us. That which we project outward, we will surely receive inward. I believe that these days represented an important moment for both the San Francisco and Israeli Jewish communities. I hope and pray that we may pursue attitudes and policies of blessing rather than curse throughout the world. Ken yihiyeh ratzon – may it be God’s will. Amen.

Should our Judges have Empathy? 6.26.08

2009-06-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

Should our Judges have Empathy?
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

This past May, President Barack Obama nominated Federal Appeals Court Judge Sonya Sotomayor as the first Latino woman to the US Supreme Court. In doing so, he fulfilled an earlier campaign promise to select nominees who demonstrate both intellect and empathy. As he said to Planned Parenthood in 2007, “We need somebody who’s got the heart, the empathy, to recognize what it’s been like to be a young teenage mom. The empathy to understand what it’s like to be poor, or African American, or gay, or disabled, or old. And that’s the criteria by which I’m going to be selecting my judges.”
Sotomayor’s nomination ignited a national debate over whether or not empathy should be used as criteria towards judgment. Her supporters argued that empathy allowed her to understand the pragmatic ramifications of her decisions, while her detractors countered that empathy leads to unfair bias towards certain groups. As we prepare to begin nomination proceedings next month, we may look to our own tradition for enlightenment. Does empathy strengthen or weaken one’s sense of judgment? Let us consider three examples from within the Jewish fold: communal, personal and divine judgment.
Throughout the narrative of the Torah, the Israelites are commanded time and again to remember that they were slaves in the land of Egypt. This rejoinder is sprinkled throughout the Torah, often as preface or conclusion to commandment. The message is clear: the impetus behind Jewish activism is personal experience. Passover, the most observed Jewish holiday here in the United States, transfers a sense of historical empathy to individuals who might otherwise never consider themselves connected. Such rituals prohibit us from encountering the world from a place of detachment. We develop fair judgment through ritualized empathy.
Towards the end of the Exodus saga, the Israelites cross the Sea of Reeds and the water closes around Pharoah’s army. According to Talmudic aggadah, the angels wish to celebrate the tormentors’ demise. And yet God admonishes them, saying, “The works of my hands are drowning in the sea, and you would sing in my presence!” God desires our empathy at all times, even for those who have shown us little in kind.
For personal empathy, let us look no farther than King Solomon, who is best known for his wise judgment. The most famous case of such discernment is found in the haftarah for parshat Mikketz. Two harlots approach Solomon, both claiming the same child. One of the women has lost her child overnight and has taken the other as her own. Solomon orders the infant be cut in half and distributed equally to each of them. One woman accepts this decision while the other retracts her claim so that the child may live. Solomon wisely rules in favor of the woman who is willing to give away a child so that it may live.
To truly understand Solomon’s wisdom, we must look deeper into his own history. His parents, David and Bathsheba, lose their first child in infancy as divine punishment for David’s actions towards Bathsheba’s first husband, Uriah. Solomon later comes of age in a chaotic household, competing for David’s throne. His brothers Abnon and Absalom are both brutally murdered by other members of the family’s inner circle. His younger brother, Adonijah, seeks to usurp Solomon as the next heir. Solomon initially spares his life, but when a second attempt is made, Solomon has his brother killed. In short, Solomon if familiar with the pain and suffering caused by a dead infant and a family in turmoil. He judges the women fairly because he recognizes their motives and emotions.
And yet the best example of judge in the Torah is unequivocally God. After all, when a loved one dies, we answer the news with the prayer, Baruch dayan ha emet - Praised be the true judge. Throughout our lives, we seek to move God from din (strict judgment) to rachamim (mercy). Note that rachamim is derived from the root rechem, womb. God encounters us as children, as though we were once in God’s womb. As any mother can tell you, there is much that a child can do to cause anger, but nothing a child can do to diffuse love.
So too Judaism mandates that we consider the other through the lens of empathy, as though they came from within us. The Torah teaches us that God desperately wants to forgive our misdeeds. In fact, in another Talmudic aggadah, God prays, “May it be my will that my mercy may suppress my anger and that my mercy may prevail over my other attributes, so that I may deal with my children in the attribute of mercy and, on their behalf, stop short of the limit of strict judgment.” God prays for empathy in making life’s crucial judgments. If it’s good enough for God, it’s good enough for me and certainly should be for those senators confirming Judge Sotomayor.
In the days of Noah, God wipes out the creatures of the earth, before promising never to do so again. God prays to live up to such a high standard of empathy. Like God, Solomon experiences the pain and suffering which accompanies tragedy and loss. This allows him to become our people’s wisest judge of all. And today, as a nation of liberated slaves, we act as agents of God when we bring empathy to our subjects. We may therefore conclude that empathy is surely an asset to those given the power to judge their peers. I can think of no greater attribute to add to our nation’s highest court.

Not All Financial Instruments Are Alike

2009-05-07T10:16:00.000-07:00

Not All Financial Instruments Are Alike
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El
4.30.2009

Although our modern economy has unraveled largely by the abuse of fraudulent financial instruments, similar mechanisms have historically allowed the Jewish community to make prudent use of the Torah’s laws. While the Torah maintains altruistic goals through commandments such as the jubilee or sabbatical year, Judaism demands a pragmatic and moral approach that recognizes that society cannot function with perfect ideals alone. At the same time, Jewish law must remain mindful of the poor and address the needs of potential debtors. Here we may explore Judaism’s practical and merciful approach in four areas.
First, The Torah forbids us no less than three times from lending at interest to our brethren (Exodus 22, Leviticus 25, Deuteronomy 23). But if our modern economic turmoil has taught us anything, it is that borrowing and lending provide the essential fuel for a healthy marketplace. A capital based society cannot flourish without the foundation of borrowing at interest.
In Baba Metzia 104b, the Talmud introduces us to a financial instrument labeled the heter iska. Under this provision, the lender does not simply loan the money. Rather, he buys a stake in the borrower’s enterprise. When the business succeeds, the lender shares in the profits. The Talmud goes so far as to give the lender the right to weigh in on the borrower’s business decisions. This legal partnership allows one to lend money in order to make money.
Second, The Torah instructs that all private debts be forgiven every seven years. (Exodus 23, Leviticus 25, Deuteronomy 15). Once again, this threatens the enterprise of lending for profit. Take away all incentive or security from borrowing and economic activity will surely ground to a halt. Thus while laudable in intention, the law of shmita creates a clear disincentive for lending, especially to the poor who are most likely to default on such debts.
Hillel the Elder’s famous prezbol allows for private debt to be transferred to the court because public debts are not subject to shmita. The court may then empower the lender to collect the debt on its behalf. In this way, the lender is able to avoid the shmita and the debt forgiveness every seven years. Mishnah Shevi'it 10:3 even rationalizes the prezbol as a necessary vehicle to ensure credit to the poor is not cut off.
Third, the heter mechirah permits the Jew to dispose of his chametz by selling it to his gentile neighbor at an inflated price. At the end of Pesach, the Jew inquires about the debt. When the borrower neglects to pay it, the chametz returns to the lender. Thus a Jew whose livelihood depends on chametz (say, a baker or a brewer) is able to observe Passover without forfeiting his inventory. It is upon the basis of the heter mechirah that the Israeli Chief Rabbinate regularly sells its supply of chametz to a Muslim resident for the festival week.
Fourth, Exodus 25 teaches that if a lender takes the borrower’s coat as collateral, it must be returned before nightfall. From a legal perspective, the lender seems to have justification to seize such collateral in lieu of repayment. However, without the coat, the borrower may die and compassion trumps legality. Just because one can do something, doesn’t mean they necessarily should. This is one lesson our recent profiteers failed to adhere.
Such financial instruments underscore the underlying truth: when considering financial matters, religion must prioritize practicality and compassion. The perfect ideals as promulgated by the Torah are mitigated by carefully designed structures in order to ensure that society remains afloat and conscious of the most vulnerable. Though we have come to demonize financial instruments as a cause of our current downturn, Jewish society has survived and even thrived due to such tools. If only our modern day financial alchemists had been so mindful of their effects upon the greater community.

Daf Limud Parshat Shemini: Why Do Nadav and Abihu Die?

2009-04-14T14:41:00.000-07:00

Why Were Nadav and Abihu Killed?
Parshat Shemini - Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

Leviticus 10:1-2 And Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, took each of them his censer, and put fire therein, and laid incense thereon, and offered strange fire before the LORD, which He had not commanded them. And there came forth fire from before the LORD, and devoured them, and they died before the LORD.

Perhaps they violated the law that incense from outside the tabernacle not be used…

Exodus 30:9 You shall not offer alien incense on it, or a burnt offering or a meal offering; neither shall you pour a libation on it.

Or that God was supposed to bring the fire, and so bringing their own signaled doubt…

Leviticus 9:24 Fire came forth from before the LORD and consumed the burnt offering and the fat parts on the altar. And all the people saw, and shouted, and fell on their faces.

Ibn Ezra: Their sin consisted in putting fire in their censers and not depending upon the fire which came down from heaven.

Sforno: Nadav and Abihu were under the impression that as the shechinah manifested itself after the sacrifice of the continual burnt offering (Ex 29:42), it would be proper to burn incense now that the Divine Glory had been revealed and the fire had descended. They accordingly brought it before the LORD, i.e. on the inner altar.

Rashbam: So eager were they to serve as priests, that they took their censers in which to burn incense on the altar of gold before the heavenly fire had descended. On this day of consecration the priests were told to wait for the descent of the heavenly fire.

1. Ego/Rebelliousness

Rashi (quoting midrash): Nadav and Abihu decided religious questions in the presence of their master, Moses.

Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 52a: Moses and Aaron were going their way, and Nadab and Abihu were walking behind them. Said Nadab to Abihu: "When will these two old men die, and you and I lead the generation?" The Holy One said to them: "Let us see who will bury whom".

David Luzzatto (19th cent): And if each took his censer, then there were two censers, and obviously only one would be required for the morning offering of incense. Nadav and Abihu sinned because of haughtiness. They did not want to merely serve under their father, as assistants. The ketoret (incense) was not foreign, but the fire was; since Moshe did not command it, they did not trust that fire would come from heaven to consume it, so they provided their own.

2. Inebriation

Rashi (quoting Lev Rabbah 20:9): Nadav and Abihu entered the sanctuary while in a state of intoxication. Hence the exhortation addressed to the priests in verse 9.

Leviticus Rabbah Summarizes

Leviticus Rabba 20:8-9: Bar Kappara in the name of Rabbi Jeremiah ben Eleazar said: Aaron’s sons died on account of four things:
1) For drawing near to the holy place in the innermost sanctuary
2) For offering the incense without being commanded to offer it
3) For the strange fire from the kitchen
4) For not having taken counsel from each other, implying that each
acted on his own initiative

Rabbi Mani of She’ab, Rabbi Joshua of Siknin, and Rabbi Johanan said: the sons of Aaron died for these four reasons:
1) They had drunk wine before entering the Tent of Meeting (Lev 10:9)
2) They lacked the prescribed number of garments (Ex 28:43), especially the robe that jingled when the priest walked, as described in Ex 28:35
3) They entered the sanctuary without washing hands and feet (Ex 30:20)
4) Because they had no children and were not even married (Num 3:4), supposedly because of arrogance that no woman was good enough

3. They Were Worthy Sacrifices to God

Vayikra Rabbah 12:2: This is what the Lord spoke But when did He speak? [It was when He said], “And I will meet with the children of Israel, and it will be sanctified through My glory (בִּכְבוֹדִי) ” (Exod. 29:43). Do not read בִּכְבוֹדִי, “through My glory,” but בִּמְכֻבָּדַי, “through My honorable ones.” Moses said to Aaron, “Aaron, my brother! I knew that this House was to be sanctified through the beloved ones of the Omnipresent, but I thought it would be either through me or through you. Now I see that they [Nadab and Abihu] were greater than I or you!”

Sforno adds: Aaron comforted himself in the thought that God was sanctified through their death.

Rashi: For his silence, Aaron received the reward that verses 8-11 were addressed by God to Aaron personally.

4. Overzealousness

Ohr Hachayim (18th cent): Nadav and Abihu were exemplary priests with a particularly close and passionate relationship to the Divine. The fire they offered was the fire of longing to be close to God and this was the fire that consumed them. They got lost in their passion and devotion to God.

Sermon Parshat Vayikra - Leviticus and the Financial Bailout

2009-03-27T15:28:00.001-07:00

Leviticus and the Financial Bailout
Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El
Parshat Vayikra - 3.27.09

At such uncertain and doubtful times as these, we may look to religion to guide us through the choppy waters of life. These are tough times. Our economy has given us a lexicon of new, intimidating words: Credit default swaps, subprime mortgage lending, credit markets and liquidity. As mindful Jews, we look to our texts in order to assuage our fears, to clarify the issues for us. And yet here we stand this week, entering into the book of Leviticus, the seemingly least relevant section of the Torah. We look for spiritual sustenance and find instead rules on how to chop up animals along with ancient remedies for afflictions to the skin. At first glance, this book has little wisdom to offer us in this modern age of uncertainty. But I stand here tonight as an advocate of this ancient book, to argue on its behalf. To say that Leviticus is indeed meaningful and insightful when it comes to our modern maladies. And so I present three lessons which the book of Leviticus may teach us in light of our current problems.
1. The need for transparency in leadership. According to Rabbi David Levin-Kruss of the Pardes Institute in Jerusalem, Leviticus stands as a revolutionary work within its era because of the full description of priestly rites. Keep in mind that the priests represented a major bureaucracy of power during this period. They ultimately determined if you were pure or contaminated. They blessed your animals and harvests and performed the rituals which determined future bounty and success. Failure to adhere to their rules could lead to exile from the community or even death. Therefore, we are talking about major power brokers of the ancient world. Rabbi Levin Kruss marvels at how revolutionary it is that Leviticus gives us so much detail as to how the Priests must perform their jobs. Neighboring tribes such as Molech and the Moabites left the knowledge of the priestly duties strictly in the hands of their priests. Therefore, they could abuse their powers without recrimination. In essence, Leviticus gives us oversight and accountability, two words we hear quite often these days. You, the ancient Israelite, have the power to say to the priest, “Excuse me, but I don’t think you are following the rules laid out for you.” This gives the average individual power and standing in a deeply hierarchical society.
Later, the book of Deuteronomy will extend this transparency from the religious leadership of the priests to the political realm of the King. Deuteronomy tells us that if the people decide to have a King, he must carry a scroll of the Torah with him at all times. Therefore, he will be mindful of the rules and ordinances ordained by God over all of the people, even him. Furthermore, the King may be judged according to the Torah’s edits. Even he is subject to the law.
Overall, the Torah, starting here in Leviticus, gives the people the full information they need in order to address society’s power brokers. The rules are clear for all to see, and no one may claim to stand above them. If only we had followed such wisdom over the past decade.
2. Leviticus creates rituals to punish those who deserve it, while allowing society to move on. Here in 2009, our populist outrage has focused us on the small picture of AIG employees rather than the economy as a whole. We have come to demonize the banking sector and entrepreneurs in general, as greedy fat cats of capitalism. We lose sight of the fact that the vast majority of these people have done nothing wrong and that our issues are too urgent to bear such squabbling.
Similarly, in another era of fear and uncertainty, Leviticus creates a solid structure for society to address individual issues and grievances, while allowing the community to re-integrate the individual and move on. The book spends much time on bodily discharges because they were scary in this ancient period. The loss of blood or other fluids was mysterious and could spell doom for the individual. Contamination was always on the horizon. Furthermore, criminals presented a real problem to society. How could they be punished without inspiring a lynch mob whose violence would spill into the rest of society? And once punished, how would they fit back into society without instigating further recrimination?
Leviticus gives us not only the rules of society but the remedies and punishments as well. Once the individual has undergone the prescripted rituals, the rest of society is forbidden to persecute them further. For instance, the contaminated individual is removed from society, treated, and then after a period of time, publicly re-introduced into the community. The rituals are public in nature, to prohibit any sense of demonology or superstition. The issue is addressed and we move on - same goes for the criminal. For those crimes not meriting capital punishment, the criminal receives punishment and is then publicly received by the community. The one exception to this system is the foundation of cities of refuge, where criminals other than murderers may claim sanctuary. But even this is inserted as a pressure valve against mob uprising and unchecked violence. And after all, since Leviticus lacks any sense of prisons or jails, we may think of San Quentin as a large, modern city of refuge.
Although it is not entirely fair, the city of refuge quells the argument of how far to punish someone. Similarly, it would be wise for us in 2009 to spend less time punishing individual criminals for their pasts and more time addressing the foundational structures of oversight and governance which will lead us to a better tomorrow. Put this way, perhaps cities of refuge aren’t such a bad idea after all.
3. Start with the rules and go from there. The book of Genesis is beautiful in its epic stories of ascendancy and failure, the travails of Adam’s descendents, and the relationship between God and the creations of the earth. But as a source of law, it lacks substance. Rashi, the 11th century commentator, observes that the book lacks even one of the 613 commandments. Similarly, the bulk of Exodus is spent in dramatic depiction of the Israelites’ liberation from slavery and subsequent receiving of the Torah at Sinai. But the legal sections don’t really begin until the 40th chapter. But then Leviticus…here is where the rubber meets the road. If you like rules, you’ll love this book. What to eat, where to go, how to act…its all in here. 247 mitzvot, to be exact.
Traditionally, a Jewish child is taught this book first, for exactly this reason. Better to begin with the rules and then flesh out understanding through the stories of the patriarchs later. If only we had followed such wisdom all along. Start with the rules and build from there – rather than strip away all rules and regulation and then create your enterprise. Leviticus reminds us that rules create the basic foundation of society. Under the rule of law, which all citizens adhere to equally, we maintain a level playing field. This allows for open competition, creativity and entrepreneurship. A lack of oversight and regulation leads to cronyism and corruption.
So there you have it – Transparency of leadership, societal norms and primacy of law. All of which are reinforced in the central (if not only) narrative in this book – the story of Nadav and Abihu. Immediately after the laws of the temple are given, these two sons of Aaron, the high priest, break the rules by offering an unnecessary sacrifice in the temple sanctuary. Now if they get away with it, Leviticus would teach us that nepotism rules; that Aaron’s family is above the law. The entire corpus of rules and regulations would be immediately weakened. And the community would most likely revolt against such injustice, leading to violence and chaos. Instead, Nadav and Abihu are both killed, consumed in the fire of the sacrifice. Aaron, their father, remains silent. He realizes that there is nothing he can do. We may view Nadav and Abihu as ancient versions of Bernie Madoff, a criminal who lacks any regard for the rule of law. The system demands that such a thief, who has outmaneuvered the law and made a mockery of it, be fully punished, without regard for his financial or political standing. Best for his allies to remain silent.
Let this story serve as an example going forward. No, I don’t mean we should be burning people. But eventually we will work out fair regulation and oversight that will allow us to grow our industry once again. We will create rules to level the playing field, so that you and I will have a fair shake with our investments and 401k plans. This may seem like a messianic idea, but I, for one, believe. At that point, it will behoove us to follow Leviticus’ wisdom in judging any and all who challenge or threaten this system within the full penalty of law. After all, rules only work when they are enforced. This is where our attention is required – not to AIG executive bonuses or shady sub-prime lenders. And so welcome to Leviticus, the original book of Law. As you can see, it is not so foreign to us after all. Shabbat shalom.

Address to the Islamic Cultural Center of California

2009-03-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

Address to the Islamic Cultural Center of California
For Eid Milad un Nabi - The Birthday of the Prophet Muhammad
Saturday Evening, 3.14.09

Good evening and Salaam Aleikum. First of all, I would like to thank Mahboob Kahn for so graciously inviting me, along with the Congregation Emanu-El community to this momentous occasion. I want to thank Shaykh Kabbani and Dr. Bazargan, along with the various musicians, for sharing the stage with me this evening. I am honored to be surrounded by such scholars and artists. Finally, thanks to the Islamic Cultural Center of Northern California for hosting this event and to all of you for coming together this evening. I see tonight as a real highlight between our communities; something which I hope we can do more often. Let me begin my remarks with a brief story.
One fall day several years ago, a young man stepped onto a bus in Afula, in central Israel, and noticed that the passenger in front of him was acting strangely. For one thing, the large gentleman was wearing a long coat in the middle of September. Secondly, he thought he saw a wire protruding from the man’s coat. Fearing the man was possibly a suicide bomber, he searched for a way to alert the police. The problem was he didn’t have a cell phone on him. In a moment of what we Jews call pure chutzpah, he took a deep breath and asked the man in the trenchcoat if he could please borrow his cell phone. Surprised, the man quietly obliged. The passenger stepped to the back of the bus and whispering into the phone, called the local police. When the bus stopped in the Arab-Israeli town of Um Al Fachem, the police were waiting. Stepping off the bus, the man in the long coat spotted the police and detonated his bomb, killing himself. Because he was outside of the bus, none of the passengers were killed. The young man who had the courage to ask the suicide bomber to use his cell phone to warn the authorities of the pending attack had saved dozens of lives. But neither the fact that this passenger had saved the lives of those around him nor that he had borrowed the bomber’s cell phone is the most fantastic element of this story. That is because the passenger’s name was Ra’id Muhammed and he himself was an Arab Israeli. He had risked his own life to stop a fellow Arab Muslim from killing Israeli civilians.
I read about Ra’id Muhammed while working on an Arab Israeli construction crew at Kibbutz Ginnegar, outside of Afula. It was 2002 and I was in my first year of rabbinical school, living in Jerusalem. I was on my two week break for the fall holiday of Sukkot, and had volunteered to work at this kibbutz in hope of improving my Hebrew skills. Little did I know that my Hebrew instruction would come from my Arab co-workers! Each morning I would arise at 4:30am to meet Chabashi, Jamal and Achmed in the tool shed where we would sip our Turkish coffee and collect our equipment before heading out for work. One morning, checking my email before walking to work, I read about Ra’id Muhammed in the New York Times online. I saw that he was recovering from his injuries from the bomb blast at Ha’Emek Hospital, just several kilometers away in Afula. And so I decided to visit Ra’id Muhammed that evening to say thank you.
After several bus rides and a bit of searching, I found the hospital. Upon arriving, I realized that I had no idea of what I was supposed to do or say. I went to the hospital’s front desk and said that I was hoping to visit Ra’id Muhammed. Surprised, the clerk asked me if I was a relative. No. Was I a friend? No. Why did I want to visit him? I want to say thank you, I replied. And so of course, they called security. After about 20 minutes of questioning, I received permission and was sent to the top floor of the hospital. I strolled past small, dark rooms filled with Arab Israeli patients, 5 or 6 to a room, all with families gathered around them, before finally reaching my destination. I turned the corner and saw in the back of the room, behind another 5 patients and their families, 2 muslim women in burkas, sitting next to a young boy. There laid Ra’id Muhammed, with his mother and sister at his side. I had forgotten that the article had said that Ra’id was all of 17 years old. H was just a kid. I approached Ra’id’s mother and sister and not exactly knowing what to do, did sort of a half bow, saying “Salam Aleikum”. “Aleikum HaSalam” they replied. Ra’id looked up at me and quietly said hello. He was scrawny with teenager acne and looked tired and dreary. Later I found out that after regaining consciousness, Ra’id had found himself handcuffed to his hospital bed as a possible suspect. Being one of the few Arabs on a bombed Israeli bus will do that to you. Even worse, his family had received daily death threats from other Arabs upset about what he had done. No wonder he looked so tired.
After a moment of uncomfortably long silence, I spoke to Ra’id in my best Hebrew. I said,
Thank you for seeing me. My name is Jonathan and I am an American student. I read about you in the American newspapers and traveled here to say thank you. What you did was incredibly brave and I want to make sure that you know that your deed was noticed and appreciated. There is a saying both in the Jewish Talmud and the Quran that to save one life is like saving the entire world, because you have preserved all of the potential that comes from that one life. So thank you.
I continued…
I am studying to become a rabbi back in the United States. In America, there are some people who believe that all Arabs and Muslims wish them harm, especially after September 11th. I will spend much of my career in such rooms. I want you to know that for the rest of my life, when anyone states that Muslims cannot be trusted, or that the Arabs want to kill the Jews, you will be my refutation. Not Ra’id Muhammed, I will say. There’s one Arab boy who risked his life in order to save Jewish lives - and there are many more where he came from. You forever will be my symbol for the potential for peace and understanding between our religions and cultures. And if you do not mind, I will use your example to hopefully create understanding between our communities. Thank you for what you did. I wish you a speedy recovery and all the best for you and your family. He nodded at me silently and I said goodbye.
Tonight, we come together to celebrate the prophet Muhammed’s birthday as well as to confirm our shared responsibility to human rights. I tell you this story to illustrate how this one young man taught me so much about this very topic. Moreover, his example illustrates the grand opportunity for us to learn from one another. I am proud of the fact that Congregation Emanu-El, where I serve as a rabbi, and the Islamic Society of San Francisco, partnered earlier this fall in a pulpit exchange. I look forward to more opportunities for interaction between our two communities.
Tonight, I would like to aim my remarks towards dispelling the false notion that Jews and Muslims cannot peacefully co-exist; that we have been fighting with one another for over a millennium; that our religions dictate staunch opposition between the Christian-Judeo heritage on one side and Islam on the other. On the contrary, the Jewish-Muslim history is highlighted with mutual cooperation, learning and influence. And on the other hand, the idea of Christian-Judeo heritage is primarily a modern invention. I stand here tonight as a product of a religious evolution that could not have occurred had it not been for our Muslim neighbors. We Jews have prospered through the maintenance of a highly porous shell. Given that we have spent the vast majority of the past 2,000 years living in other people’s backyards, we have a great debt to the legacies they have left us. In order to fully understand this history, let us begin with our texts.
Both of our religions feature written and oral scripture, such as Quran and Hadith; Tanach and Talmud. As our communities lived within close reach of one another, it is no wonder that so many motifs are found in both of our texts. Many of us know that both religions view Abraham as their patriarch though Judaism views Isaac as the prime descendent while Islam sees Ishamel in that role. But this is just the tip of the iceberg. Yes, the Quran includes all of the patriarchs, from Abraham to Moses, and many of the narratives found in the Torah. But more nuanced connections exist as well. For example, the often quoted story of Abraham breaking his father’s idols, a favorite of every Jewish Sunday school teacher, is found both in Jewish midrash and in the Quran. Like I mentioned earlier, the insight that to take a life is akin to taking every life in the world and to save a life is akin to saving every life in the world is found in the Talmud and in the Quran. Overall, you find in the Quran and Torah two parallel texts, both promoting ethical monotheism and religious tolerance. Both stress correct action in this world with the hope of what we Jews call tikkun olam, healing the world of its ills. Our scriptures are not diametrically opposed and some would have us believe but are rather thematically complementary.
Our religions feature not only shared texts but shared sacred places, most notably the area of the Fertile Crescent, Israel/Palestine and the rock upon which sits the Al Aksa mosque in Jerusalem. For Muslims, this is the site from which Muhammad alighted to heaven. I know; I have seen the footprint. For us Jews, this rock is the cornerstone of the universe; where Noah’s ark found dry land, the site upon which Abraham bound his son Isaac, and the foundation for the first temple. Just for a moment, let us move past the politically charged question of who controls this space, and marvel at the fact that our spiritual GPS systems are so finely in tune with one another. Our religions dictate that we live side by side. Its up to us to determine the nature of that relationship.
Another foundational commonality is our shared regard for law as holy. Only Judaism and Islam regard the study of law (sha’aria in Arabic or halacha in Hebrew) as being so important, that its creation and maintenance is sacred. While other religions separate spirituality from legal matters, the study of hadith and Talmud are essential activities for the well rounded Muslim or Jew. Therefore to live a holy life is to lead a legal life. This is also why the greatest Jewish and Muslim theologians were the greatest legalists. We eschew a monastic life, seeking refuge from the world in order to find God. Rather, we find God in the world, through our interactions with one another. To this end, Jewish and Muslim mysticism do not remove one from worldly responsibilities. Rather, our faith commands us to act. This view forms a deep foundation between Muslims and Jews. We are both bound by a sense of mitzvoth or commandment.
One ramification of this legalistic perspective is the creation of a legal category for Jews within Muslim tradition. The dhimmi is a non-Muslim who lives in accordance with state shari’a law but retains the individual right to freedom and worship. This legal status protected Jews during the periods of the Abbasid and Umayyad empires and beyond, making the Muslim world the preferred residence for Middle Ages and medieval Jews. Similarly, the book of Deuteronomy introduces us to the concept of the ger toshav, the righteous non-Jew. For Judaism, one does not need to be Jewish in order to live a moral life. As we lack a clear theology of heaven or hell, we are not seeking to send people to one place or save them from another. Our religions permit the other to find their own spiritual destiny, so long as it does infringe upon our own. The Torah is full of examples of righteous non-Jews, including Noah, Yitro and Rachav. People of other faiths do not represent a threat to our own connection to God. Rather, our diversity is to be celebrated.
Historically, the Jewish religion has been deeply influenced and enhanced by our Muslim neighbors. Medieval Muslim theologians such as Ibn Sina and Ibn Rush’d struggled to create a bridge between the Quran and the metaphysics of Plato and Aristotle. They asked the key question: How do you comport the personal, emotional God of scripture with the all powerful yet distant God of the Greeks? Jews such as Maimonides read these Arabic works and set out on a similar path within Judaism, influencing our religion forever. The Greek notion of an incorporeal soul within a physical body was picked up by Muslim commentators and then passed on to the Jewish community. So I can say to all of you here tonight, thanks for the idea of the soul. We Jews rather like that one! Jewish commentators such as Ibn Ezra (an Arabic Jewish name) saw their Muslim counterparts using philological observations to make connections in the Quran. And so use of word roots, tenses and grammar was added to the rabbinic arsenal. Finally, the Muslim system of responsa for specific legal issues was also copied by the Jewish community, creating a deep history of legal insight and analysis which continues even today. Your example gave us the permission to focus the light of religious law on contemporary issues, to connect our faith with our reason. Much of this Jewish material was written not in Hebrew, but rather, in Arabic.
On a simpler note, you may have noted that I wear a kippah – a head covering. Few Jews realize that neither the Torah nor our oral tradition mandates that we cover our heads with one of these. Rather, the practice is entirely Muslim in origin. The Jews of Muslim Spain admired their neighbors for covering their heads for Salat the fixed prayer. As Jews are commanded to pray regularly throughout the day, even for minute events, it became standard practice to cover one’s head at all times. And so the kippah evolved out of Muslim practice.
We go from what sits on top of our heads to what moves our hearts. Arabic poetry and the use of acrostics were incredibly influential on Jewish liturgy. Enter any synagogue today and you will find remnants of this style within our prayer books. These rabbinic poems ring with emotion and spiritual fortitude. The Jewish high holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur make special use of this form, in Hebrew called piyuttim. That is, at the holiest moment on our calendar, we utilize Muslim motifs to voice our petitions and praise. And so there we Jews sit, with our Muslim inspired head coverings, reading our Muslim inspired poetry, focusing on our Muslim influenced idea of the soul, oblivious to the fact that none of these traditions are indigenous. Credit must go to the Muslim community, which eschewed fear or threat and permitted such motifs to be copies and utilized by the Jewish community. As the Quran states, (in Sura 109):
I do not worship that which you worship, and neither do you worship that which I worship…Your religion for you and my religion for me.
10 years ago, I had the chance to visit Southern Spain and to take in the great Andalusian cites of Muslim and Jewish learning. Places like Cordoba, Sevilla and Grenada. If you have the chance to visit the Alhambra palace in Grenada, you will find a central fountain surrounded by 12 lions. The lions were a gift from the local Jewish community, symbolizing the 12 tribes of Israel, a testament to the positive relations between Muslims and Jews. After all, Muslim Spain was a welcome haven to the Jews during the times of the European Crusades. To wit, while the horrors of the first crusade of 1096 were wracking Western Europe, the Jews were so comfortable under Muslim rule that one Jew, Samual ha-Nagid, rose to the ranks of general of the government in Granada. This bears repeating, and I’ll put it this way: Before the creation of the modern state of Israel, the last Jewish army general in all of history fought for the Muslim empire. While hordes of peasants were killing innocent Jews through the Rhine river valley, the Muslim gentry so welcomed the Jews that they elevated one of them to the highest military office. Now try to tell me that Jews and Muslims have been fighting for 2,000 years and it will never end. This is historically incorrect. Again, the fractures between our communities are modern in making and therefore we may use modern tools to address them. Our history gives us hope, not reason for deterrence. Again, I quote from the Quran (Sura 113):
Of the people of scripture [the Jews] is an upright community (umma qa’ima) reciting the verses of God (ayat allah) at the approach of night and prostrating themselves. They believe in God and the Last Day, command the decent and refrain from the indecent, vying for the good. These are the righteous. Whatever good they do will not be denied, for God knows the pious.
Indeed, we will not be denied. Rather, we come together as Abrahamic traditions equally dedicated towards human rights and the betterment of our society; from our shared origins to the mutually beneficial influence upon one another, from my Arab Israeli co-workers to the example of 17 year old Ra’id Muhammed. The truth is, we have far more in common than we do in contrast.
And so I will conclude with a final example: The place where I work. Congregation Emanu-El, where I am a rabbi, was designed by its architect to resemble the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. Our courtyard was highlighted with Moorish influences, symbolizing the hope that San Francisco would host a new golden age. Not just a Golden Age for Jews, but for religious tolerance overall. As Muslim Spain marked the meeting point of Muslim, Christian and Jewish communities, the Golden Gate would likewise welcome all equally. And in some ways, this hope has come to fruition. The Bay Area is the one major US metropolitan area to never enact a single law or quota limiting Muslim or Jewish activity in the civil arena. We are fortunate to live in such a wonderful environment and it is incumbent upon us to uphold and support these ideals through trust and cooperation.
In the year 633, the prophet Muhammad, whose birthday we celebrate tonight, came to the Jews of Mecca, offering a new religion. As you may know, it did not go over so well. Tonight, I come before you with an ancient promise, that our communities may celebrate our common achievements and dedicate ourselves towards a shared vision of human rights and the ultimate betterment of our world. No, this is nothing new, not a radical shift from a long history of animosity and xenophobia. Rather, it is a return to the status quo, to a mutually beneficial relationship which has shaped our communities for hundreds of years. On this occasion, I look forward to continuing this journey together. Ken Yihiyeh Ratzon – May it be God’s will. Amen.

Building a bridge between Chabad and Reform Jews

2009-01-21T15:35:00.001-08:00

Published in the J Weekly, Friday January 9, 2009

by rabbi gedalia potash & rabbi jonathan jaffe

Ben Zoma says: Who is wise? The one who learns from everyone. — Pirke Avot, 4:1

One day last summer, the two of us met to discuss how we could bring our communities closer together. Here we were, two San Francisco rabbis, born a single day apart and working a few miles from one another, and yet in seemingly separate worlds.

We committed that day to breach this gap and to bring Reform and Chassidic Jews together, not in the spirit of division or condemnation, but rather in partnership and learning.

And so, from late October to the end of last month, members of Congregation Emanu-El and Chabad of Noe Valley came together one night each week to study Torah and to learn from one another.

Historically speaking, this class presented a radical break from the usual avoidance practiced between Reform and Orthodox communities. At the same time, Reform Judaism and Chabad’s Chassidism share common roots as modern responses to the perceived banality of rote custom, which is why the class was titled “One People, Two Worlds: An exploration of Reform Judaism and Chabad.”

We differ only in the remedy: While Chabad sought to imbue ritual with additional kavanah (insight), Reform Judaism chose to reconsider those rituals and liturgies that no longer held meaning in the modern world.

But as the Reform movement now continues its current trend toward a re-examination of once-dismissed customs, we sense an opportunity to learn from one another. After all, we share not only a common past but a common vision as well: To reach out to those on the periphery of Judaism, to welcome and inspire them to bring the majesty of Judaism into their homes. And so we set out on this journey together.

Along with 15 classmates from both communities, we wrestled with such pivotal issues as the authority of oral and written Torah, the role of mitzvahs, patrilineal and matrilineal descent, the place of women in society, the messiah and messianism, and Zionism.

We also considered what a Jew’s role in the world should be — after all, Reform Judaism and Chabad have very different views on how public Jews should be with our rituals and observances. For classical Reform Jews, Judaism was meant to be relegated to the private domain, although this has changed somewhat over time. Chabad, on the other hand, has a much more public focus, with town-square menorah lightings, tefillin wrapping and the like.

At times the discussion became heated and we agreed to disagree. But throughout the thorniest of issues, we rededicated ourselves to the idea of klal Yisrael, that we are ultimately one people with both a shared history and destiny. All Israel is responsible for one another, not just those who share common views or customs.

And in due course, we found much more in common than we have in conflict.

In mid-December, we celebrated Shabbat together at Chabad of Noe Valley and at Rabbi Potash’s home, where we sat together for a festive meal. Over food, song and plenty of wine, the group toasted our newfound connection and friendship.

The entire class also shared in moments of tragedy, such as the inspiring memorial for the victims of the Mumbai attack, including Rabbi Potash’s yeshiva classmate, Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg. Our discussions consistently spilled over the allotted class time, from 7 to 9 p.m., and students regularly elected to study together into the late hours of the night. We learned that contact and exchange does not only lead to quarrel, but also can be utilized toward understanding and connection as well.

The finale of the eight-session series was Dec. 29, but the series was so successful, we are thinking about doing another one later this year.

We recognize that our experience is somewhat unique. There are few places in the world where Orthodox and progressive Jews study together, much less Chabad and Reform. In Israel and even on the East Coast, such an exchange is virtually unheard of.

But if we refuse to speak with one another, we ultimately suffer from our own insulation. If Torah is truly not in the heavens, but rather in our mouths and hearts, then we find completion only in engaging the Torah found in the other.

And so we present this tale as an example of collaboration, in the spirit of the psalmist: Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brothers and sisters to come together in unity.

We look forward to continuing our effort to live up this lofty promise of achdut, a connected peoplehood.

Rabbi Gedalia Potash is the director of San Francisco’s Chabad of Noe Valley, a position he has held since 2000.

Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe is an assistant rabbi at Congregation Emanu-El in San Francisco, a position he has held for 18 months.

Sermon Outline 12.27.08 - Discarded Shoes in Islam and Judaism

2009-01-01T21:25:00.000-08:00

1. By now, many of us familiar with the story of Muntadhar al-Zaidi, an Iraqi journalist with Egypt-based al-Baghdadia television network
• Mon Dec 15 Baghdad news conf about security pact w/Iraqis
• Al-Zaidi – “This is a farewell ... you dog!”
• He has since become a heroic figures to many Muslims
• Online game: Hit Pres Bush w/a shoe
• Al-Zaidi drew international attention in November 2007 when he was kidnapped while on his way to work in central Baghdad. He was released three days later.

2. In Islam, shoe is a symbol of dishonor
• Was it just the only weapon Al-Zaidi had?
• Hurling shoes at someone, or sitting so that the bottom of a shoe faces another person, is considered an insult among Muslims.
• Shoes ritually unclean, taken off before prayer.\
• It's considered rude in Arabian Gulf nations to sit with a leg lifted or folded over one knee, lest one expose others to the soles of his or her shoes.
• Jamal Elias, a University of Pennsylvania religious studies professor who specializes in Islam: A hagiography of a Sufi saint published around 1600 claimed that the saint showed his spiritual superiority to a levitating person by making his own shoes levitate even higher and whacking the levitator's head with them.

3. So I ask the necessary question: What does Judaism say?
• Three major uses of casting shoes in the Tanach

4. Most famous: Levirite Marriage
• Deut 25: Woman w/o male heirs – her husband dies. Deceased husband’s brother obligated to provide male heir.
If he refuses this obligation:
The widow shall go up to him in the presence of the elders, pull the sandal off his foot, spit in his face, and make this declaration: Thus shall be done to the man who will not build up his brother's house!
• The questioned status is transferred from female to male and she may marry again. As for the brother, “he shall go in Israel by the name of "the family of the unsandaled one."
• Famous cases: Tamar (last week’s parsha), Ruth (Boaz negotiates)
• The cast out shoe + spitting in face = insult. Publicly, the man is shamed for not providing his sister in law an heir by which the estate will be passed down.
• But this is a narrow case of insult, for specific relationship. One which Al-Zaidi and Bush do not share.

5. Second case: Ritual impurity
• Like in Muslim tradition, Jews historically remove shoes in holy place.
• We keep shoes on in synagogue but Kohanim deliver blessing w/o shoes. Highlight of purity
• Famously, Moses and Joshua both told to remove shoes by God as they are standing on holy ground
• Prophets are either asked to remove shoes when receiving call (Isaiah) or cite Israel’s shoes as a sign of God’s protection (Amos, Ezekiel)
• Here, shoes are barriers to holiness

6. Third case: The Psalmist: Casting shoe in face of insulted one
• Only in the case of the psalmist do we find the true equivalent of the Islamic tradition
• Same line repeated in both psalms 60 and 108:

Moab is my wash basin; upon Edom do I cast my shoe; Philistia, cry aloud because of me!

• God is insulting Israel’s adversaries. Moab (current day Jordan) hold the dirty water after Israel purifies itself. Edom (current southern Jordan / Northern Arabia) receives Israel’s discarded shoe.
• Both enemies receive the waste products of Israel’s spiritual ascent, the people’s communal purification. The recipient is portrayed as defiled, lowly and pitiful.

7. Why go through all of this?
• Once again, our tradition includes similar ideas to that of the Quran.
• The difference is what we choose to highlight.
• Before we reach for moral platitudes, consider: What is worse?
o Throwing a shoe at the President
o Knowlingly stealing billions of dollars from Jewish and other justice based organizations, leaving thousands of orphans, children and destitute in your wake?
o Or maybe its best said that if anyone deserves a good shoe in the face, its Bernie Madoff.

Sermon 12.26.08 - Reform Judaism and Chabad

2009-01-01T21:24:00.000-08:00

Several years ago, I read the now somewhat famous book “One People, Two Worlds”, in which a Reform and Orthodox rabbi discuss, or rather argue over various topics. The book presents a wide chasm between these two Jewish denominations, to the extent that the reader may openly question what remains in common. I had previously used it to teach about Jewish denominations and their differences. But this past summer, prompted by the book, I decided to create a Tauber adult education course which to co-lead with an orthodox rabbi. I was optimistic that we could find more in common than the two authors of the book.
But where to find someone to teach the course with me? San Francisco is somewhat unique in that we lack a strong orthodox presence for such a major city. Everywhere I looked, I kept arriving at the same answer: Chabad. Chabad, which stands for chesed, bina and da’at – kindness, knowledge and wisdom, is a distinct orthodox community, formed in 18th century Eastern Europe, which seeks to preserve traditional rituals and customs through enhanced spirit and intention. They have been so successful here in San Francisco that the entire county now has only one non-Chabad orthodox congregational rabbi – Rabbi Joshua Strulowitz of Congregation Adat Israel in the Sunset. It has filled the niche for more traditionally observant Jews by setting up shop throughout every neighborhood of the city. Ok, so Chabad it was. Now I just had to narrow it down to a specific Chabad rabbi!
I had heard of Rabbi Gedaliah Potash of Chabad of Noe Valley through several of our congregants, who send their kids to his wife Leah’s preschool, Gan Noe Valley, held in their home. Each had commented on his kind and warm demeanor, as well as his brilliance. And so one day this past Summer, I made an appointment and headed down to Noe Valley to meet him. There, I found myself across the table from a kindred spirit . Born a single day apart from one another, we could have easily switched places, with different clothing and beards and fooled everyone around us. Here we were, two San Francisco rabbis, born a single day apart and working a few miles from one another, and yet in seemingly separate worlds. We committed that day to breach this gap and to bring Reform and Chabad Jews together, not in the spirit of division or condemnation, but rather in partnership and learning. And so, for the past 2 months, members of Congregation Emanu-El and Chabad of Noe Valley have come together one night each week to study Torah and to learn from one another.
Historically speaking, this class presents a radical break from the avoidance practiced between Reform and Orthodox communities. At the same time, Reform Judaism and Chabad share common roots as modern responses to the perceived banality of rote custom. We only differ in the remedy: While Chabad sought to imbue ritual with additional kavanah (insight), Reform Judaism chose to reconsider those rituals and liturgies which no longer held meaning in the modern world. But as the Reform movement now continues its current trend towards a re-examination of once dismissed customs, we sensed an opportunity to learn from one another. After all, we share not only a common past but a common vision as well: To reach out to those on the periphery of Judaism; to welcome and inspire them to bring the majesty of Judaism into their homes. And so we set out on this journey together.
Along with 15 classmates from both communities, we have wrestled with such pivotal issues as the authority of oral and written Torah, the role of mitzvoth, patrilineal and matrilineal descent, the place of women in society, messiah and messianism, Zionism and the Jew’s role in the world. At times the discussion has become heated and we have agreed to disagree. But throughout the thorniest of issues, we have rededicated ourselves to the idea of klal yisrael; that we are ultimately one people with both a shared history and destiny. All Israel is responsible for one another, not just those who share common views or customs. And in due course, we have found much more in common than we have in conflict.
Two weeks ago, we celebrated Shabbat together at Chabad of Noe Valley and at Rabbi Potash’s home, where we sat together for a festive meal. Over food, song and plenty of alcohol, the group toasted our newfound connection and friendship. Rabbi Potash’s eldest son, Mendel, all of 11 years old, blessed our entire group with wishes for long life, happiness and of course, moschiach. The entire class has also shared in moments of tragedy, such as the inspiring memorial for the victims of the Mumbai attack, including Rabbi Potash’s yeshiva classmate, Gavriel Hertzberg. Our discussions have consistently spilled over the allotted class time and students have regularly elected to study together into the late hours of the night. Overall, we have learned that contact and exchange does not only lead to quarrel, but can be utilized towards understanding and connection as well.
I recognize that this experience is somewhat unique. There are few places in the world where Orthodox and Progressive Jews study together, much less Chabad and Reform. In Israel and even on the East Coast, such an exchange is virtually unheard of. Again, this speaks to San Francisco’s unique Jewish community. As the largest US city to be founded by Progressive rather than orthodox Jews, San Francisco has never maintained a central Jewish neighborhood. The barriers to assimilation have always been remarkably low, as this is the only major US city to never pass a single ordinance or quote against Jewish participation in civil, political or professional matters. Indeed, this congregation was built with Moorish architecture as a reference to the golden era of 13th and 14th century Spain, in which Jews, Christians and Muslims lived side by side in harmony. San Francisco was built on the romantic model of heterogenous tranquility. All of these factors have led to uniquely friendly and courteous relations between both religious sects and inter-religious denominations. In Israel, one would be hard pressed to find a Chabad rabbi who would be willing to call a Reform or Conservative rabbi by their title. And yet at the Mumbai memorial service, the Chabad community went out of its way to invite all of us, even Rabbi Mintz who as a female and openly gay rabbi, has two strikes against her in the eyes of the ultra-orthodox community.
On the flip side, many progressive Jews dismiss or polemicize against Chabad as a cult, due to the fact that a slim minority of its members regard Rabbi Menachem Schneerson as the messiah. Others openly dismiss Chabad due to its public activities, such as town square menorah lightings or eager emissaries, ready to have wrap any passing Jewish man in tefillin. And yet here in San Francisco, we share common rabbinic boards, the nation’s only major inter-denominational mikvah and burial society, and see one another quite regularly.
I strongly believe that if we refuse to speak with one another, we ultimately suffer from our own insulation. Parshah Nitzavim, which we read each Yom Kippur, reminds us that the Torah is truly not in the heavens, but rather in our mouths and hearts. If so, then we find completion only in engaging the Torah found in the other. This is the major lesson we learn from Martin Buber, himself an amalgam of the progressive and Hasidic movements. And so I present this tale as an example of collaboration, in the spirit of the psalmist: Hinei ma tov u ma nayim shevet achim gam yachad. Behold, how good and pleasant it is for brothers and sisters to come together in unity. I look forward to continuing our effort to live up this lofty promise of achdut, a connected people hood. I hope that you will join me through your endeavors as well. As Rabbi Ben Zoma teaches us in Pirke Avot: Who is wise? The one who learns from everyone. Shabbat Shalom

Sermon Yom Kippur Afternoon 2007: Top 5 Reasons Why We Read Jonah on YK

2008-11-07T07:01:00.000-08:00

TOP 5 REASONS WHY WE READ JONAH ON YOM KIPPUR

5. The only narrative book where nobody dies – Yom Kippur we avoid death.
- Yom Kippur a pre-emptive strike on mid life or late life crisis
- We mimick death in order to reconsider our lives, uphold life
- Jonah goes through perilous journeys (boat, whale, Nineveh) unharmed.

Notes: On Yom Kippur, we descend into ourselves by mimicking death, abstaining from eating, showering, procreating, etc. We come close to death in order to be reborn with complete purity. Likewise, Jonah moves from one perilous situation to another, constantly knocking on death’s door. But ultimately Jonah lives and is reborn from the whale as a new person with a new outlook on life. We affirm the meaning of life on Yom Kippur by reading the only narrative book in the Hebrew Bible in which nobody dies.

4. Teaches us about our role as outsiders in a non-Jewish world
- Nineveh capital of Assyria, destroyed N kingdom. Military + cultural capital.
- Jonah enters non-Jewish world (Nineveh, boat, etc) where people revere God
- In fact, it seems as though the one person who lacks faith in story is Jonah
- Role of Jew in the modern world: To maintain faith and community.
- We spend 99% of our lives in the secular world. Yet we dare preserve our faith.

Notes: Like Jonah, most of us spend almost all of our lives in the secular world. Jonah is a stranger in a strange land, a Jew who encounters only gentiles. And yet everyone he meets, from the sailors to the people of Nineveh, are not only aware of his God, but revere this God as well. In fact, it seems as though Jonah the prophet is the only character in the story that lacks faith. While we here today spend almost all of our time in the non-Jewish world, we come together on regular occasions to reaffirm our sense of community, tradition and faith. We are all Jonah, constantly managing double lives with our secular and Jewish identities. At least for today, our sides merge and we achieve the wholeness which Jonah reaches in his worldly endeavors.

3. Connection to Genesis
- We ourselves reborn on YK. Then start with world’s creation in Sukkot.
- World created on RH, judged in Noah’s generation, reborn afterwards.
- Jonah’s deep sleep – Yardama – same as Adam’s
- Midrash includes in creation the limiting of the leviathan in the sea
- God Adonai Elohim 2x in Torah, creation and here. Plus end of Neilah (p524)
- Adonai Hu HaElohim

Notes: According to the Jewish calendar, the world is created on Rosh Hashanah, judged on Yom Kippur and then the process of creation begins again on Sukkot. Likewise, Bereshit tells of the creation of the world, and then the judgment and recreation in the generation of Noah. Jonah goes through the same process, being judged by God and born anew from the mouth of the whale. Its no coincidence then that the story of Jonah and Creation have so much in common. Jonah goes into the hold of the ship and falls into a deep sleep – the Yardama. We only find this word Yardama in one other place in the bible: Adam falls into a Yardama when his rib is taken from him to create Eve. Secondly, Midrash Genesis Rabbah tells of the limiting of the Leviathan during the process of creation. The Leviathan is alluded to in the book of Job, where God recounts how the fish was conquered. Here in Job the Leviathan makes an encore appearance. But the Leviathan is powerless here; it is a puppet to God’s will, a mean to God’s end. Finally, God is called Adonai Elohim in only two places in the bible. Where? You guessed it: creation and Jonah. While Elohim is a generic name for God, Adonai is the personal name for the Israelite deity. God’s oneness is affirmed by the fusion of these names. We hearken back to creation and job in the closing words of the Neilah service, which we repeat 7 times: Adonai Hu HaElohim.

2. Bookend to the Akedah
- Akedah: We face near death like on YK, to re-establish relationship with God
- Akedah and Jonah bookends for the high holidays
- Akedah: Up (offering “olah”, go up, look up, hold up knife). We ascend on RH.
- Jonah: Down (Nineveh, boat, bottom, yordama, sea, whale). Descend on YK.
- We dip a bucket into the depths of our souls and bring out the impurities.
- In both stories, faith is challenged and God intercedes at point of absolute despair and restores hero to original state. Polar opposites.

Notes: Jonah serves as a bookend to the Akedah, the story of the binding of Isaac. We read the Akedah at the beginning of the high holidays on Rosh Hashanah morning. We read Jonah at the end, on the afternoon of Yom Kippur. In both stories, our hero’s faith is challenged and God intercedes at point of absolute despair and restores our hero to his original state. But the stories move in opposite directions. In Akedah, we ascend. Look how many times the word “La’a lot” – to go up – is used in the Akedah. Abraham is told to raise up an offering, look up to the site, go up the mountain, hold up the knife, look up at the ram, etc. We read the Akedah as we ascend on Rosh Hashanah, as we testify to God’s majesty and sovereignty. And so where does Jonah take us? Down. The key word here is “L’irod” – to go down. Jonah is told to go down to Ninevah but instead goes down to the harbor, into the very bottom of the boat, into a deep sleep (again, yardama, which is from the root L’irod), into the very bottom of the whale – its belly, to the bottom of the ocean. And so on Yom Kippur we descend deep into ourselves. Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote that on Yom Kippur, we dip a bucket into the well of our souls and dredge the impurities which have sat deep within us throughout the year. And so we follow Jonah’s descent with our own. And right around Yom Kippur afternoon we begin our ascent back to wholeness, towards rebirth.

1. Through atonement, we may change our fate.
- In the torah, once a prophecy is made, it is unchangeable.
- Deut 18:22 – If a prophet’s prophecy doesn’t come true, he is a false prophet and may be punished.
- In this system, Jonah is stuck either way.
- Book of Jonah edits Deuteronomy, says we have the power to change our future.
- This is the power of YK: To change our ways and thus uphold our freewill.

Notes: The book of Jonah illustrates that we have the power to change our fate. This idea runs contradictory to the examples given in the Torah. Like Greek mythology, the Torah says that once a prophecy is delivered, it cannot be changed. Human beings are powerless to affect their fates. In fact, Deuteronomy 18:22 tells us that if someone makes a prophecy and it doesn’t come true, they are a false prophet and may be punished; even killed! This puts Jonah in between a rock and a hard place. If he is right, then the people of Nineveh won’t listen to him and will probably kill him for insulting their city. But if he is wrong, then he will be deemed a false prophet and will be punished. But neither ends up being the case. In this way, Jonah reforms the Torah by showing us that our future is in our own hands. This is the true power of Yom Kippur: We come here today to affirm our freewill to change our ways for the better. This is the power each of us hold on this day. Once we set foot outside of the synagogue, we have the freedom and responsibility to dictate the direction in which our lives will head. This is God’s gift and our challenge. I wish you much wisdom and patience in the process. Shana Tova.

Sermon Yom Kippur Morning 2006: Jewish Discomfort with a Religious Vocabulary

2008-11-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

For the past three years, I have spent the summer months working at the Reform Union’s Camp Newman in Santa Rosa, California. One thing we like to do for our campers is bring in contemporary Jewish musicians for a summer long concert series. One evening last Summer, Rick Recht, a modern writer and performer of upbeat liturgical music was playing in our outdoor auditorium. He sang a song that went a bit like this:
“Oh God – We send you our praise – We pray for a better day – when we might walk in your way…”

I couldn’t help but to cringe as I heard the words. Don’t get me wrong – Rick Recht is a wonderful musician and has added much to modern synagogue music. But something about these words just didn’t sound Jewish to me. We Jews are used to minor keys, Hebrew motifs, and less direct lyrics. To here words like “God, praise, walk in your way” sounded awkward, to say the least, and inappropriate for a Jewish setting.
Later, I realized my discomfort had nothing to do with the music or the performance. Rather, as a Jew living in a largely evangelical society, I had grown uncomfortable with certain words and images, those which no longer felt Jewish to me. And then I began to wonder: Have we as modern Jews surrendered our connection to religious language? Have we subconsciously or even consciously limited our language to deemphasize God talk? Have we made God a four letter word?
Let me give you an analogy to help to describe this situation. A common argument coming from the political left is that the right has effectively taken ownership of certain words and images. This argument would give examples of conservative words like freedom, liberty, life, democracy, and images such as the American flag. Meanwhile, formally neutral words of the political left are given negative connotation: liberal, activist, East coast, West coast, etc. Thus the conversation is naturally slanted towards one side. Freedom becomes a conservative value and liberal a dirty word. Now I’m not here to debate politics and would venture to say that the political right could make the same argument about the left. I bring this up only to make the analogy with the Jewish community’s hesitancy towards religious language. My question is, have we as American Jews surrendered our rights to traditionally neutral religious words and images? Are we framing the conversation in a decidedly unreligious way?
Let me offer a few examples of exactly what I am talking about. If I was to announce here today that we would be holding a torah study following this service, I think that at least some of you might be interested. I sure hope so for the sake of Ryan and my careers! But if I told you we would be getting together to read the Bible, the reaction would be significantly different. But we would be doing pretty much the same thing! We as American Jews have become uncomfortable with the phrase read the Bible due to its usage in evangelical circles.
We American Jews do not like the word pray. Other religious groups pray. Instead, we go to services. Services is the most benign, unreligious word I can think of for communal prayer. It sounds like I’m taking my car in for an oil change. I’m not going to pray, no…I’m just going to services.
In fact, I’d like to offer my own top ten list of those words which have been unofficially banned from modern Reform Jewish practice due to their over-religiosity: (We’ll go from 10 to 1) – 10 redemption, 9 revelation, 8 creation, 7 sin, 6 heaven, 5 salvation, 4 repentance, 3 pray, 2 Bible… and the big # 1, God. All of these words play prominent roles in traditional Jewish thought, and yet seem to make us Reform Jews squeamish.
Due to this discomfort, we have created a secret rule to allow us to avoid such uncomfortable pitfalls. And here it is: If you say it in Hebrew, it doesn’t really count. Uncomfortable with saying “Praise God”? Say baruch atah adonai. Uncomfortable with the Bible? Don’t worry, you were just reading the tanach. Hey, we can do this with Yiddish too. Why pray when you can daven? Its like my grandmother used to say: Eating too much will make you fat, but if you’re just noshing, you’ll stay thin. As my grandmother showed me, words are so important.
I didn’t really think much about this until Yom Kippur two years ago. Sitting at the break the fast table in Great Falls, Montana, where I was serving as the student rabbi, I was approached by one of the congregants. “Rabbi Jonathan”, she said to me, “I just want you to know that I really appreciate the fact that we use lots of Hebrew in services.” I smiled at the compliment not realizing what I was being set up for. She continued, “I like it when we use Hebrew – that way I don’t have to think about what the prayer actually means.” Ugh. It was like a knife to the stomach and she would never know it. How have we become so detached from traditional religious language?
I believe that the real situation stems from the unique circumstance of American Reform Judaism. As you well know, Judaism is much more than just a religion – we Jews share a common heritage of history, food, language, the common land of Israel, etc. Judaism is both religion and culture. The fact that there exists such a term as secular Jew serves as proof of this dynamic – calling someone a secular Christian, Muslim or Buddhist makes no sense at all. Only Judaism includes a cultural identity which survives alongside and sometimes even despite the religious one. If you are a secular Muslim, you’re not a Muslim. But a secular Jew is still a Jew. Because of this distinction, the American Reform Jewish synagogue serves as both the religious and cultural hub of the Jewish community. We join synagogues not just to pray, but to schmooze, meet other Jews, and participate in communal events. We can participate in the Jewish community even when away from the synagogue, in such wonderful places as Jewish Community Centers. Here in the US we have examples like my parents, one agnostic and the other atheist and yet both of them former temple presidents.
Now compare this situation to that in Israel. Synagogue attendance and affiliation is much lower in Israel since the cultural component is already served by public institutions. There is no such thing as an Israeli Jewish community center. You don’t need to find the synagogue or JCC to live a Jewish life when your entire country shuts down for Shabbat and every public school celebrates the Jewish holidays. Because of this, the only reason Jews in Israel enter the synagogue is to pray. But this is not the case in America. We must actively pursue our Judaism – and even go to synagogue to find it.
The point is that many people attend Reform synagogues or JCCs for completely non-religious reasons. And because of this, the religious aspect of Jewish affiliation is increasingly downplayed until words such as God and Bible become erased from the communal fold.
As my grandmother said, words are so important. When we lose the ability to communicate religious ideas, we surrender our right to participative religion and move to what Jewish Theological Seminary President Arnold Eisen calls “Nostalgic Judaism”. Nostalgic Judaism is when we light the Shabbat candles on Friday nights strictly because we remember our grandparents doing it. It is attending high holiday services only because we remember our parents making us go when we were little. Eisen explains that any religious practice built solely on ritual without any substantial meaning or background eventually becomes untenable. At some point, we all ask ourselves why we are doing this, and if there is no other answer than for ritual’s sake, our participation will cease. We need to level with ourselves and ask ourselves what exactly we are doing here. And we can only do this in an honest environment including an unashamed use of religious vocabulary. We need to get over our squeamishness and reclaim our tradition. Otherwise, we let fundamental notions such as God be reduced and our attachments to them be surrendered to the evangelical world. We aught stand proudly and declare that you don’t have to be a fundamentalist zealot to find meaning in the bible. Our theology aught serve as a source of pride, not embarrassment.
Today, this Jewish Community Center is transformed into a house of worship, a place where we as a community seek to evaluate and strengthen our ties with God and with one another. We come here today to pray, to focus on our deeds over the past year and make repentance for those times in which we erred. It is our annual spiritual checkup to look ourselves in the mirror, and ask ourselves how we are doing with our one precious life. Yom Kippur plays an essential function only realized when the full meaning of the holiday is understood. The language of the holiday is blunt and confrontational on purpose. Avinu Malkeinu, we have sinned against you. Avinu Malkeinu, be gracious and answer us, even when we have little merit. This language is used to elicit a specific emotional response, to encourage us to dip a bucket into the deep well of our souls, and draw out those things we have most carefully buried. To extract the emotional cancers resting within us. We can’t do this if we constantly shrink from discomfort with the text.
Words are so important. Look at the words of the prophet Isaiah in the today’s morning Haftarah portion. When instructing the people of Jerusalem to participate in the Yom Kippur fast, the prophet Isaiah is careful to discern simple ritual from honest and open reflection. He says,
Isaiah 58:3-4 "Why, when we fasted, did You not see? When we starved our bodies, did You pay no heed?" Because on your fast day You see to your business And oppress all your laborers! 4 Because you fast in strife and contention, And you strike with a wicked fist!

In other words, ritual without intention is not enough. Religious language is absolutely necessary to allow us capture the essence of the holiday and to call us to proper action.
So often in modern society, words are used to soften the blow of unmet expectations or lowly status. The conversation is framed in a specific way to desensitize us from our surroundings. Death is passing away, divorce is separation and depression is emotional imbalance. We don’t even have problems anymore – we have issues. But now is not the time for a shield from reality. We need our religious language more than ever specifically now, here today on Yom Kippur. We come together to pray for not only personal but communal salvation, to renew our bonds with those around us. Such cannot be done when it is only ritual, when we do not level with ourselves through honest expression. Judaism teaches that with words God brought the world into being. Words have so much power, both constructive and destructive. We may speak today and bring our own worlds into being. Words are so important.
I’m back at the Rick Recht concert, watching the kids dance to the music. Meanwhile, the cool kids sit in the back, gossiping, too mature to take such entertainment seriously. And then it hits me – I’m one of them. No, its not that I’m cool. My discomfort is not really with the words being sung but rather with myself. I see myself as above all of this and therefore disconnect with the language. I need to level with myself.
This high holiday season, may all of us resist this temptation to roll our eyes and disengage from real communication and feeling. May the words of our mouths and the meditation of our soul indeed be acceptable to God. At the end of the concert, those kids in the back will say they had a lousy time, and will continue in their pessimistic ways. Who knows if they will come back next summer? Who knows when we will come back to the synagogue? But we can choose to face the music, as it allows us to dance or even if it makes us cry. This is the power of words, when they are carefully heeded and honestly expressed.
Gamar chatimah tovah and Shana Tovah.

Sermon 8.5.07 - Parshat Ve'etchanan: Shabbat Nachamu and Dealing with Our Loved Ones' Mistakes

2008-11-07T06:59:00.001-08:00

I was 12 years old when my grandfather made his first mistake. Or I should say, I was 12 years old when I witnessed his first mistake and had the presence of mind to acknowledge it. The event itself was rather trivial – sitting at a fancy restaurant, my Aunt asked the waiter to add bread to the portion of her food she wanted wrapped up. And while the focaccia at this place was excellent, it struck my grandfather as inappropriate to ask for more bread simply in order to take it home. His ensuring tirade, however, was completely unexpected and left my Aunt in tears and the rest of the family stunned. Family members slid away from the table and gently placed their napkins on their seats, like burglars sneaking away from a tripped alarm. But I sat there watching my Aunt dry fresh tears with wrinkled tissues, and my grandfather sitting stoically, still buzzing with anger. I realized then and there that the man who gave me sage advice, picked me up from school and took me out for hamburgers, was not perfect.
The realization of our mentors’ and loved ones’ flaws is a seminal moment in the process of maturity. Personally, the initial feelings of grief and letdown gave way to relief. What was I so relieved about? Well, if my grandfather wasn’t perfect, then nobody could be perfect because he was the most perfect person I knew. And if nobody was perfect, then I didn’t have to be either. It was okay to mess up, have doubts, and face anger, fear and depression. I didn’t have to bottle up my emotions and hide my imperfections from the world. If failure was okay for my hero, then it was okay for me.
Today we recognize imperfection with a special Shabbat in the Jewish calendar – Shabbat Nachamu or the Shabbat of comfort. Having observed Tisha B’av, the holiday commemorating the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, we now move towards reconciliation and healing. On Shabbat Nachamu, our haftarah includes the famous words of the prophet Isaiah, who says, “Nachamu, nachamu, ami – Be comforted, be comforted, my people.” The temple has been destroyed and the people sent into exile in Babylon, yet the prophet offers hope with the promise of eventual redemption. Yes, the people have erred significantly, ultimately leading to the destruction of their city, but a better day will come.
But for me, perhaps the most important image of the week comes from today’s Torah portion, Ve’etchanan. In this week’s portion, Moses recounts the travails of the Israelites, out of bondage and into the 40 years of wandering in the desert. The ten commandments are restated and we even find the shema and veahavta in this portion. But I would like to focus on a specific passage spoken by Moses. Recounting the story of the Golden calf, Moses says:

21 Now the LORD was angry with me on your account and swore that I should not cross the Jordan and enter the good land that the LORD your God is assigning you as a heritage.

Now I’ll ask you all - What’s wrong with what Moses is saying? Why was Moses forbidden from entering the land of Israel? Right! Back in the book of Numbers, the people cry to Moses that they lack water. God commands Moses to order the rock to produce water. But instead he strikes the water with his staff. Even worse, Moses addresses the Israelites, speaking as if he is responsible for the water. In response to this reprehensible act of idolatry and rage, Moses is prohibited from entering the land with the people.
So here on Shabbat Nachamu we are given a torah portion which shows Moshe Rabbeinu, our teacher and leader, lying through his teeth. Even worse, he blames his audience – the very people who witnessed the original transgression! Why would this story be read today on this Shabbat of comfort?
Like my grandfather was to me, Moses is the closest example of perfection we Jews have. Moses is a symbol of courage, integrity and patience. He espouses the values which many of us strive to exhibit ourselves. And yet he too makes mistakes – and not just tiny mistakes but enormous glaring lie your pants off mistakes. And yet his mistakes do not strip him of his title or honor. The torah still ends by declaring that Moses was the greatest prophet of all time, as evidenced by all the signs and wonders God sent him to perform. And herein lies our comfort and relief: As we leave Tisha B’Av and prepare for the high holidays, we are reminded that nobody, not even our greatest heroes are perfect. And we are no less special or significant because of these faults. On the contrary, it is our faults and imperfections which define us and distinguish who we are. Love is not about finding perfection in the other, but rather embracing limits and imperfections. Many of us spend our days dwelling on our faults and missed opportunities. As we move towards Yom Kippur, the point is not to revel in misery, but to acknowledge where we have erred, repair what can be fixed, and then learn to move on.
The early rabbis were intrigued my Moses’ pain in being forbidden from entering the promised land. Midrash Rabbah shows Moses pleading with God for forgiveness. Now while the usual tendency in Rabbinic literature is to clean up the errors of biblical heroes, the rabbis choose instead to highlight Moses’ hurt and imperfection. He lashes out at God, saying, “You manifestly turn to fraud. Is such the reward for forty years of labor that I labored until Israel became a holy people loyal to their faith?” (Midrash Rabbah, Deut 3:27) When Moses’ plea is rejected, he asks that his bones be brought into the land. Again, God refuses. Finally, Moses asks that he be transformed into a beast of the field or a bird which flies by day but returns to its nest in Israel at night. We see Moses grasping for straws, trying to claw his way into the promised land. He is desperate, panicked and hopeless.
Why do the rabbis illustrate Moses in such a way? Because they too know what its like to be desperate, panicked and hopeless. Because like us, they know what it means to fail; to wish that somehow they could turn back time and change the past. And finally, because they find in Moses a piece of themselves, a teacher, a leader, and yet ultimately a flawed human being just like everyone else.
I never confronted my grandfather over his tirade at the restaurant. And in time, I saw him make many other worse errors of judgment. But his status as a hero only grew in my eyes. Despite his limitations, he did his best to judge right from wrong and to treat others kindly. He passed away 5 years ago, yet remains a steadfast example for me. In the end, his flaws only enhanced his stature and I remember him now only with love. I respected him more because of his imperfections, because I knew his kind hearted manner did not always come to easy for him. Like the rest of us, he had to fight for it.
On this Shabbat Nachamu, may we be comforted by our own limitations and the limitations of those around us. We ought not expect perfection from ourselves or our loved ones. This would be an act of idolatry. Like Moses, they are our teachers and leaders despite their errors or even their lies. On this Shabbat of comfort, may we accept each other, not despite but rather because of the imperfections that make us who we are. After all, like Moses, we are only human. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 1.6.07 - Parshat Vayechi: Inherited Promises

2008-11-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

Now that most of you have met my wife Yael, I can tell you all of the wonderful stories surrounding our wedding. When Yael and I first got engaged, we dreamed of having a small, private ceremony with close friends and immediate relatives. Given the fact that we were deeply in debt and most of our friends lived far away from us in Los Angeles, we thought a smaller affair would suit us just fine. And it was fine, until we received my parents’ list of friends and family they wanted to have invited to the wedding. Did this happen to any of you? Out of the woodwork they came, from Hawaii to England, dozens of names I had never heard of; relatives I never knew existed. From Leonard Bland of Deerfield, Illinois to Hilton Flamenbaum of York, Ontario. Who on earth were these people and why did I need to invite them to my wedding?
I have a similar reaction in reading Moses’ final speech to the Israelites, demanding total obedience to the covenant with God. Moses says,
“I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the LORD our God and with those who are not with us here this day. (Deuteronomy 29:9-14)

What is that? How audacious for Moses to make a promise with people in absentia? According to Moses, the covenant between God and Am Yisrael extends not just to those who heard him, but to all future generations as well. That means you and me. Now, I don’t know about you, but this does not sound particularly fair to me. Since when can a person’s promise be extended to future generations? Lord only knows what my parents, grandparents have promised (most of which I have probably never heard). I always assumed that if a promise is not fulfilled by the time a person dies, the promise is buried along with the person. However, the medieval Torah commentator Abravanel disagrees, saying,
“There is no doubt that if a man receives a loan from another that the duty of repayment falls on him and his descendents. Just as the children inherit their father’s property, so too they inherit his debts. Even though the children were not alive when the debt was incurred, they are still liable to repay it. Similarly, God conferred a privilege on Israel and they were indebted to God for it in that God brought them out from Egyptian slavery.”

Ok. So God brought us out of slavery and for this we and our future generations are forever indebted to God. But for goodness sake, I didn’t even know who Hilton Flamembaum was! I wasn’t even sure if it was a man or a woman. To this day I still don’t know if I am pronouncing the name correctly.
I get that debts and promises with God can be transferred onto a descendant. But how about debts and promises made by a parent? Maybe my parents were being a bit too self-righteous here and were asking for liberties normally saved for the divine. Only the immortal could request that I invite Hilton Flamembaum to my wedding. Yes, that was it. I would tell my parents that they were obviously acting beyond the bounds of moral plausibility, lest they sought to emulate God. Their request was blasphemous! And just when I was getting my hopes up, I realized that the torah disputes this as well, with the story of Joseph as seen in this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi. As Joseph nears death, he has his brothers promise that their progeny will carry his bones out of Egypt. (Genesis 50:24-25)
And so, 6 generations later, Moses fulfills this request by carrying Joseph’s remains out of Egypt and into the wilderness, towards Israel. Just as the people Israel offer their future generations to secure their promise, so does Joseph offer his brothers and their offspring for his. And thus Hilton Flamembaum reaffirmed her, I mean, his position on the invite list.
The Torah illustrates a pattern of familial responsibility that is eternally passed on to later generations. This is a very foreign concept to modern American culture, which with all apologies to Mr. Abravanel, prohibits a parent’s debt from being passed on to their children, at least not directly. We have other examples of this familial responsibility in the Torah. For example, the Levirite Marriage. We read in Deuteronomy that if a brother dies with no son, it is the responsibility of the living brother to take the dead brother’s widow as his own wife, and to give her children. The Mishnah adds that if the brother decides he doesn’t want to do this, the widow takes off his shoe, spits in it, and curses him. Thus she publicly distances herself from this promise as well, all the while getting to spit a loogie in public. As for the brother, this is quite the punishment for not fulfilling a promise that he had never even made!
So where did this leave me with Hilton Flamembaum of Ontario? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I realize now that much of Judaism is inherited promises. In fact, most of us were never given the choice of being Jewish or not. I know that I most certainly had little choice over a certain event on the eighth day of my life, and possibly less choice over an even more painful memory from my childhood; Sunday school. A Midrash from the Mechilta of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai tells us that when God gave the Torah at Mt. Sinai, he asked for some kind of guarantee that we would keep our side of the bargain by observing the commandments. The Israelites offered the Heavens, but God shrewdly pointed out that he was responsible for the heavens, not them. They then offered the earth, but that brought a similar response. Finally, they offered their children, and God accepted. Obligating future generations as collateral to our promises is a part of Jewish history.
So Hilton Flamembaum was officially in. The fact that my parents helped to pay for the wedding further solidified my inherited responsibility. So years after the fact, I’m doubly indebted to them. As for the rest of us, as Am Yisrael, we carry the responsibility of maintaining our ancestor’s traditions. As Reform Jews, we like to believe that we are ultimately responsible for all of our choices. But we do not live in a vacuum, and surely our beliefs, biases and opinions are reflections of the traditions we have inherited.
Fast forward two years and Yael and I are the proud parents of our own daughter. Without much input on her part, she has already had a traditional baby naming service and will undoubtedly one day enter that social experiment of survival of the fittest known as Sunday school. Mali has inherited the names of our ancestors and with them, the responsibility of continuing our Jewish heritage. And while we hope that she will become an independent and responsible person, we both have some pretty good idea as to what that looks like. And after all of our wedding fears, Hilton Flamembaum and his wife turned out to be wonderful people. Who knows? Maybe eventually we’ll end up inviting them to Mali’s bat mitzvah. And so it goes with the Jewish tradition of inherited obligations. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 11.24.06 - Parshat Toldot: Reconciling After the Midterm Elections

2008-11-07T06:56:00.000-08:00

A letter from Isaac the Patriarch:

To the divided nation of America,

Though we are separated by half a world and three and a half millennia, I must say that I am intrigued by your great country. I have been watching a lot of CNN over the past few months (or at least I have been listening, as my eyesight is still not so great). And while I admire your eternal optimism and pursuit of liberty and equal opportunity, I must say that I am saddened to see your great country torn apart once again. It seems as though each election year, your country erupts into fierce polarization. The American people have spent a good part of the past months dividing red from blue, left from right, coast from heartland. And its really taken its toll on all of you. I fear for a community so often racked by dissension, bitterly divided over its future. So as a man who has lived a life embroiled in conflict, I would like to offer a bit of advice to your constituents.

While I spent the majority of my own life resolving the quarrels of my father Abraham’s generation, I myself gave birth to a generation of brutal separation in Jacob and Esau. I took this regret with me to the grave. I look at you now and see my beloved children, blood-brothers pitted against one another. First there is Esau, strong and bold Esau, a proud hunter from the red nation, the Edomites. He is rugged and firm, spending his time away from the big cities, preferring to live under the open skies. He is the biblical archetype of the modern red-stater, a proud NRA card carrier and skeptic of institutional bureaucracies, as they seem to get things like birth rights screwed up. Then there is Jacob, my tent dwelling, lentil-soup cooking intellectual. He prefers the indoors and enjoys spending time with his mother. I think he would have rather enjoyed this quaint city of San Francisco. So these are by two sons. One is Alabama, the other Barak Obama. One is former Virginia senator George Allen, the other Woody Allen. And like you Americans, my sons cannot seem to accept one another and peacefully co-exist.
I too come from divided roots, what with my half-brother Ishmael driven away from me, an aunt turned into a pile of salt, my uncle Lot who offered his own daughters up to a ravenous lynch mob, and my own experience of having to grow up across the world from my father’s tribesmen. My family sure comes with a lot of baggage! But I transcended my family’s quarrels and devoted my life to finding common ground with the other. Now I am asking the same of you. The way I see it, you have two possible futures – following my example of reconciliation or Esau and Jacob’s of division and retribution. I hope you will choose the former and reject the latter. Maybe then you can solve the quarreling which started in my house but has spread to yours like a disease. In order to accomplish this, I wish to offer you four lessons from my life. I hope these tips will help to unite your country, communities, and families, all torn apart by a violent season of accusations and stereotyping. I beg you to heed my words carefully:

1. Stay connected and engaged in your national community. Seems simple enough, right? Still, I remember two years ago, when far too many people half-jokingly contemplated emigration to Canada following the presidential election. Now two years later, others talk about leaving the elitist urban centers of the coasts and joining their bretheren in the South and Midwest. A few years ago some of y’all even threatened to boycott products created in certain regions. This approach is not going to get us anywhere. You Americans should not say, “If my candidate is not elected, I’m going to leave.” You should say, “Because my candidate was not elected, I’m not going anywhere.” True agents of change have complete loyalty to their land and people, and remain to fight for what they believe in. Just look at my life. I was the only patriarch to remain in Eretz Israel in difficult times, choosing to dig wells and provide water for the people. My father Abraham, my sons Jacob and Esau and all 12 of my grandsons left the land in times of peril. I didn’t avoid the problems of my era. I addressed them and made peace with my adversaries.
On the other hand, you could end up like my sons Jacob and Esau. They could hardly be present in the same house at the same time. Their fighting grew so violent that Jacob eventually ran away from home to escape his brother’s wrath. The brothers grew apart and raised families alienated from one another. I would hope that you would want better for your children than the strife and hurt that I provided for mine. In order to do so, you must remain present and invested in your greater community. That doesn’t mean just your street, neighborhood or city. You are one nation, bound together through shared responsibility. America is neither San Francisco values nor Bible Belt virtues. You are a careful equilibrium. Thus you must be present in the national dialogue and invite your adversaries to address you as equals.

2. Rather than dismiss those who disagree with you, try to understand their perspective and work with them. In your country, the blue-states label the red states as illiterate, gun-loving, bible-thumping fanatics, who don’t deserve respect, much less governmental representation. They act as though the knuckle-dragging Neanderthals of the midwest are lucky to be book-ended by the culture, intelligence and creativity of coasts. Meanwhile, the red-states call the blues ostentatious snobs, too obsessed with creating a media elite to consider family values. By creating these vicious stereotypes, each group robs itself of the opportunity to take one other seriously. Political debate is hashed and rehashed on 24 hour cable as a series of demeaning stereotypes in which neither side learns anything about the other.
I’m just glad that my sons Jacob and Esau weren’t alive in this age. They had enough problems on their own. Esau always looked down on Jacob as a wimp and a mama’s boy. He never wanted anything to do with him. And Jacob spent his entire lifetime underestimating his bigger brother, taking advantage of Esau’s trust in order to beguile him. Their preconceived stereotypes blocked each brother from ever getting to know the other.
Rather you should follow in the steps of me and my half-brother Ishmael. Despite being born by different mothers of different peoples, we not only played together (which made my mom plenty nervous), but when we grew up, we even married our children to one another. And look! Esau and Ishmael’s daughter Mahalath became parents of an entire nation. I hope that your children should get along so well! This can only happen in an environment of engagement and mutual understanding. Baseless stereotypes only serve to draw us apart.

3. Stop fighting the battles of your past, lest they become your future. Your election is over. Please stop wearing the “Friends don’t let friends vote Republican” shirts. Republicans, please give us at least a year before you begin to demonize Hillary Clinton. Time is precious and you both need to move on. I learned this lesson at an early age. Like my father, I visited Abimelech, the Philistine King of Gerar. At first, I continued in my father’s errant ways. Like him, I pretended my wife was my sister so that I wouldn’t be in danger of being harmed. But unlike my father, I changed course and eventually made peace with Abimelech. I was able to break a tradition of strife and together Abimelech and I founded the city of Beersheba, now one of the most culturally and ethnically diverse communities in all of Israel. All of this because I refused to continue fighting my father’s battles and did not want to pass them onto my children.
Sadly, my children found their own way to senseless feuding. From the moment of their births, Jacob and Esau constantly fought for my birthright and blessing. They should have thought less about receiving my blessing and more about making blessings of their own. After all, what’s the point of inheriting the birthright of a broken home? As a country a century and a half removed from complete division, you Americans would be well advised to quit wrestling for silly birthrights and start settling on fair compromises. So enough of the Mark Foley jokes and political pot shots. And to the Democratic members of congress, the American people did not elect you in order to usher a golden age of subpoenas, impeachment hearings and ethics investigations. There is much work to be done, and the public is waiting. Make your peace and start rebuilding your communities now.

4. Prioritize important issues of empowerment and diversity; ignore all others. You have spent the past months bogged down in divisive issues concerning the few (Mark Foley, Jack Abramoff) rather than integral issues which obligate the many (the war in Iraq, medicare, the minimum wage and the environment to name a few). You have spent so much time squabbling that it sometimes seems like you have forgotten what you originally started fighting over.
I faced similar attempts to derail my efforts over flippant arguments. For instance, when I built a well near the town of Gerar, the people claimed ownership even though I had built the well alone. Did I fight the people to recoup the fruits of my labor? No, I moved on and started again. When the same thing happened again, I moved farther from their land and founded a new city altogether. This city, Rechovot, still stands today. I could have engulfed myself in a ticky-tack dispute over well ownership. But where would that have gotten me? Instead I carefully picked my battles and built for the future. I dug wells to support a city having a hard time coping with its water supply. I encourage you to do the same in New Orleans. Or you can choose to be like my children – they’re stuck in history, forever fighting over a bowl of lentil soup.

I admit that I have personal reasons to see you succeed, as my own efforts as a father failed miserably. I fear that you will follow the path of my children and become estranged to the point of not knowing one another. My family went through its own sort of civil war, a situation which none of you want to relive. Thus you must wrestle with your personal angels sooner than later, and then move on towards cooperation. So for you the American public, go find your private Yabbok river (where my son Jacob wrestled his nameless angel) and take a good look within. Then take a deep breath, cross the river, and meet your brother on the other side.

In closing, I’d like to share a story with you, the American people of 2006. An elderly is hunching over on the side of the road, planting an oak tree. A traveler comes upon him and asks, “Feeble old man, why do you spend your last days planting a tree which you will never see grow?” The man responds, “I plant today so that my children should receive the fruit, just as I am supported by those who planted before me.” Likewise, you Americans face crucial issues whose impact will be realized only in future generations. You have already passed on a gigantic financial deficit which your children will have to climb out from. Don’t add to this the gift of division, as I bequeathed to my sons Jacob and Esau. I urge you to follow the example of my life and not the circumstances of my death, and stand united towards a better future.

Your friend,

Isaac the Patriarch

Sermon 8.18.06 - Parshat Re'eh: Itamar Walks on Walls

2008-11-07T06:53:00.000-08:00

In Itamar’s room, there are three beautiful, colorful pictures hanging on the wall. The first picture is of a long train, with a green steam engine, with people and animals poking their faces out. The second picture is of a girl flying a big red kite in the sky. Itamar and his father always say that the girl’s name is Rutzki-Putzki. That’s what they decided to name her.
The third picture is of a forest. In the forest live two big lions, Daddy-Lion and Mommy-Lioness, but there is no Baby-Lion, and maybe that’s why the lions look a little sad…At night, after Itamar has his hot chocolate and listens to his story, asks to go potty one more time, asks for his night light, asks for his teddy bear and his monkey, and after his parents start to get mad at him for pestering, Itamar quiets down. Then, slowly, and without making a sound, he starts walking on the wall.
No one in the world knows that Itamar knows how to walk on walls. Only the teddy bear and the monkey know: Itamar walks slowly on the wall until he arrives at the picture of the forest. He climbs over the frame, and into the picture.

So reads Itamar metayel al kirot, or, Itamar walks on the walls. The story tells of Itamar, a precocious young boy who at night walks the walls of his room and enters the various pictures hung above him. This classic Israeli children’s story was written by David Grossman who based the Itamar character on his second child, Uri. As we Americans view Max from Where the Wild Things Are as a symbol of our own childhood, many Israelis see theirs through Grossman’s work. Over time, Itamar has become a part of Israel’s national family.
I read this story to you now as Uri Grossman, the inspiration for the character of Itamar, was killed in Lebanon last weekend. In an article entitled, “Itamar will no longer walk on walls”, it was reported that Uri died after a missile hit is tank in southern Lebanon. Only two days earlier, his father along with other prominent authors AB Yehoshua and Amos Oz called for the implementation of a cease fire agreement. We are now on the 4th day of that tenuous agreement, and while we exhale with relief at the cessation of hostilities, we solemnly remember Uri and the other 116 Israeli soldiers and countless civilians on both sides of the border who lost their lives over the past four weeks. Uri would have been 21 years old in another 9 days. He was to be released (from the army) in November, and planned to travel the world and then study theater.
Here in the US the modern media is only beginning to digest the full consequences of the conflict. And already the finger-pointing and pontificating have begun. Did Israel overreact by attacking Lebanon after the ambush in the North? Should the IDF have gone in sooner and with greater force? Should Prime Minister Ehud Olmert or Defense Secretary Amir Peretz be forced to resign? Lost in the political wrangling is the story of young men and women, exhausted yet thankfully returning to their homes in Israel. And there are those like Uri Grossman who did not make it back.
It is easy for us here in the US to analyze the conflict from afar. Most people in my generation have never served in the army, and don’t expect our children to either. Few of us have family or friends serving in Iraq. But this is not the case in Israel, where everyone knows someone who has died fighting for their country. And this changes one’s perspective on war significantly. As one Israeli father of an soldier told CBS News, “You want the war to keep going on so long as it involved other peoples’ children. But when its your own child, you want it to end as soon as possible.” Or as a mother of a soldier told USA Today, “The loss of soldiers hurts so much, because we Israelis largely see them as kids — everyone's kids. They're serving us, and the tragedy is that they usually haven't had a chance yet to do anything in life except for that.” And so the Israeli public, which overwhelmingly supported the operation against Hizbollah must now mourn the loss of their collective child, all of their Itamars, who will no longer walk on walls.
In this week’s torah portion, Re’eh, Moses instructs the people on many mitzvoth and obligations before entering the land of Israel. This parsha gives us many well known mitzvoth, such as the prohibition against eating milk and meat or the observance of the major Jewish holidays. But lost in the shuffle there is also a small piece of advice that we could all heed now in this time of unsteady peace.
When God warns the people Israel of the danger of following other Gods, God says, “You shall not worship other gods than Hashem, your God, for everything that is an abomination of Hashem, that God hates, do they do to their gods. For even their sons and their daughters have they burned in the fire for their gods.” (Deut 12:31)
In the case of Hizbullah and Hamas, clearly each group has shown a willingness to burn their sons and daughters in support of their God. In fact, Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah commented on the death of his 18 year old Hadi, killed in a clash with the IDF in 1997, saying, "We, in the leadership of Hizbullah, do not spare our children and save them for the future," he told the crowd. "We pride ourselves when our sons reach the front line. And stand, heads high, when they fall [as] martyrs." (Newsweek, Aug 28, 2006) As Golda Meir once famously said, “We will have peace with the Arabs when they learn to love their children more than they hate us.” Perhaps the most tragic aspect of this conflict, then, is that in our own self defense, we have learned to do the same. Israel has no choice but to enlist their Itamars into the army, and have them enter the battlefield from which they may never return. Such is the reality of the situation.
We Jews have our own history of sacrificing our children. In a few short weeks, we will return here to celebrate Rosh Hashanah and read the story of the binding of Isaac. We remember that our patriarch Abraham was willing to sacrifice his one and only son Abraham in order to demonstrate his faith and obedience to God. Personally, I’ve always had a really hard time with this torah portion. How can the same God who forbids us from sacrificing our children in this week’s portion, ask Abraham for his only son? How can I believe in a God who would want such a thing?
Rather than answer this myself, I’d like to share the answer in the form of a modern interpretation written by a Christian feminist theologian by the name of Daphne Hampson. Ms. Hampson’s rendering of the binding of Isaac has much wisdom to offer us in our present situation. She writes,

And with heavy heart Abraham went to his wife Sarah and said, G-d has told me to take our son Isaac, whom we love, and sacrifice him as a burnt offering. And Sarah said, a shrewd move. This G-d is no fool. This is Her way of testing you. What did you say to Her? And Abraham replied, I said nothing. I want G-d to know I will obey Him without a question. I will do as He commands.
And Sarah threw up her hands in despair and said, Abraham you are a bone-headed fool. What kind of a G-d do you think you are dealing with? What kind of a G-d would want you to kill your own son to prove how religious you are? Don’t be so stupid! She’s trying to teach you something: that you must challenge even the highest authority on questions of right and wrong. Argue with Her, wrestle with Her! But Sarah’s words smacked to Abraham of blasphemy, and he went into the mountains with his son Isaac.
And Sarah said to G-d, Sister, you are playing with fire. He is too stupid to understand what you are up to. He won’t listen to me and he won’t challenge you; if you don’t stop him, he will kill our precious son. Is that what you want? And G-d said, Sarah, they have a long journey to the mountains; I’m hoping one of them will see sense. And Sarah said, Like father like son. You will have to send an angel.
And it came to pass as Sarah foretold, and the angel of the Lord spoke to Abraham the first time and told him not to kill his son. And Abraham sacrificed a ram as a burnt offering. And the angel of the Lord spoke to Abraham a second time and told him his offspring would be as numerous as stars in the heaven and would possess the gates of their enemies.
And the angel of the Lord spoke to Abraham a third time and said, because you were ready to kill your own son in the name of your G-d, you will be known as a great patriarch and millions will follow your example. And they will believe that He is indeed a jealous and a demanding G-d, and they will willingly sacrifice their sons in His name and to His glory. And there will be bloodshed and slaughter in all the corners of the earth.
And Abraham returned to his wife Sarah and said, G-d is well pleased with me for I am to be a mighty patriarch. And Sarah said nothing. But she took the garments of Abraham and Isaac that were stained with the blood of the ram, and she carried them, to the river to be washed. And the river ran red with the blood of generations to come, and Sarah wept bitterly.
And G-d came to Sarah at the water’s edge and said, My sister Sarah, do not weep. You were right, it will take time. Meanwhile, hold firm to what you know of me and speak it boldly. I am as you know me to be. Many generations will pass and a new understanding will come to the children of Abraham, but before then I shall be misheard and misrepresented except by a few. You must keep my truth alive.
And Sarah dried her eyes and said, As if I didn’t have enough to do.

And so today we join our matriarch Sarah and David Grossman in keeping God’s truth alive. We look forward to a day when we all agree that the opportunities of a child’s life offer more to us than their sacrifice on the battlefield. This is the hope which we must protect; to guard the Itamar in all of us who simply want to live in peace, and once in awhile maybe take a stroll on the walls. At the end of the book, Itamar finds a lost lion cub in a picture of a locomotive train. Using a kite propelled by the characters on his walls, Itamar brings the cub back to his family. The book reads,

Then, Itamar flew the kite with the little lion towards the picture of the forest. A moment
later the kite arrived at the painted date tree and landed, and the little lion got off and
hugged and kissed his Daddy and Mommy!
“Why did you go on the train?” Mommy asked the little lion.
“Because it had a green steam engine,” explained the little lion.
“Never leave home without permission,” said Daddy-Lion.
“I’m actually tired of riding the train,” said the little lion.
Itamar returned the kite to Shulamit, and thanked her.
“You’re nice,” said Shulamit. “You can come over whenever you’d like, and we’ll fly the
kite together.”
“Good,” said Itamar. He left the picture of Shulamit and the kite, and kept walking back
on the wall until he came down to his bed. He lay down, very tired.
But before he fell asleep, he opened his eyes for a moment and saw Daddy-Lion and
Mommy-Lioness tucking in their cub, and the three of them were very very happy.
So may it be God’s will and so should we all strive for the day when the Itamars and lion cubs of the world return to their families safe and sound, and dream not of katusha rockets or tanks or missiles, but all the future has in store for them. Ken yihiyeh ratzon.

Sermon Erev Rosh Hashanah 2006: Which came first, the text or the opinion?

2008-11-07T06:52:00.000-08:00

One warm and sunny afternoon last Spring, I joined the Progressive Jewish Alliance and hundreds of thousands of immigrants and citizens as we marched down Wilshire Boulevard to support the rights of foreign laborers. As I looked around me, I couldn’t help but notice all of the people carrying posters and banners in support of the immigrants’ cause. More often than not, the heavily Catholic community waved signs quoting the Bible. The memories of Abraham, Moses and Jesus were invoked as famous immigrants. Another sign reminded the crowd that the Bible commands us to love our neighbor as ourselves and to look out for the poor and weary. As a rabbinical student, I was simply amazed by the proliferation of biblical referencing throughout the crowd.
Interestingly enough, several counter protests emerged along the sidewalk. And here, anti-immigration demonstrators collected and offered their own biblical quotation banners. We marchers were reminded that stealing and lying are sins. All God asks is that we obey the rule of law, one sign said. And so it went, protestors on either side of the street, swinging their signs and offering words of scripture like bombs into the other’s crowd.
What do we make of this? In an era of religious revivalism, scripture has become a weapon. The Bible is quoted in nearly every contemporary debate, most often by both sides of the issue. Name the topic: gay marriage, abortion, immigration, tax reform, stem cell research, social security, the environment; and God seems to be either very confused or playing both sides like a sly double agent. As the Bible is considered the ultimate authority on moral issues, each side engages in an arms race for relevant Bible quotes. Yes, its sad but true, scripture has become the atom bomb of moral debate. And as the media offers new levels of senselessness in Paula Zahn or Bill O’Reilly’s latest biblical commentaries (example: Is the conflict with Iran an indication of the coming rapture?) we are left to wonder: Is the Bible an effective proof text for contemporary issues?
The problem is that the Bible has perhaps too much to say on current issues. There is so much material and such a range of views that if we were to read the Bible literally, we could find justification for just about anything. Why not try? For instance, we might decide to sell our daughters into slavery (as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7); then kill any of them that may have become rebellious (Deuteronomy 21:21), then murder any other family members who might convert out of Judaism (Deuteronomy 13:11). Or when considering rape cases, we could read the Bible literally and decide we should kill the victim along with the perpetrator, as illustrated in Deuteronomy 22:24. Along these lines, I’ve constructed my own banner for the next local Darfur rally:
(Hold up sign which reads)
You must doom them to destruction: grant them no terms and give them no quarter... you shall tear down their altars, smash their pillars, cut down their sacred posts, and consign their images to the fire.

Save Darfur!

Yes, its true, you could even use the Torah as a proof text to condone genocide. While all of this makes for an entertaining exercise in absurdity, the Torah strictly prohibits each of the crimes mentioned in other sections. And that’s just the point: The Bible is a winding, nonlinear document written by various people at various times. When people believed one thing, they put it in there. When opinion changed, the scripture was augmented. But seldom if ever was anything erased. For example, when the Israelites were fighting a battle to maintain their society against foreign intrusion, the text commanded them to wipe out the enemy in violent terms. In calmer times, murder was strictly forbidden, like in the Ten Commandments. Similarly, when capital punishment was in vogue, sections like “an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” were written but then softened elsewhere in the torah.
The winding nature of Torah doesn’t end here. Centuries of rabbinic commentary further revised the text to the point that it can no longer be referenced on its own. Eye for an eye was interpreted by the rabbis to mean monetary compensation rather than brutal retribution. Or continuing with the example of capital punishment, the rabbis of the Talmud abolished it altogether.
Thus because of the winding, revised nature of Torah, the text is entirely two-sided on just about every issue. And furthermore, the rabbinic tradition further modifies the text so much that we can no longer depend on scripture alone. Which leaves us with the question: If the text can be read both ways, how do we garner our values from it? In short, do we deduce our values from the text (in a process known as exegesis) or simply use the text to justify our preconceived opinions (in a process known as isogesis)? Or in simpler terms, which comes first, the opinion or the text?
I believe that this question was answered succinctly in the Winter of 2003 with the Terry Schiavo case. As I’m sure you all remember, Terry Schiavo had remained in a persistent vegetative state since collapsing of cardiac arrest in 1990. When her husband petitioned the court to remove her feeding tube and allow her to die, the case made national headlines, even finding its way into the halls of Congress. Suddenly, we had Bill Frist standing before congress and diagnosing Ms. Schiavo based on a few seconds of videotape footage (pretending to write - note to self: find new doctor). Meanwhile, biblical quotes were lobbed like snowballs from one side of the aisle to the other. Overall… it seemed as though God had mixed feelings.
But perhaps the most interesting debate occurred within the Jewish world, which stirred with activity. Now the Jewish view on assisted suicide actually comes from an extremely obscure passage in the Shulchan Aruch, a legal code written in the 16th century by the kabbalist and legalist Joseph Caro. The source does not even come from the text itself. It can only be found in Rabbi Moshe Isserles’ Ashkenazi commentary to the Sephardic Shulchan Aruch, book Yoreh Deah, chapter 339 section 1 (Yes, its so obscure that it comes from a footnote to a regional second edition). Isserles argues that if a moribund patient is kept alive by a natural cause, such as allergies to their pillow, we are forbidden from removing that object so that the person may die. However, if a moribund patient is kept alive by an unnatural cause, such as the noise of someone chopping wood outside the patient’s window, then the woodchopper may be silenced so that the person may die. (Yoreh Deah 339:1)
As you can see, there is a very fine line drawn here. Does the feeding tube constitute a natural sustainer of life, like the pillow, or an artificial sustainer of life, like the woodchopper?
On a report aired on NPR, this question was asked of American rabbis. And here is where things got interesting: Every single Orthodox rabbi interpreted the text to mean that the feeding tube was natural like a pillow and therefore had to be maintained. And of course, every Reform rabbi interpreted the text to mean that it was an artificial life support like the woodchopper and thus had to be removed. Now was this pure coincidence that the rabbis just happened to interpret the text along the lines of their movement’s stances? Of course not!
Clearly both sides had formulated their opinions a priori, that is, before they were confronted with the text. Otherwise surely there would have been some dissension amongst rabbis within the same movement. Since when have you heard of two rabbis having the same opinion, much less dozens? This example clearly illustrates what so many of us have known all along: Most often, biblical text does not inform peoples’ opinions but rather is used as fodder to prop up their preconceived notions. If this is the case, then the Bible carries no weight as a proof text for contemporary issues. The protestors on Wilshire Boulevard are presenting a circular argument. You can’t reference a form of evidence that supports either side, depending upon their pre-held beliefs.
Ironically, the rabbis of the Talmud reached the very same conclusion centuries ago. In a famous section of the Talmud (Baba Metzia 59b), Rabbi Eliezer is engaged in an argument with his colleagues’ ruling over Jewish law. In a fantastic fury, Eliezer declares that if he is right, the carob tree next to him will prove it. Immediately whoosh! The carob tree flies 100 feet away. The other rabbis are not impressed. Further enraged, Rabbi Eliezer announces that if he is right, the stream of water will flow backwards. The water shifts direction, yet the rabbis remain indifferent. Again he announces, if the law agrees with him, the walls of the house of study will prove it. The walls begin to slant, yet the rabbis are unmoved. We can see that the tradition of Jewish stubbornness has a long and lustrous history. Finally, Rabbi Eliezer declares, “If I am right, let it be proved from Heaven!” Whereupon God’s voice booms out: “Rabbi Eliezer is right!” Showing that the Jewish tradition of chutzpah has an equally lustrous history, Rabbi Joshua takes up the argument with God. He replies: “Lo b’shamayim hee – that is, It is not in heaven.” The Talmud continues: What did he mean by this? Rabbi Jeremiah interpreted: “That since the Torah had already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a heavenly voice. And as that was very long ago, we now follow the majority.” To this, God laughs with joy, saying, “My children have defeated me; my children have defeated me.”
Rabbi Joshua is saying that the rabbis and not God will determine what God meant in the Torah. This is a revolutionary view – the rabbis of the Talmud are essentially superceding God and giving themselves authority in interpreting the text according to their sensibilities. And this rabbinic authority is inherited by each of us here today. We have the right and responsibility to weigh the text in concert with our sense of right and wrong. Or as Thomas Jefferson once wrote, “Question with boldness even the existence of God, because, if there be one, he must more approve the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.” (Suarez, 19)
The rabbis acquired the authority of interpretation from the torah itself. God sanctions it in Deuteronomy 17. In it, God commands that if a criminal, civil or class action case arises to which there is no clear law in the torah, the case should be brought before a judge who will declare a binding judgment. Therefore, in complex modern issues such as stem cell research or gay marriage, we have the unequivocal authority to make decisions outside of the original text. The torah explicitly makes room for the future extension of the lawgiving process. Otherwise, the rabbis would have lacked the authority to begin the Talmud in the first place!
So what have we learned? Well, biblical citations addressing current issues fail to hold water for three reasons: 1. Because the Bible is a winding, contradictory document that says different things at different times; 2. Because its clear that people bring their preconceived values to the text rather than garner them from it. 3. Jewish tradition puts ultimate legal authority not in the text but rather in our interpretation according to modern sensibility. What does this add up to? That using scripture alone as the ultimate proof text for contemporary issues is both ineffective and incongruous with the Jewish tradition that grew out of the Torah.
Now I’m not saying that the Torah is ambivalent on all moral issues. Clearly, several major themes emerge and are confirmed in scripture time and time again. Life is sacred. Peace is better than war. People deserve our love and respect. As Hillel famously said to one of his students, “Do unto others as you would want done to you. The rest is commentary”. No one can argue against the Torah making these broad moral arguments. But the Judaism which we come together to celebrate today is based squarely upon the nitty-gritty rabbinic interpretation of text, a process which continues today and gives each of us the chance to add our two cents. In 10 days we will observe Yom Kippur. What does the Torah tell us to do that day? To rest and to practice self-denial. That’s it! Nothing else. Everything from observance to liturgy is based on later interpretations of the text. Judaism itself is a rabbinic innovation of the Torah.
So what then is the point of studying Torah if not to answer the specific moral dilemmas of our day? Torah may teach us that life is sacred, but what does it offer us in specific instances such as the Terry Schaivo case?
Here’s the answer: The Torah is meant to be a beginning rather than an end. It is the foundation upon which the edifice of Jewish tradition is built. It should inspire, motivate and spark our inner imagination. The Torah opens our minds to great moral debates, heroes and tragedies, life and death. The stories give us examples of situations we all come to face, analogies that offer insight into the human condition. It is the beginning of an open-ended conversation with our community and ourselves. But it is not the only voice to be regarded – it must be used with sensitivity. The modern Jew must integrate the teaching of the torah with the values of the day and the long tradition of Jewish interpretation.
Rosh Hashanah is an extremely personal and emotional holiday. In transitional moments such as these, Torah aught serve as our guide, not a proof-text. After all, the Bible is meant to be read, not thumped. It is the tool by which we may renew ourselves tonight. The Torah is written in our language so that we may mechadesh ha’olam – renew our world. Rather than a weapon, the Torah is a device that we make our own when we engage the text openly and without agenda.
Therefore, I have designed my own protest banner, suitable for use at your next political rally, pro wrestling event, Ice Capades, what have you. So when the person next to you holds up a sign featuring a religious quotation, you can show them this:
(Hold up the sign)
“Since the Torah has already been given at Mount Sinai; we pay no attention to a heavenly voice. As that was very long ago, we now follow the majority.” (Babylonian Talmud, Baba Metzia 59b)

You may have to explain to them what the sign means, but after all, the whole point of studying Torah is interpretation. Who knows? You might just find yourself with a new chevruta study partner!
Or maybe its time that we forget about signs altogether and use our brains instead. As we renew ourselves for the coming year, may we create opportunities for intersection and collaboration and not stubborn opposition. Rather than dig in our heels, let us open our minds and hearts and allow the text take us wherever it may lead us. Proof texts are natural conversation enders. Let us find in Torah a new beginning. After all, as the Torah proves….I mean says: “It is a tree of life to those who cling to it and all of its paths are paths of peace.”
Shana Tova and Shabbat Shalom

Sermon 2.15.06 - Parshat Yitro: Are we Allowed to Criticize Israel?

2008-11-07T06:51:00.001-08:00

Parshat Yitro
Are we allowed to criticize Israel?
Jonathan Jaffe – Congregation Emanu-El

I begin tonight with a question: as Jews, are we prohibited from criticizing the state of Israel? Does our religious and cultural identity mandate that we support Israel’s national policy at every step? I ask this question in light of the recent essay entitled “Progressive Jewish Thought and the New Anti-Semitism” written by Alvin Rosenfeld and commissioned by the American Jewish Committee. In the essay, which has stirred great debate within the Jewish community, Rosenfeld argues that a new liberal anti-Semitism is being led by progressive Jews and their condemnations of Israeli policy. That is, Jewish criticism of Israel is endangering Israel and is therefore both anti-Zionist and anti-Semitic. After all, as Brandeis professor Shulamit Reinharz has commented, “In a world where there is only one Jewish state, to oppose it vehemently is to endanger Jews.”
The essay continues by outing several prominent liberal Jews such as playwright Tony Kushner and Washington Post editorialist Richard Cohen as demagogues of this liberal conspiracy. By speaking out against Israeli policy or by buying into historical revisionism, these liberals have sparked a new tide of anti-Semitism. Therefore the correct way to support Israel is to give it carte blanche in its internal and external operations.
Professor Rosenfeld’s argument seems all too callous as an American living in an era in which public dissent is often portrayed as anti-patriotism. Our own government has consistently argued that criticism of American policy “enables our enemies” and “puts our troops in danger”. Any real American must support the president in “staying the course”. Rosenfeld has taken this logic one step further, arguing that criticizing a country in which we are not citizens constitutes political sabotage. Since when does criticism amount to treachery?
I recall the wise words of American Jewish liberal (you can tell the AJC already doesn’t like him) commentator Al Frenken. In response to the argument that criticism of American policy amounts to anti-Patriotism, Frenken makes an interesting analogy. He says that there are two kinds of love: childish love and adult love. For a child, everything their mommy does is perfect and wonderful. Mommy can do no wrong. To criticize mommy is purely unthinkable. All of us have experienced this form of love. But as we get older, Frenken argues, we graduate to adult love. Adult love is when we realize that our loved ones are fallible and imperfect. True love occurs when we accept the other, not just despite their blemishes and faults, but openly with them. Over time, these quirks may indeed even enhance our love for the other. At the same time, we acknowledge our own imperfections. In adult love, we save our most honest criticism for those we love most. We criticize because we love; because we want the other to live up the great expectations and standards we have for them.
As an American Jew, I have an adult love for the state of Israel. This does not mean that I love everything Israel does. And while I see Israel as imperfect and still evolving, that does not mean that her neighbors stand beyond judgment either. I love Israel as the greatest of social experiments, the bringing together of disparate peoples from around the globe, each with distinct languages and cultures, and melding them into a burgeoning democracy, in the heart of the world’s most hostile zip code. As Israel is only 59 years old, it is still figuring out who it will be. This is one reason why it is so exciting to visit Israel – I imagine the feeling is quite similar to living in our country in the beginning of the 19th century, when the nation was young and still figuring itself out. It took us over a century to finally wrestle with slavery, an issue far more egregious than anything Israel has done. Israel is still going through these growing pains.
But when Israeli policy puts 3,000 fanatical settlers into a Gaza strip packed with 1.5 million Palestinians, I criticize out of love. When Israel devotes 30% of the roads and infrastructure to these 3,000 settlers, I criticize out of love. When Arab Israelis are treated inferiorly, I criticize out of love. When Israel abuses immigrant laborers and allows them to be taken advantage of, I criticize out of love. When Israel raises its pension age and lowers teachers’ pay, all the while supporting thousands of non-working orthodox Jews, I criticize out of love. And hopefully, none of this makes me the new Jimmy Carter. I steadfastly maintain Israel’s right to exist and to defend herself. But I am personally pained when Israel makes poor decisions which limit her from reaching the high expectations I hold for her. This isn’t anti-Zionism and it certainly isn’t anti-Semitism. It’s a mature, adult love for my people’s homeland.
For me, the most shocking element in this debate is that Israelis have long embraced such an open debate. Open the editorial page of Ha’aretz on any given day and you will find open criticism a will to change Israeli policy. Here in America, we panic when a Muslim is elected to the House of Representatives and wants to be sworn in on a Quran. But Israel, which has been attacked numerous times by a coalition of Arab armies, opens its doors to Arab political parties and hardly raises a peep when they send Muslim representatives to the Knesset. How is it that debate on Israel is so stifled here, halfway around the world, whereas in Israel, criticism is made openly and freely?
In this week’s Torah portion, Moses’ father in law, Yitro, observes Moses legislating to the people. After watching Moses labor throughout the day, Yitro says to him, “The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone.” In today’s era of modern discourse, we might expect Moses to reply, “Stupid old man. Don’t you see that your questioning of my tactics only emboldens the enemy? You are not even one of us and so your criticism of Israel smacks of anti-Semitism. Bite your tongue and support our troops.”
But Moses recognizes that Yitro’s criticism is made out of love for him and the people. He listens to his father in law and changes his ways, allowing the Israelites to deal with their own problems.

Sermon 3.25.07 - Parshat Vayikra: Ascending Past Demonology

2008-11-07T06:50:00.000-08:00

Parshat Vayikra
3.25.07
Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

When I was growing up, I was permitted to stay up late and watch TV on one night alone: Saturday evenings. This was because Saturday Night Live represented a real institution in our house, shared by the entire family. Like many in my generation, I grew up on Gumby, Wayne’s World and the Church Lady. My sister and I would bet on whether or not my father could stay awake long enough to reach the fake news segment. Inevitably, he would fall asleep and start snoring loudly after the first 30 minutes of the show. Even today, SNL reruns don’t seem the same without the background noise of his deep snoring.
One of my favorite skits from Saturday Night Live featured Steve Martin as Theodoric of York, a medieval physician. People would enter his home with various maladies [mal-uh-dee] which Theodoric would treat through absurd remedies such as bloodletting, leeches or disgusting potions. In one particular episode, Theodoric’s treatment fails as usual to heal a certain patient. He confides to her mother,
“You know, medicine is not an exact science, but we are learning all the time. Why, just fifty years ago, they thought a disease like your daughter's was caused by demonic possession or witchcraft. But nowadays we know that Isabelle is suffering from an imbalance of bodily humors, perhaps caused by a toad or a small dwarf living in her stomach.”
While the ludicrous nature of the diagnoses and remedy gives the skit its humor, it is also based on historical reality. For almost all of human history, disease has terrified and confused the human race. For our ancestors, even a minor disease or infection could spell doom for an entire population. Major diseases like the bubonic plague had the power to wipe out large segments of the population. Ancient peoples lived in a constant state of worry and confusion regarding illness.
Like Theodoric of York, ancient doctors tended to connect disease with demonic possession or divine judgment. Think of Job’s sores or the boils suffered by Pharoah and the Egyptians. Ancient civilizations from the Greeks to the Babylonians viewed epidemics as being divinely inspired. Such thought was all the more important in the Middle East environment, a region of hot and wet weather, perfect for bacteria growth and infection. Thus for the ancient Israelites, care and ritual precision was as important as cleanliness is for a modern day surgeon.
The book of Leviticus, which we begin with this week’s Torah portion, therefore represents a major step forward in how diseases and contaminations are viewed. The book refuses to blame the victim, and never says that someone is sick because they are sinful. We may contrast this with the book of Deuteronomy, which clearly outlines a covenantal relationship between God and Israel in which God punishes the people with epidemics when they fail to keep the covenant. For example, God offers this choice threat in Deuteronomy 28:
20 The LORD will let loose against you calamity, panic, and frustration in all the enterprises you undertake, so that you shall soon be utterly wiped out because of your evildoing in forsaking Me. 21 The LORD will make pestilence cling to you, until He has put an end to you in the land that you are entering to possess. 22 The LORD will strike you with consumption, fever, and inflammation, with scorching heat and drought, with blight and mildew; they shall hound you until you perish.
Leviticus, on the other hand, refuses to blame the infected individual and therefore transcends the limits of demonology. The book is not interested in blame but rather in helping the individual return to society unscathed. The patient must go through a complicated set of purification rituals, not because he has sinned, but because he has become contaminated. In sum, Leviticus undermines common stereotypes and expectations from ancient civilization and replaces them with a set of rituals to safely bring the individual back into the community.
Animal sacrifice was a regular facet of ancient religion, but was originally meant to tempt or scare away the evil spirits from the patient. Such ritual itself represented a step forward from human sacrifice, which eradicated the demonized soul from the community. Leviticus goes a step further, taking the ancient practice of ritual sacrifice and transforming it into a means towards human purification. In Leviticus, disease is a regular fact of life which does not involve the deity, through blame, cure or otherwise. Rather, a complicated set of rituals are constructed by which the infected individual is outed publicly, sequestered from the community, and then reintroduced in a series of stages. Once back in the community, the individual regains full status. In this way, the book of Leviticus is light years ahead of Theodoric of York, as well as much of middle age and medieval medicine.
Thus while many of us often turn from the book of Leviticus with disgust and confusion, we should note that it presents the most modern theology of all the books of the Torah. Whereas we long ago dismissed the idea of God punishing all sins and rewarding all good deeds, this is the ideology supported by most of the Torah. Leviticus alone shrugs its shoulders and says, “things happen”, and turns not towards blame but rather in the direction of remedy.
Additionally, though filled with gory details of animal sacrifice, Leviticus is the least violent book in the entire Torah. Only two people die in the entire book: Nadav and Abihu, who violate the rituals layed out by God. Unlike earlier sections of the Torah, Leviticus deals with violence in a sophisticated way, containing it and making only ritualized slaughter legitimate. Rather than being full of violence, the way we think of it, the book looks for a way to contain violent impulses in a way that avoids murder. Just as Isaac’s death was avoided through the sacrifice of the ram, so too does the Israelite community shield one another from violence through sacrificial rituals.
According to Jewish tradition, Leviticus is the first book to be taught to a child. We often give the reason that this book teaches us the basic do’s and don’t of the religion: Don’t eat this, do celebrate that, don’t go here, do remember this. But perhaps we teach this book foremost because out of all the books of the Torah, Leviticus most closely mirrors our own modern theology. As Rabbi Harold Kushner points out in his famous book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, things happen all the time for which we have no logical or theological explanation. The Holocaust has shattered any remaining notion that human suffering constitutes a form of divine punishment for personal or group sin. The best we can do is to accept a given level of chaos and uncertainty in our lives and offer our best response. Leviticus supports the individual’s dignity as a member of the community, all the while containing society’s impulse towards violence through religious ritual. Once violence is made a part of the priestly function, it can no longer be tolerated in the public arena and can be forcibly legislated and punished.
But most of all, Leviticus represents the most pure form of monotheism in action. By denying demonic powers over such frightening threats as disease and sickness, the book reaffirms the notion that there is one God alone. After Leviticus, nobody can claim that the devil made them do it. It is for all of these reasons that our liturgy, including tonight’s service, is based upon the priestly rites as outlined in this week’s parsha. Hidden here, beneath the blood and burning flesh, lies the heart of the modern and ethical religion we now call our own. So before you turn your nose at another list of animal body parts and places for blood to be sprinkled, realize that you are ready the earliest stages of modern ethical monotheism. Now if only someone had told Theodoric of York.

Sermon Yom Kippur Afternoon 2006: A Day Like Purim

2008-11-07T06:48:00.000-08:00

A Day like Purim
Yom Kippur Afternoon Sermonette
Jonathan Jaffe

Believe it or not, according the Zohar, the most famous of Judaism’s mystical sources, there exists a strong connection between Yom Kippur and the holiday of Purim. At first glance, this sounds absurd. Yom Kippur is a serious and solemn occasion in which we investigate our actions over the past year. Meanwhile Purim is anything but serious, and we are encouraged to forget our actions altogether and revel in the moment. As the Talmud instructs us, we should drink to the point that we can’t tell Mordecai from Haman. But these diametrically opposed holidays, one found in the beginning of Fall the other the beginning of Spring, do indeed share many important connections. So much so that Yom ha-Kippurim, the day of atonement, may be read as Yom C’Purim – The day like Purim.
In the book of Esther, our heroin goes before King Ahasheuerus to plead for the life of her people. Now here today on Yom Kippur, we come together before our king – Avinu Malkeinu – and plead for the life of our community. Esther says to Ahasheurus - "If it pleases Your Majesty, and if I have won your favor and the proposal seems right to Your Majesty, and if I am pleasing to you -- let dispatches be written countermanding those which were written by Haman.” We too come before God, asking for favor, to be seen in a pleasing manner, and for mercy. In fact, two of the most famous words in all of the high holiday service are found later in the book of Esther. We have an entire section of “uvechens” in the high holiday Amidah, literally meaning “therefore”, in which we urge God to consider merciful action. The word Uvechen is only found twice in all the bible, first in Ecclesiastes and then in Esther. But only in the book of Esther is it connected to fasting and repentance. Esther says:
I also and my maidens will fast in like manner; and so (uvechen) will I go in unto the king.

Likewise, the word “tokef” or power, as in “unetaneh tokef” recurs throughout the liturgy. We appeal to God’s power to redeem and sustain us. The only place the word tokef is found in all the bible is guess where – in Esther. Esther is writing an account of the salvation of the Jewish community, to be sent throughout the kingdom, as the book of Esther reads,

JPS Esther 9:29 Then Esther the queen, the daughter of Abihail, and Mordecai the Jew, wrote down all the acts of power (tokef), to confirm this second letter of Purim.

Esther’s writing gives us another connection to high holiday imagery – just as Esther writes down an account of God’s actions and sends it throughout the kingdom, so too are we inscribed today in the book of life. Our actions are recorded for eternity.
Finally, Yom Kippur is similar to Purim in its observance. No, Im not telling you all to drink heavily this evening at your break-fast. But on Purim we dress up as someone other than ourselves. Costumes are a part of the holiday. On Yom Kippur we dress up as well. Traditionally, Jews attend Yom Kippur services dressed all in white, signifying purity and likening us to angels. Others wear a traditional kittel, the garment we are buried in, and thus dress up like the dead, as Yom Kippur is seen as small taste of the permanence of death. In a more contemporary way, many of us dress our finest for Yom Kippur to signify the esteem in which we hold this holiday above all others. Either way, few of us are dressed today as we are throughout the rest of the year. When it comes to being judged by the eternal source of creation, we tend to dress for success.
So there you have it – Purim, named for the drawing of lots to choose what day the Jews were to be judged, is extremely similar to Yom Kippur, the day we confront our own mortality and ask for mercy. May we all be heard on this day of atonement, and find strength in the renewed bonds between one another. Happy Purim … I mean …. Shana Tova.

Sermon Outline 7.28.07 - Parshat Va'etchanan: Understanding Shabbat Nachamu

2008-11-07T06:45:00.000-08:00

Sermon outline
Parshat Va’etchanan – Shabbat Nachamu
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
7.28.07

Big Idea: The texts surrounding Shabbat nachamu teach us that erring is ok, that for every bit we rebuke ourselves, we should more than double it with comfort.

1. Wisdom of Jewish calendar
- We receive specific messages in specific seasons
- Clues of where we need to be, where to focus our attention

2. Crucial time in the year
- Before Tisha B’Av, 3 weeks of “rebuke” haftarot
- Prophet warns, turn away from evil deeds or God will punish
- Now we stand 7 weeks before Rosh Hashanah. 7 weeks of comforting.

3. Turning point is Lamentations
- Lamentations is Jeremiah’s account of the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE
- Shabbat peace flipped on its head – Shabbat bride is publicly ravaged
- But there are two signs of future building:
a. Lamentations acrostic (1,2,4, regular, 3 triple, 5 26 verses)
- Pain is becoming constructed, routine established
- Like acrostic of vidui in YK (Ashamnu, Bagadnu, etc)
- Much of YK Liturgy acrostic
b. Final line, from liturgy: Hashiveinu Adonai Eleicha v’Nashuva, Kadiesh Yameinu K’kedem - Take us back, O LORD, to Yourself, And let us come back; Renew us as in days of old!
- Admission of guilt, moving towards conciliation
- Kedem – In Genesis – OK to have mistakes. Natural part of life.

4. This week’s Haftarah: Isaiah 40 – Nachamu, nachamu Ami
- This is beginning of 2nd writer Isaiah. In Babylon, foretelling Is’s restoration.
- Comfort, oh comfort My people, Says your God. 2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, And declare to her That her term of service is over, That her iniquity is expiated; For she has received at the hand of the LORD Double for all her sins. – DOUBLE = 7 weeks (versus 3)
- It is time to stop beating yourself up for last year’s mistakes. Now repair.
- As Lamentations showed us, it is natural to err. We need not be ashamed.
- Talmud: YK atones between God and man. We need to atone for man and man.

5. Torah portion Va’etchanan,
- Gives Israel hope with 2 of the most important sections:
- 10 commandments and the shema
- Also consoles Israel: Deuteronomy 4:29-31 9 But if you search there for Adonai your God, you will find God, if only you seek God with all your heart and soul -- 30 when you are in distress because all these things have befallen you and, in the end, return to Adonai your God. 31 For Adonai your God is a compassionate God: God will not fail you nor will God let you perish; God will not forget the covenant which God made on oath with your ancestors.

6. Conclusion: This is the season of comforting one another
- Stop beating yourself up; its natural to err
- Double your rebuke with comfort and consolation.
- For 3 weeks we tear down, then for 7 we rebuild
- Next month is elul. Elul backwards = lulu “if I had only”
- Good luck on your 7 weeks of healing.

Sermon 9.26.08 - Re-examining the American-Israel Relationship

2008-11-07T06:43:00.000-08:00

Rozensweig was Right
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El
9.26.08

I’d like to begin tonight by going back in time a bit. As the Zionist movement grew in the interwar era between World Wars 1 and 2, two of European Jewry’s most prominent thinkers engaged in a historical debate. Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig, mutual friends and admirers, held opposing views on the Jewish State. For Buber, the Jewish people would never be able to fully develop and express their heritage without political sovereignty and a land to call their own. Jewish self expression required a place to call home and the authority to build a Jewish society. Later, Buber would flee the oncoming holocaust to immigrate to Israel and teach at Hebew University in Jerusalem.
But Rosenzweig was much more cautious. He argued that as a political expression of Jewish identity, Zionism would eventually eclipse the religious foundation for Judaism. Once Judaism was linked to borders, government and social services, it would become another form of nationalism and abandon its theological roots. And so Rozensweig would stay in Europe and eventually passed away before the Holocaust or the birth of the State of Israel.
I couldn’t help but to think of this debate as I walked around the streets of Israel last weekend. I was there with the Jewish Federation as a part of its Peoplehood Commission, which oversees grants and programs developed in Israel. And once I put my thoughts together from this inspiring trip, I look forward to sharing them with you. But for now, I want to stick with this historical debate. Because everywhere I went, from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv, Kiryat Shemona and Haifa, I couldn’t help but to think to myself – Rozensweig was right.
Please do not take this as a statement of anti-Zionism. I strongly believe in and support the Jewish state and was in Israel working towards its development. But as the country enters into its 6th decade, I do think it is worthwhile to evaluate the state of Jewish identity within the Jewish state. The fact is, if you stop the average Israeli and ask them if they are Jewish, they will answer you – Of course! Press them to answer why and they will tell you: Because I’m Israeli. And as 85% of the country considers itself to be chiloni or secular Jews, the political will has become prominent in personal identity. For many Israelies, Judaism has become nationalism under a different name. And this creates a host of issues which up to this point, we have been hesitant to deal with.
Compare this to our situation here in the United States. Because we live in a secular or even Christian society, this American synagogue doubles as a house of religion and a house of culture. Yes, we hold religious services like the one currently occurring and we teach religious studies to students of all ages. But we also host movie nights, lectures and social action programming. The synagogue is where you go to meet and be around other Jews. Thus we arrive at the seemingly paradoxical example of my own parents: one atheist, one agnostic, both former temple presidents.
I take two points from this. First, that here in the diaspora, Judaism remains a choice. You must actively engage in your religious community in order to build a Jewish identity. And secondly, that here in the diaspora, culture and religion remain deeply intertwined. In Israel, we have the opposite case: As the cultural identity is provided by the state, the religious one becomes less important. In Israel, you don’t join the synagogue in order to meet Jews. In Israel, you don’t need to consult the temple bulletin to know when certain holidays are taking place. In Israel, you don’t go to the synagogue looking for Jewish singles. And so all that remains is the religious aspect. Hence the fact that synagogue attendance in Israel remains about a third of the American rate. Rozensweig was right.
Earlier this summer, Stanford professor Yoav Shoham wrote an editorial piece in the Forward commenting on exactly this phenomenon. He argues that because Israelies are exposed to Jewish laws and customs with such regular intensity, without having a choice in the matter and in the uniform flavor reflecting Orthodox hegemony over more progressive streams of Judaism, the majority of Israelis conceive of religion in concrete rather than spiritual terms. Indeed, they often develop antagonism towards religion and the establishment they perceive as forcing it upon them. Ultimately, many Israelies don’t feel Jewish in any sense that an American Jew will recognize.
Before coming here to Congregation Emanu-El, I spent several summers as the education director of Camp Newman, the regional Reform Jewish camp here in Santa Rosa. One of my responsibilities was to work with the 40 or so Israeli young adults who come to work at the camp. Traditionally, the role of the Israeli sheliach is to teach the campers and staff about Israel and to bolster the American Israeli connection. But in light of these recent observations, we decided to make this learning a two way street. That is, yes, I the American, have much to learn from the Israeli about living in the biblical land of Israel, speaking Biblical Hebrew, and building the country. But on the other hand, I believe that my Israeli counterpart has just as much to learn from American Judaism. And so we instituted a program to bring the Israelis to Congregation Emanu-El, to see what an American synagogue looks like, to meet the clergy and attend a program or service. And most often, they were deeply impressed by the range and depth of programming we offer. And so we challenged them with a second mission. Don’t just come here to America to teach us about Israeli Judaism. When the summer is over, go back to Israel and teach your peers about American Judaism. I deeply believe that through such a process, American Jews can rekindle the religious foundation of Judaism for many modern Israelis by exporting the vibrancy and pluralism of American Jewish culture. In this way, I also believe that the birthright program only accomplishes half the task, and should send Israelis here to America as well, in order to bolster individual religious identity.
My internal Rozensweig-Buber debate came to a head last Saturday evening, as we sat in my in-laws home in Northern Israel, with my wife’s 95 year old grandmother. Safta Kika, as we call her, is a true Zionist, who came to Israel in the 1920’s to help found a kibbutz and to settle the land. To this day, she has no idea why a Jew would remain in the diaspora while a Jewish state exists. To that end, she has no idea what in the world a Reform Rabbi is, and how I can call myself a Rabbi despite not having a beard. On this evening, Kika made the point that to truly be Jewish, one had to live in the State of Israel. Pushing her, I asked who was more Jewish – an American Jew who celebrates the holidays, observes Shabbat, studies Torah, and performs various mitzvoth, or the 85% of Israeli Jews who do little or none of these. The Israeli, she said, since he lives in the land. Ok, I pushed her further, how about the Muslim or Christian Arab Israeli? Are they more Jewish than the observant American Jew? Not wanting to relent, she held onto her argument. Yes – they live in the land and are exposed to Jewish time. I mentioned that in Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah, the definite tome of Jewish law, he argues that Judaism is first most personal and spiritual, and to worship the land is a form of idolatry. Not giving up, she said that Maimonides didn’t know what he was talking about. And so our debate ended. I recalled the famous words of Winston Churchill, who noted that Israeli and American Jews are increasingly separated by a common religion.
In sum, I believe the time has come to update the American Israeli religious relationship. In phase one, America exported money and imported religious identity. But Israel is no longer a welfare state, and American Jewry is far from being religiously vapid. It is time to work in partnership rather than exchange, to learn from one another, lest Rozensweig’s fears come to fruition, and the Jewish nation evolve into simply a nation of Jews. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 9.13.07 - Rosh Hashanah: The Binding of Isaac and the Societal Need for Sacrifice

2008-11-05T14:53:00.002-08:00

Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon – The Societal Need for Sacrifice
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El
9.13.2007 – 1 Tishrei 5768

And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. And the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven and said, "Abraham, Abraham." And he said, "Here I am." And the angel said, "Do not raise your hand against the boy, or do anything to him. For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me.” And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram was caught in the thicket by his horns. And Abraham took the ram and offered him up for a burnt offering in place of his son.
Each year we read this section of the book of Genesis to remind us how Isaac was spared and to reaffirm the value of life. And yet a question remains: why does the ram have to die? Why can't Isaac escape and everyone simply move on with their lives? Why must something die so that something else may live?
Christian theologian and former Stanford professor Rene Girard views the story of the binding of Isaac as an example of the societal need for controlled violence. He explains that human beings exist in a state of constant competition. As the struggle for the possession of objects gives humanity a natural propensity for physical aggression, the danger of retribution and revenge threatens societal stability. To prevent such violence, a victim is chosen from the periphery of society, from whom there is no threat of reprisal. This victim is sacrificed in the public arena, thus satisfying the community’s need for blood. Thus “good” violence is used to counter bad violence. Under Girard's system, religion provides a mechanism by which humans defend themselves from their own violent natures. We read the story of the ram each year so that we may avoid actual violence in our personal lives.
While I realize that Girard presents a rather dark view of humanity; one we might not be so proud of, the Bible is full of examples of uncontrolled violence and attempts to contain it through animal sacrifice. The first of such acts found in the Torah is that of Cain and Abel. If you will remember, Cain and Abel both make offerings to God. When Abel’s is accepted and Cain’s rejected, Cain rises up and murders his brother. It is interesting to note that it is Abel, the shepherd whose job mandates that he regularly kill animals, who does not bow to violent inclinations. It is Cain, the agrarian without such an outlet for violence, who rises up to kill his brother. The murderer is the brother who does not have the violence-outlet of animal sacrifice at his disposal.
Perhaps Mark Twain had this story in mind when writing The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. While traveling down the Mississippi river, Huck stumbles upon two families, the Grangerfords and Shepherdsons, who are engaged in a 30 year feud. When the daughter of the Grangerfords elopes with the son of the Shepherdsons, a bloody war erupts. As the word “granger” is a synonym for “farmer”, what we see here is basically a rivalry between the farmers (the Grangerfords) and the Shepherd-sons. Twain’s choice of surname is no coincidence; it is Cain and Abel all over again. The unmitigated violence erupts due to the lack of the control mechanism of ritualized violence such as animal sacrifice. The ram sacrificed by Abraham in today’s Torah portion releases the pressure which led Cain to murder his brother Abel.
In an interesting twist, according to rabbinic midrash, the ram sacrificed by Abraham is indeed the very same ram which was originally sacrificed by Abel and later by Noah after the flood. We are told that its horn becomes the great shofar heard on Sinai, which we symbolically blow today. The ram is repeatedly brought back to life in order to serve as a substitute for human sacrifice. Good violence represses bad violence. Or as Rabbi Berechya says in Pirkei De’ Rebbe Eliezer, a 9th century rabbinic work, “The sweet smell of the ram rose to God’s holy throne and satisfied him as much as the sweet smell of Isaac.” (PDR, 31)
A similar motif between brothers can be found in the story of the children of Isaac, Jacob and Esau. Like Cain, it is Jacob, the brother removed from regular violence who feels the need to take advantage of his brother, stealing his birthright. When Jacob seeks his father's blessing, he must impersonate his brother Esau, a skilled hunter, by demonstrating a familiarity with bloodshed. In a scene reminiscent of God being pleased by the ram’s savory smell, Isaac orders Jacob to bring him a portion of "savory meat.” Jacob then impersonates his hairy and rugged brother by covering himself with the skins of slaughtered goats. The nearly blind Isaac is fooled and the blessing is given to Jacob instead of Esau. The savory meat and animal skins serve to divert the violence directed towards Jacob. He must seek refuge, literally, in the skins of the sacrificed animal. The animal serves as a sort of insulation, preventing the direct contact that could lead only to violence.
Additional tales of violence avoided by substituting an animal for a human are found beyond Hebrew scripture. For example, the Greek character Odysseus performs a similar trick to that of Jacob. As you may remember, Odysseus and his shipmates are captured by the Cyclops and kept in his cave, the entrance blocked by a large stone. However, the Cyclops allows his sheep to pass when going out to pasture. Odysseus escapes by first blinding the Cyclops with a spit from the fire and then clinging to the thick wool on the underside of a sheep as it leaves the cave. In a scene reminiscent of the blinded Isaac, the sightless Cyclops runs his hands over the back of the sheep as it goes out to pasture. Comparably, in today’s torah portion, an animal is introduced at the crucial moment to prevent violence from striking its designated victim. And so yes, the ram must die in order for Isaac to live. Ritualized violence is necessary to protect the human subject from direct hostility.
Curiously, each of these stories, as well as many others, features the sacrifice of specifically a goat or a sheep in place of a human being. In the Iliad, the warrior Ajax slaughters a herd of sheep when the Greek army refuses to award him Achilles’ weapons. In ancient Greek mythology, Zeus sends a golden-fleeced ram to save Phrixus, who is to be killed by his father, King Athamas. Through all of these myths, you would think that violence would be avoided through the sacrifice of a more violent animal than a sheep or a goat. Especially in the case of the Torah, we expect a less noble animal such as a snake would be chosen as the victim. After all, the creation story of Genesis has already indicted the snake as a cruel enemy to humankind. Why can’t it be a snake or violent beast which becomes entangled in the thicket?
The animals chosen for sacrifice seem to be the most gentle and subdued. These are mammals; herbivores who are prized above all else for their usefulness. In short, the victims are those animals most human in nature. The switch is as close to perfect as it can possibly be. Society seeks to deflect upon a relatively indifferent and yet undoubtedly human-like victim, a 'sacrificeable' victim, the violence that would otherwise be vented on its own members, the people it most desires to protect.
We must recognize in the story of the binding of Isaac and indeed through the entire Torah the large step forward from human to animal sacrifice. The Torah is aware of rituals of human sacrifice and openly discourages them. Throughout history, human beings have indeed been relegated to the realm of sacrificeable victims, especially when they lacked the ability or standing to threaten retribution. For example, the slaves of Rome were often offered as sacrifices to animals and gladiators. Fifth century Greece – the Athens of the great tragedians – practiced similar human sacrifice. The Salem witch trials targeted individuals viewed by the public as less than human, and burned them alive in the name of society’s greater good. In each of these cases, those sacrificed come from the fringes of society, the marginalized individuals who are incapable of sharing the community’s social bonds. Such victims are rendered to be sub-human – close enough to receive society's violence but distant enough so that their disappearance will not threaten the larger group. Perhaps the best example of such scapegoating was the Holocaust, when European Jews were dehumanized and murdered for the collective ills of European society.
And so we have one class of sacrificeable human victims – those who lie at the bottom of society. But the opposite also exists. While the king sits as the very heart of the community, his position also serves to isolate him from him fellow men. He escapes from society via the roof whereas the slave does so through the floor. Think of the public executions of Louis the 16th or Queen Marie Antoinette. Such cases are most often thoroughly regulated, highly ritualistic affairs, allowing the community to direct its rage towards an outside figure. And while the king himself may at times avoid harm, history is littered with the corpses of court liaisons and dignitaries. In fact, one of the most tragic mistakes of Jewish history remains the rise of the court Jew. Throughout the feudal period, Jews were often appointed as royal court secretaries; given their lack of citizenship, their rise to power would not create a threat against the royalty. These Jews were then employed in the most confrontational matters, such as collecting taxes or evicting tenants. When the peasantry would rise in rebellion, the court Jew and his immediate community was often the first to suffer. They became the less than human royal sacrifice. And so throughout history, Jews have played the part of both the under and over privileged sacrifice.
While the thought of such ritualized violence may seem repugnant in the modern era, I would argue that we practice it all the time. Our society regularly engages in human sacrifice, of both the under-privileged and over-privileged, in the name of entertainment and societal control.
Let’s start with the bottom of society. I would ask you to compare America's Sunday church attendance with NFL viewership. The truth is, the sports stadium has largely become our society's great cathedral of carnage, with its own hymns, rituals and public ceremonies. And who participates in these games? Most often individuals from the fringes of society; economically depressed backgrounds and more likely than not, minorities. We Americans cannot get enough of seeing these modern Goliaths, often abnormally enlarged through drugs once reserved only for animals, running into one another as fast as they can. Our violent culture has also given rise to Ultimate Fighting, a combination of boxing and martial arts, which happens to be the fastest growing sport in America; because, I guess, regular boxing isn’t violent enough.
And sports represent only the tip of the iceberg. If you watched every summer movie released by Hollywood since the beginning of May, you would have witnessed almost 19,000 deaths this summer alone. The best selling video games create virtual universes of sheer violence and mayhem. Consider TV shows such as COPS in which petty criminals are hunted down on national television, or Dateline NBC, in which sexual offenders are made to squirm for public enjoyment. Our culture is punctuated by opportunities for public victimization and sacrifice. And again, in each case we have chosen the sacrificeable elements of society, the slightly less than human which may be targeted without fear of recrimination or retribution. Perhaps the most extreme example of such a policy is the bill currently making its way through congress, offering citizenship to immigrants upon completion of military duty in Iraq. We sacrifice the fringes of society in order to protect the base.
But again, what about the royal class? Where do we see the sacrifice of the over-privileged within the modern era? I would argue that our culture features an abnormal fascination with celebrity, building it up and then tearing it apart, piece by piece. Magazines, TV shows and websites regularly update us on which celebrities have fallen into rehab, broken the law, or worst of all, gotten fat. Like modern athletes, these individuals come from the periphery of society, only at its ceiling rather than its doormat. For the general culture, Paris Hilton and Brittany Spears are not real people, and so we may tear them down in order to comfort ourselves. The most useful celebrities are sacrificed again and again, like the ram who is first sacrificed by Abel and then resurrected to be slaughtered by Abraham. Once their usefulness fades, they are discarded into oblivion, remembered only in obituary or brought back to life for the latest reality show. The same goes for politicians, who are regularly satirized and skewered in the media’s limelight. We celebrate their downfall with an endless news cycle, peeking into the most private aspects of their lives. We become obsessed with their personal activities, even down to a $300 haircut. And so yes, I do believe we participate in this same sort of ritualistic sacrifice in the modern era. The story of the binding of Isaac resounds deeply within America’s culture.
So where do we go from here? Stepping back, we see that the high holidays are bookended by two stories of sacrifice. Here on Rosh Hashanah morning, we read the story of the binding of Isaac and the slaughter of the ram in his place. In 10 days, we will recongregate on Yom Kippur to read about the scapegoat. According to the text, each Yom Kippur the high priest lays his hand upon a goat and confesses over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the people. The goat is then sent into the wilderness, carrying with it the sins of the people. While the fate of the goat is not entirely certain, it is clearly not to be killed. And perhaps there is a final message here: Just as the story of the binding of Isaac represents a step forward from the human sacrifice of Cain and Abel to an animal replacement, the Yom Kippur story represents the culminating step away from violence altogether. We move from the human sacrifice of Abel, to the animal sacrifice of the ram, to Yom Kippur’s concept of simply letting our victims go.
After the destruction of the second temple, the rabbis of the Talmud declared that prayer had replaced sacrifice as the means for communication with God. No longer would God be petitioned through acts of ritual violence. They looked to the great prophetic tradition, where individuals such as Isaiah and Jeremiah responded to the catastrophic fall of the first temple with words of optimism and comfort. In the face of violence, Isaiah speaks of the wonder and majesty of God, the power to lift up the fallen and heal the sick. He declares that God does not want bloodshed; does not need sacrifice; but rather seeks only our hearts. And so whereas Yom Kippur was originally a day steeped in violent sacrifice, it became the day of piety and reflection which we experience in modern practice. During these high holy days, we likewise seek to rise above our natural inclination towards competition and hostility, responding instead with hope and confidence. And so we read this story today, as we strive to transcend our violent natures, asking for forgiveness from our greater community, and renewing the promise to once and for all, let our victims go. Shana Tovah.

Sermon 9.21.07 - Kol Nidre: Understanding High Holiday Liturgy

2008-11-05T14:53:00.001-08:00

Kol Nidre Sermon - Reshit Da`at Yirat Hashem
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El
9.21.07

High upon the sanctuary wall of Congregation Emanu-El in Honolulu, Hawaii, beyond the lazy circling fans of the social hall, sits a large mural. The painting depicts several situations in distinct frames. In one scene, sages engage in conversation before a ruler on a throne. In another, a woman pleads with an executioner who holds a sword in his raised hand. And in the last one, a throng of men walk bare chested in single file. As a child, I used to stare at this mural when my parents took me to services. Sitting through what seemed an endless liturgy, my sister and I would make up stories to go along with the scenes. Growing up in that congregation, nobody would ever tell me what they meant. As I got older, it became clear that this was because none of the adults in my life knew either. It just hung there, a distant mystery, blending in with the strange Hebrew and odd rituals to create an atmosphere of bewilderment and detachment.
Over time, this painting came to symbolize my experience in high holiday services: An elegant display of pomp and circumstance which I and those around me failed to understand. We would stand up, we would sit down. And just as soon as I had gotten comfortable in my chair, we would stand up again. The italicized words commanded me to say things that I neither understood nor agreed with. Who wrote all of this stuff anyways? And who decided that it was so important that we had to share it now, either sitting or standing, in song or in prose, in regular font or italicized? Like the painting, these experiences were a conundrum, and ultimately became sources of real frustration.
Only later in life was I able to understand the basis of this dissatisfaction. As I suspect that there may be some of us here tonight who identify with some of these feelings I’ve described, I’d like to share my theory with you. I believe that the remoteness many of us feel at this time of the year is largely due to an educational system that has left us ill prepared to access the wisdom of our own tradition. I call it the Bnai Mitzvah effect.
Let’s start at the beginning. Cognitive psychology teaches us that children acquire the ability to grasp metaphorical concepts right around 4th grade. Until that point, they have a hard time understanding that something may be equated to more than one thing, or that there might be multiple definitions of a single object. As metaphor is the programming language of religion and liturgy, the Judaism we teach to our youngest students is most often quite thin and literal.
So we get these students in 4th grade and now they are ready to get their hands dirty with deeper concepts. But hold on a minute, they have bar and bat mitzvahs in three years! And so it is easy for many congregations to fall into the practice of drilling their students with Hebrew letters and prayers. At long last the students finish this long journey and successfully recite these prayers, and read their Torah and haftarah portions. Now at last they are ready for a meaningful discussion of Judaism based upon the questions that naturally arise at this age. What is God? Do I have to believe in God to be Jewish? Where does the Torah come from? How does Jewish tradition fit into my life?
And here, the American Jewish community often meet these questions with a waive goodbye and a push out the door. According to the latest census numbers, 75% of all Jews do not continue their education after their bar or bat mitzvah. This bears repeating. Three out of every four American Jews leave the synagogue with a 4th grade education in their own religion. While we grow and mature in every other aspect, our spiritual background is left stunted. Still to this day, many synagogues fail to offer programming for the high school years. When they do, it is often haphazard and heavily leaning towards the social aspect, as if just getting the kids in the door is a sign of success. And so three out of four simply leave. And I’m not even talking about those Jews who choose not to affiliate or have a bar or bat mitzvah! We lose 75% of our most integrated students.
Why is the post b’nai mitzvah period so important? Well, adolescence represents the prime years in which we experiment with who we are, where our interests lie, and who we ultimately want to be. There is a good chance that our personalities and behaviors were at least strongly influenced by our experiences during this time. So it makes sense to give Judaism a voice during this period. And while it is clearly a time of great creativity, adolescence is also intimidating, as the world is opened up to great questions and fears, and real experiences of rejection and loneliness. And so it is all the more a shame we are robbed of the foundation of Judaism. Just as we are opening up to the greater concepts of morality, and in need of an outlet for our anxieties and creativity, we find the synagogue doors closed. We are encouraged to explore the wonders of athletics, the arts and humanities, yet Judaism abdicates its seat at the table.
Now lets fast forward a bit. Our proud bat mitzvah student goes to high school and then leaves for college, all the time carrying the same feelings of intimidation and frustration that have marked her religious experience. When, if ever does she come back into the synagogue? Of course tonight, on Yom Kippur! And what sort of liturgy does she find? “Who shall perish by fire, who by stoning, who by drowning.” And a vision of God as angry Santa Claus: Our father, our king, rewarding good guys and harshly punishing the bad guys. She takes literally the vision of God writing our names in a book of life, or having us pass under his staff like sheep. And she thinks to herself, ah yes, this is the Judaism I know. Now I remember why I stayed away in the first place!
Little does she realize that the high holiday service is markedly different from the rest of the year. Let me make an analogy: Suppose that you had never seen a movie in your entire life. You walk into your first theater, the lights go dark, and they start showing Dracula. You would think to yourself, “Boy, movies are really scary. I never want to see one of those again.” Truth be told, the high holidays comprise the horror section of Jewish liturgy. The text is written specifically to scare you; to jolt you, so that you will contemplate your life, and make any necessary changes. Our congregant may never realize that the liturgy and theology for the rest of the year is entirely different. But its too late now. She was disregarded in 4th grade, pushed out after her bat mitzvah, ignored during her formative years of adolescence and now fails to make any connection during this crucial time. Who knows if she will ever return? She is entirely grown and yet the synagogue still speaks to her through a limited vocabulary.
Now I don’t mean to depress you here tonight. And I must point out that Congregation Emanu-El avoids many of these pitfalls through a carefully planned and well staffed educational program which is the envy of the Reform movement. We do not focus solely on Hebrew skills in the pre-bnai mitzvah years. Few synagogues have a full time director of adolescent education, not to mention teachers with the experience and commitment found here at Emanu-El. Our Rabbis Honor Cup teen school teaches 150 students from the 8th to 12th grades every week. And I would like to think that we offer a brand of worship that greatly outshines that of my childhood memories. Nevertheless, most of us here tonight did not have the benefit of growing up in such an evironment. Ultimately, many of us remain confused and intimidated by a liturgical system and theology that was never fully explained to us. And so I would like to spend a few minutes deciphering the high holiday liturgy and looking at the intentions of those who put this book together. In short, I want to go back in time and talk to that confused kid starring up at that mural and wondering what in the world was going on.
I would say to him, the first problem many of us have us that we pick up this siddur and read it as though it was a book. Like poetry, liturgy makes little sense when it is simply read from page to page. Rather, I suggest you look at this volume as if you were looking at a website. A website can be read at face value, but its true significance is found in its many hyperlinks, words that you may click on to be taken to another page. This is exactly how the prayer book works. What you hold here is a compilation of biblical quotations woven together through ancient and medieval poetry. The quotes are inserted with the greatest of intention to whisk us away to specific biblical moments and to draw metaphorical parallels with our lives as we sit here today. That is the real power of the siddur: to create meaningful comparisons between our current circumstances and the wisdom of our ancestors who faced similar situations in generations past. The problem is that we don’t have the context to understand such comparisons.
Allow me to make another analogy here. For any of you who have spent much time with teenagers, and most specifically teenage boys, you may find that they are able to hold an entire conversation with one another through quoting their favorite movies. And while this can be a bit confusing, the system holds real power to those in the know. If you have seen these movies and can recall the quoted line, a metaphorical connection may be drawn between what is happening in current time and what happened in the quoted scene. This analogy gives a new perspective to the incident at hand. Moreover, the quoting creates a barrier of entry to those not in the know, aka parents and other adults.
Now lets bring this analogy back to the prayer book. The people who put this book together knew the bible as well as our teenage population here tonight knows their favorite movies. Unlike their historical neighbors, the rabbis of the Talmudic era could recite each verse of the Torah line by line. And when certain biblical passages were inserted into a website-like structure, meaning could be gleaned from these historical references. Lets look at an example.
Turn to the top of page 31. Before the Amidah, that is, the central prayer of the prayer service, we say the words, “Adonai Sefatai Tiftach Ufee Yagid Tehilateicha” – “Adonai, open up my lips and I will tell of your glory.” Well, click on this hyperlink and you will be taken to Psalm 51 verse 17. This particular Psalm is introduced as the words of David upon being admonished by the prophet Natan. David has committed adultery with Bathsheeba and has sent her husband Uriah to the front lines of battle so that he will be killed. Once he realizes what he has done, David utters these words, asking God to open his lips so that he may testify to God’s glory and begin his atonement. Through this biblical snapshot, the prayer book transports us back in time, and into David’s shoes. As we all seek redemption, especially during this season, we join David in asking to be heard and for the wisdom to retrace our steps. At the same time, this quote carries a message of optimism. As David is the rabbinic superhero, the seed of the Messiah, we are reminded that it is only human to make mistakes. We see here that even the great King David screws up! Erring is a part of the human condition. Therefore the image of David teaches us that we should not revel in self pity or humiliation, but should rather concentrate on forgiveness and reconciliation. Such is the power of liturgy when it is properly understood and contextualized, like a good movie quote.
Let me give you another example. Turn to the bottom of page 39. The vidui, a prayer for confession that highlights the high holiday liturgy, is written in a rather obscure form. If you don’t pay attention, you will entirely miss the fact that its an acrostic. That is, each line begins with the next letter of the alphabet. Aleph, bet, gimmel, dalet…Ashamnu, Bagadnu, Gazalnu, Dibarnu dofi. Take a look at the English at the top of page 40 - the translation is imperfect as it primarily seeks to retain the alphabetical structure. A,B,C,D…Arrogance, Bigotry, Cynicism, Deceit. When I was little, I always wondered why in the world they chose the word “xenophobia” for this prayer. Now I know that they just needed an “x” word! You might say, “So what, who cares if the liturgy is structured alphabetically?” As in a haiku or sonnet, the acrostic structure has real meaning. This form is used when the content is so overwhelmingly emotional that it requires a basic construction. It is a hint towards the painful cries of the prophet Jeremiah in the book of Lamentations, the only book of the Hebrew bible written purely as an acrostic. In Lamentations, Jeremiah calls for mercy for his people and beloved city. We all get to play the part of the prophet here on Yom Kippur. By offering our confession in this structure, we signal our sincerity and careful intention to include all of our transgressions over the past year, a to z. The structure gives us our first step towards healing; a foundational routine which to build around. Again, this is the power of liturgy when properly understood and contextualized.
For MM service only: And here are two other quick examples: Check out page 33. Here we see three lines inserted into the Amidah, all beginning with the word, “Uvachen”, meaning therefore. This Uvachen section is an allusion to the book of Esther, the only book in the Hebrew Bible where this word “uvachen” is found. Esther uses the word to open her plea while beseeching King Ahasheurus to save her people from imminent destruction. And so we quote her directly when asking the same of God. Or jump to Avinu Malkeinu on page 45. According to the Talmud, the Avinu Malkeinu prayer was first said by Rabbi Akiva, begging God to end a draught which threatened the community’s existence. Similarly, we offer this prayer tonight on behalf of our community, so that we may be spared from terrible consequence. As you can see, all of these prayers share a common thread. These historical pleas for mercy are strung together throughout time and history, all within this siddur. We cite these cases as precedents of God’s mercy, as God responded to David, Jeremiah, Esther and Akiva. We utilize the power of analogy in calling God to our aid.
The problem, of course, is that today we stand as outsiders to this system, most of us completely unaware of there even being a structure, much as we don’t even know when our teenage kids are quoting movies or speaking for themselves. And so what began as carefully constructed rubrics, laid out with the greatest of intention, are rendered utterly useless to the casual reader. And here lies the source of our remoteness from the text. We stand as modern eavesdroppers upon an ancient conversation, but we have lost the framework to understand the connection. And so we read the book from a linear, non-metaphorical, elementary school perspective, and expect it to make sense to us. No wonder we spend so much time feeling lost and dejected. We take notions like God as a shepherd, watching us pass; or God writing our names in the book of life, as if they are meant to be taken literally. We bristle at notions of kingship and sovereignty, never asking what those words must have meant to someone 2,000 years ago, especially to a people lacking any political power. We are confronted by this daunting text of gloom and doom Judaism and reject it without first seeking proper context.
You may ask, why then do we continue to utilize these metaphors when praying? Why not just write a new prayerbook which speaks in a more direct manner? The answer is that poetry and metaphors carry a sense of emotion which prose cannot fully capture. Dr. Rachel Adler writes in her book, Engendering Judaism, “Metaphor is expressly suited to be the language of prayer because prayer is not a rational or analytical process…Liturgical events need metaphors because like poetry and dreams, they are charged with emotion and require language that evokes feelings.”
I would add that before you reject outdated metaphors, you must realize that metaphors are all inherently imperfect. After all, if your metaphor fits the situation 100%, you end up just saying the same thing twice. It does no good to describe a rock as being as hard as a rock. The power of metaphor lies in that area which does not fit, which pushes the boundaries of the concept as to stimulate the listener’s creativity and awareness. Therefore, our disconnect with the imagery of the prayer book is purposeful. Poetry is a necessarily indirect science. So when you come across a line such as Avinu Malkeinu – Our father, our king, recognize that of course God is not literally a King or a Parent. But ask yourself what these words meant to the authors of this prayer book. What are the symbols of strength and majesty in a modern context? Thereby we may transcend our modern biases against such antiquated language and overcome the barriers to entry erected through our lack of cultural literacy. Or you can invent your own terms for God. Liturgist Marcia Falk refers to God as eyn hachayim, “the source of life,” and eyn hashalom, “eternal wellspring of peace.” These terms avoid specific gendering while also reflecting a warmer and less anthropomorphic vision of God, as opposed to the King and Father images seen in traditional Judaism.
So there, Ive said it. Everything that I wish someone had said to me as a child as I was staring abjectly at that confusing mural, wondering what in the world was going on. The good news is that this congregation offers so many opportunities for continued learning that we all have the chance to reinvigorate our sense of Jewish identity and understanding. I urge you to visit our website and look through the Temple Chronicle to learn about the various classes offered for all backgrounds, both here at the temple and even offsite and downtown. We even offer a specific class, entitled “The Course,” to deepen your understanding of the basic concepts which you may have missed back in religious school. I know that sure I did.
Finally, allow me to end with yet another scriptural quote. The book of Ecclesiastes says, “Yirat Hashem reshit da`at” - "Awe of God is the beginning of knowledge.” Tonight, I ask that we flip this verse around: Reishit da’at yirat hashem – that is, “Knowledge is the beginning of an awe of God.” May this day serve as a wake up call not only to atone for our transgressions but also to reclaim our identity as active, educated Jews. I wish you all a purposeful and meaningful new year, full of comfort, wisdom and understanding. Shanah Tova.

Sermon Outline 3.15.08 - Parshat Vayikra: The Failure of Abstinence Education

2008-11-05T13:50:00.000-08:00

Report on Teen STDs
- Tuesday, Mar 11, Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported:
o 1 in 4 American girls 14-19 has an STD. 3.2 million young women.
o Almost 1 in 2 African American girls
- Cecile Richards, pres. of Planned Parenthood Fed of America:
o “The new findings emphasize the need for real comprehensive sex education…The national policy of promoting abstinence only programs is a 1.5 billion $ failure, and our teenage girls are paying the real price.

Abstinence Education
- Currently, US gov provides around 150 mil of $ to fed grants on abstinence.
- Non partisan National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy:
o Abstinence Ed has not shown to affect teenage sexual behavior
o Moreover, abstinence squelches ed on safety precautions, possible diseases, etc. Focuses on abstinence only.
o 4 out of every 100 girls age 15-19 gave birth in 2005

Abstinence Abroad: PEPFAR
- President's Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief
o 15 billion over 5 years to fight HIV/AIDS
§ Budget: Of $15 bil, 20% (300 mil) spent on prevention
§ 1/3 of prevention (100 mil) must be spent on abstinence
- UN secretary general's special envoy for HIV/Aids in Africa, Stephen Lewis:
o “The US is doing damage to Africa by cutting funds for alternatives in Uganda while promoting abstinence. To impose a dogma-driven policy that is fundamentally flawed is doing damage to Africa."

Vayikra
1. Book concerns itself largely with contamination and illness
a. Discharges, leprosy, skin rash, etc.
2. No values. People not judged
a. Clear ritual given to purify, reintroduce indiv into society
b. The contaminated individual not a sinner. No demonization of victim.
3. The entire book an “if then” statement.
a. If someone chooses to sacrifice, then here’s what to do…
b. The opposite of abstinence ed. No options given. The individual is deprived of information to make a clear choice.
c. A model of comprehensive education. Unlike abstinence only.
4. Vayikra says that our bodies are holy vessels, made in God’s image
a. No dirty parts, sinful areas of the body
b. Vayikra lays out all options, possibilities, remedies
c. No subject taboo, not option ignored.
d. Assumes people will make their own decisions
e. US policy should only be so wise and understanding

Sermon Outline 2.15.08 - Parshat Tetzaveh: Ummim and Thurmim – The De-evolution of Divination

2008-11-05T13:49:00.000-08:00

Parshat Tetzaveh Sermon Outline
2.15.08
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Topic: Ummim and Thurmim – The De-evolution of Divination

1. Attempts to read all of Torah usually stop at Exodus 20
a. Genesis all narrative – Exodus 1st half – to chap 20.
b. 2nd half – laws of tabernacle and priestly duties
c. Few people know that almost all of 40 yrs of wandering in one Torah portion.

2. This is why you will start to here more “topic” sermons in coming weeks
a. Hard to talk about cultic logistics.
b. Blood here, not there; eat this, don’t eat that, etc.
c. I am intrigued by the strange and odd.
d. Tetzaveh – Priestly wardrobe

3. Urim and Tummim – A mystery in substance and usage

Exodus 28:30 Inside the breastpiece of decision you shall place the Urim and Tummim, so that they are over Aaron's heart when he comes before the LORD. Thus Aaron shall carry the instrument of decision for the Israelites over his heart before the LORD at all times.

a. What are these things? Traditional commentators disgree – maybe they have the unspeakable name of God on them. Or they are symbols for Israel’s qualities.
b. Biblical historian Richard Elliot Friedman comments:

We have pondered for centuries what [the urim and thumim] are. They have something to do with inquiring of God for an answer to a question. They may contain letters that can spell out long answers (a la an ancient ouiji board), or they may provide only a yes or a no (a biblical magic 8 ball). They are mentioned four times in the Torah, and then never again in Israel’s history until the time of the 2nd temple, when Ezra and Nehemiah note that the Urim and Tummim are no longer available.

We must admit it: we just don’t know what they are. What is important is that several different biblical sources indicate that there was a belief that it was possible to ask questions of God and get an answer, and that this was done through a priest, not a prophet. It was a mechanism other than prophecy to learn the will of God.

c. So we have here an early biblical account of tarot card or reading tea leaves, or the first edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone. Weird stuff.

4. The issue is divination.

a. Ancient religion’s main focus, beyond where we came from, is what will happen to us. Specifically, what does God have in store for us?

b. Example: Greek oracle at Delphi

c. In pagan tradition, oracles always come true. Once the oracle says that Oedipus will kill his father and seduce his mother, these are both inevitable

d. Ancient religions mix ritual and ceremony to deduce the will of the divine and to sway favor towards the individual.
e. Divination often meant communication with the dead, as they now has access to divine information

5. The Torah is Abhors Divination

a. The Torah is well aware of the practice of divination and abhors it.

b. As Biblical scholar Mary Douglas writes,

“When access to both demons and spirits of the dead is forbidden, divination, as a technique for consulting the head or other spiritual beings, becomes impossible. Except the oracle of the high priest, all forms of divination were banned.” (Lev as Lit, p.4)

c. Aha! Now we see why these divination devices are housed in priestly clothing

d. Only priest has access. Divination is under the jurisidiction of the Levitical priesthood and therefore cannot present a threat.

Deuteronomy 18:10-12 10 Let no one be found among you who consigns his son or daughter to the fire, or who is an augur, a soothsayer, a diviner, a sorcerer, 11 one who casts spells, or one who consults ghosts or familiar spirits, or one who inquires of the dead. 12 For anyone who does such things is abhorrent to the LORD, and it is because of these abhorrent things that the LORD your God is dispossessing them before you.

f. Therefore, the Urim and Thumim are cultic symbols, incorporated into the mainstream religion and thus devoid of their possibly competing powers.

g. Like Christianity’s adoption of formerly pagan rituals such as the sun God’s birthday near the winter solstice to Christmas, or Spring rituals of renewal into Easter.

h. Judaism has plenty of these: Lulav and Etrog are adopted pagan raindance symbols, now brought into the mainstream fold.

6. Leviticus moves past Urim and Tummim
a. In one month, we finish Exodus and begin Leviticus

b. Leviticus moves past Urim and Tumim and replaces divination altogether with the theory of contamination and sacrifice.

c. Old system: Things are bad for you because God is upset. You need divination to find out why. Then sacrifice allows you to win back God’s favor.

Douglas: Divination is the institution that usually links sin, misfortune, and sacrifice. There is some misfortune, the oracle finds the causes and prescribes the remedy – a sacrifice. (110)

d. New system: You are contaminated (KEY WORD! Valueless. God isn’t upset or happy with you). You must adhere to the prescribed sacrificial rite to solve your problem.

e. Since Leviticus has already prescribed the illnesses and remedies, divination is no longer necessary.

f. Thus Judaism makes a fundamental step away from ancestor worship, demonology, and yes…divination.

g. So what we see in this week’s Torah portion is similar to a fossil of an animal between steps of evolution. It is a remnant of our pagan past, incorporated into the priesthood and thus neutralized. In time, as the levitical practice emerged, it was no longer needed. For now, the crutch remains.

h. Thus when Ezra and Nehemiah return from Babylonian exile at the end of the 6th century BCE, the Urim and Thummim are no longer necessary. The bureaucracy has expanded to encompass the questions they once sought to answer.

6. What this means to us:

a. Judaism is in a constant state of evolution and reform, even within the Torah.

b. Judaism is anti-superstition and is concerned with the living. The dead have no power.

c. When calamity falls upon us, the victim is not to blame. They have not angered the deities. They do not suffer from sin. We treat the problem, not the individual.

This is the ultimate gift of the temple rite. A view of the world with judgment-free actions, where we shrug our shoulders, stay “stuff happens”, and move on with our lives. In this way, I guess this section of Torah is not so bizarre or far from our lives after all.

Shabbat Shalom

Sermon Outline 4.5.08 - Parshat Tazria: Why Keep Strange Texts?

2008-11-05T13:48:00.000-08:00

Tazria Sermon Outline
Title: Why we keep strange text
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El
4.5.08

1. One of the oddest parshot of the Torah. Contents:

a. Human contamination
b. Childbirth and purification
c. Skin disease
d. Leprosy
e. Inflammation
f. Permanent and temporary burns
g. Scalp and face disease
h. Male baldness
i. Isolation for contaminated individuals
j. Fungus on clothing

And stay tuned for next week’s thrilling chapter:

a. House rotting and wall fungus
b. Male discharges
c. Menstruation and female discharges
d. Burnt offerings of atonement

2. The entire book of Leviticus – stop narrative. Why keep?
a. Reform movement: Don’t read
i. Move Shabbat to Sunday

3. Thesis: Judaism enriched by difficult passages
a. Heritage of commentary, working out perplex and odd sections
b. Power of Torah not necessarily what it says, but how it acts as foundation for later commentary and learning.
c. Pardes – Peshat, Remez, Drash, Sod
i. Peshat – literal meaning
ii. Remez – Metaphoric meaning
iii. Drash – Midrashic or interpretative meaning
iv. Sod – Mystical meaning – unlocked secrets of Torah
d. Like the unwanted relative at Passover seder – They make things more difficult, but they are still family. And hopefully, they make things more interesting.

4. Rashi’s comment to the opening of the Torah
a. In the Beginning, God Created (Breishit Bara Elohim)
i. 3 WORDS INTO THE TORAH
ii. Rashi: This verse calls out “Darsheini!” Interpret me!
1. The Torah starts with a construct. Not rishon, but, breishit. In the beginning of. Rashi asks, “Of what?” And the enterprise of commentary begins…

5. Our tradition is made colorful, interesting, etc. by not ignoring difficult passages but rather by approaching them head on.
a. Each homiletical maneuver, each metaphorical explanation adds to the richness of Judaism.
b. Leviticus makes us pause and reflect:
i. What is our place among God’s creations?
ii. How do we respond to disease?
iii. How do we create a bureaucracy to allow the sick person to re-enter society with full dignity?
iv. How do we view blood, the sign of life, and occurrences when blood is spilled either naturally or unnaturally?
v. How do we legislate purification and cleanliness on a communal level?

These are profound questions that may have never been addressed had we erased Leviticus from our canon.

In the end, its not what the text says, but rather, how it is used, that is most important. Our heritage of explaining and discussion is celebrated in 2 weeks – Passover. Where would we be without questions?

So we keep them along with crazy uncle larry or Aunt Mildred, if only because we could never imagine what our community would be like without them.

Sermon 12.1.06 - Parshat Vayetze: Using Children as a Means to Our Ends

2008-11-05T13:47:00.000-08:00

No matter my familiarity with the tradition, Judaism never ceases to amaze me. What an amazingly intricate structure our people have created in order to experience life to its fullest. Take for example the annual reading of the Torah, in which we encounter the same stories during the same months of each year. Yet the stories always seem to change depending upon where we are in our lives. As we grow and therefore change, the text serves as a stable force with which we may compare our own lives. And so as a new father, I read Vayetse from a completely different perspective this week. And this year I see a tragedy; a story of unfulfilled love and the anguish of children continually sacrificed for the ambition of their parents. And to read this as a father absolutely breaks my heart.
It has been a rocky month is the marriage business. Yet none of us are surprised when Brittney Spears or Pamela Anderson heads into divorce court (though our 11th grade class here seemed genuinely upset by the Reese Witherspoon – Ryan Phillipe divorce). But real sadness may be found in the life of Leah, our matriarch. This week’s parsha finds Leah being married off to Jacob as a part of a deal in which Jacob will also marry the woman he truly loves, Leah’s sister Rachel. While Rachel is beautiful, Leah is described as having tender or weak eyes. Perhaps this is because she senses the coming pain of living without love. It can’t be easy spending your life as a consolation prize to your sister’s marriage.
In response, God makes an all too familiar mistake by trying to fill the void of an empty marriage with children. God should have known better; should have known that Leah would have no choice but to go along. Her hurt and sorrow lives on in the names of her first three children. The Torah reads:
“And the Adonai saw that Leah was unloved, and he opened her womb; but Rachel was barren. And Leah conceived, and bore a son, and she called his name Reuben; for she said: 'Because Adonai has discerned my humiliation; for now my husband will love me.' And she conceived again, and bore a son; and said: 'Because Adonai has heard that I am unloved, He has therefore given me this son also.' And she called his name Shimon. And she conceived again, and bore a son; and said: 'Now this time will my husband be attached to me, because I have borne him three sons.' Therefore was his name called Levi.”

Let’s look at those three names again. Reuven comes from the root Ra’a, to see and ben, or son. The name means, my son will be seen. By whom? Leah answers this question for us, saying, “For now my husband will love me.” Leah hopes that a son will finally get Jacob’s attention. The name Shimon comes from the word Lishmoa, to hear like in the Shema – Hear O Israel. Leah uses the name to say that God has heard how unloved she is. And finally the name Levi comes from the Hebrew la’va, to be joined. Through their son, Leah hopes that she and her husband Jacob may finally come together. Clearly, Leah seeks to use her children as a means towards repairing her broken marriage. It is fair to surmise that since Leah persisted in naming her third child this way, the first and second attempts to reconcile with Jacob did little good. But this is nothing new. The instinct towards acquiring a spouse’s love through the rearing of children goes back to the bible’s first couple, Adam and Eve. Genesis chapter 4 illustrates the similar results of such a faulty policy:
“And the man knew Eve his wife; and she conceived and bore Cain, and said: 'I have gotten a man with the help of Adonai.’”

The name Cain comes from the root kinyan, or acquisition. Eve hopes that by having a child, she may gain control of her husband. But like in the case of Leah, the bearing of children does little good. As we all know, children are not a means towards solving a troubled relationship. If anything, they are a challenge which acquire mutual trust, love and sacrifice. Unfortunately, Leah and Eve’s husbands know little about these values. They apparently have neglected their wives to the point of their taking desperate measures in order to get their attention. Such behavior is best left to children, not spouses.
Leah’s attempts to gain her husband’s attention leads to a downward spiral, with her sister Rachel offering up her maidservant to have children with Jacob, as she is barren. Leah ups the ante by then offering her maidservant! Finally, Rachel is able to conceive herself. No wonder Jacob has 13 kids by the time the whole thing is said and done! He’s working with four women here! Yet the pain caused to each of the children by their parents will live on forever. Nothing can solve the grief felt by children who are used as weapons between their parents, or even worse, upon whose shoulders their parent’s marriage lies.
Such pain lingers in the heart of Leah’s husband, Jacob, as well. After all, Jacob was sent to flee from his brother after his mother manipulated them so that Jacob would receive his father’s birthright. Jacob is still laden with deep emotional baggage as he sets off for his ancestral home in Haran. On the way, he stops to sleep and dreams of a ladder ascending to heaven with angels descending and ascending. According to the midrash of Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer, the site of this famous dream is none other than Mount Moriah, where Jacob’s grandfather Abraham sought to slaughter his father, Isaac. Before setting off to meet his extended family, Jacob encounters the seed of his family’s grief, as his father sought to sacrifice his son in a moment of religious zealotry. Like Leah, Abraham believed that he could acquire the attention of a loved one through the allure of a child. For Abraham, this loved one was God. Upon Isaac’s safe return home, Sarah immediately died, leaving us to wonder what killed her: old age, the shock of hearing what her husband planned to do, or maybe the realization that her husband’s ultimate loyalty lay elsewhere. Perhaps Abraham was never hers at all – if her value was bound to the rearing of their son, then surely Abraham rebuffed this love when he sought to kill him. Such is the fate of spouses who pursue love through the manipulation of their children. And that is exactly where we find Leah this week. She is just another link in an ancestral chain of poor parenting and unmet expectations. Ultimately, such responsibility is too much for any child to bear, and grief ensues.
Given that our wonderful Shir Emanuel kids choir is with us tonight, I assume that I am far from the only proud parent in this congregation this evening. The name for Leah’s second child, Shimon, would be fitting for each of you, but in a different way. As we hear your voices, we are filled with pride and happiness. I want to thank each of you for participating and all of the parents here tonight who have allowed their children to branch out and try something new. Leah would have done well to follow your example.
Hold that thought… Maybe Leah does learn something after all. For after rearing her fourth son, she breaks the pattern of using him for a means towards communicating with her husband. She names her fourth child Judah, saying, “This time, let me gratefully praise God.” Judah, or in hebrew Yehudah, comes from root Lehodot, to praise. The child Judah is not meant to bring his mother and father closer to one another, but rather to gratefully acknowledge the act of creation. It is fitting then that we receive our namesake as yehudim or Jews, from this name. We represent a break in this vicious cycle, from personal gain to communal praise. And yes, though Leah slides back into her previous pattern with her next three children, we celebrate her moment of clarity each time we come together in thankfulness as yehudim. And so tonight, may we celebrate together with these children, honored not as a means towards personal gain, but for who they are themselves. As Psalm 97 reads, “Zion heard and was glad, and the daughters of Judah rejoiced.” As a parent, there is nothing more I could ever wish for my own child.

Sermon 9.15.06 - Parshat Nitzavim: Ra'id Muhammed and Interfaith Dialogue

2008-11-05T13:46:00.000-08:00

One fall day nearly four years ago, a man stepped onto a bus in central Afula, Israel, and noticed that the passenger in front of him was acting strangely. For one thing, he was wearing a large coat in the middle of September. Secondly, he thought he saw a wire protruding from the man’s coat. Fearing the man was possibly a suicide bomber, he searched for a way to alert the police. The problem was he didn’t have a cell phone on him. In a moment of what I can only call pure chutzpah, he asked the man in the trenchcoat if he could borrow his cell phone. Even more surprisingly, the man quietly obliged and handed him his cell phone. The passenger stepped to the back of the bus and whispering into the phone, called the police. When the bus stopped in the Arab-Israeli town of Um Al Fachem, the police were waiting. Stepping off the bus, the man saw the police and detonated his bomb. Because he was outside of the bus, none of the passengers were killed. Neither the fact that this passenger on the bus had saved the lives of those around him nor that he had borrowed the bomber’s cell phone is the most fantastic element of this story. That is because the passenger’s name was Ra’id Muhammed and he himself was an Arab Israeli. He had risked his own life to stop a fellow Arab Muslim from killing Israeli civilians.
I read about Ra’id Muhammed while strangely enough working on an Arab Israeli construction crew at Kibbutz Ginnegar, outside of Afula. It was my Sukkot break and in order to improve my Hebrew I had volunteered to work at Ginnegar for my two week break between ulpan and classes. Each morning I would arise at 4:30am to meet Chabashi, Jamal and Achmed in the tool shed where we would sip our Turkish coffee and collect our equipment before heading out for the morning. But that experience is another sermon altogether. In one of those moments that remind you how small the world has become, I read about Ra’id Muhammed in the New York Times online. And I saw that he was recovering from his injuries from the bomb blast at Ha’Emek Hospital, just several kilometers away. And so I decided to visit Ra’id Muhammed and say thank you.
I shared my idea with another volunteer on the kibbutz, a british soldier named Danny. Danny had just finished a tour of duty in Kosovo and was looking for some peace and quiet and so naturally came to Israel. To say that Danny stood out in Israel would be an incredible understatement. Red-haired and freckled, standing a good 6’4” and weighing at least 250 pounds, he made me look like a small dark midget. But he was looking for something to do and asked to come along on the journey to Ha’Emek hospital. Like George and Lennie from Of Mice and Men, we sojourned into the warm evening and set out for Afula.
Upon arriving at the hospital I realized that I had no idea of what I was supposed to do or say. I went to the hospital’s front desk and said that I was hoping to visit Ra’id Muhammed. The clerk asked me why. I want to say thank you, I replied. And so of course, they called security on us. After about 20 minutes of questioning, we were given permission and sent to the top floor of the hospital. We strolled past rooms filled with Arab Israelis, 5 or 6 to a room, all with families gathered around them, before finally reaching our destination. I turned the corner and saw in the back of the room, behind another 5 patients and their families, 2 muslim women in burkas, sitting next to a young boy. There laid Ra’id Muhammed, with his mother and sister at either side of him. I had forgotten that Ra’id was all of 17 years old. I saw him and though to myself, “My God, he’s just a kid.” Danny and I approached Ra’id’s mother and sister and not exactly knowing what to do, did sort of a half bow, saying “Salam Aleikum”. “Aleikum HaSalam” they replied. Now Danny didn’t speak a word of Hebrew or Arabic, so he took a position directly behind me, arms folded behind his back, as if I had brought my own British security guard. Ra’id looked up at me and quietly said hello. He was scrawny with teenager acne and looked tired and dreary. Later I found out that Ra’id had regained consciousness after the bomb only to find himself handcuffed to his bed as a possible suspect. Being one of the few Arabs on a bombed Israeli bus will do that to you. I also found out that his family had received daily death threats from Arabs upset that Ra’id had stopped the bomber. No wonder he looked so tired.
After a moment of uncomfortably long silence, I spoke to Ra’id in my best 4th grade level Hebrew. I said,

Ra’id, Thank you for seeing us. My name is Jonathan and I am an American student. This here is my friend Danny from England. (Danny nodded) We read about you in the American newspapers and traveled here to say thank you. What you did was incredibly brave and we want to make sure that you know that your deed was noticed and appreciated. There is a saying in Judaism that to save one life is like saving the entire world, because you have preserved all of the potential that comes from that one life. So thank you.

I continued…

In America, there are some people who believe that all Arabs and Muslims wish them harm, especially after September 11th. I want you to know that for the rest of my life, when anyone tells me that all the Arabs want to kill the Jews, you will be my refutation. Not Ra’id Muhammed, I will say. There’s one Arab boy who risked everything in order to save Jewish lives - and I’m sure there are many more where he came from. You forever will be my symbol for the potential for peace and understanding between our religions and cultures. Thank you for what you did. I wish you a speedy recovery and all the best for you and your family.

Ra’id calmly nodded and pointed to the newspaper article I had printed out. “Can we keep it?” his mother asked. I handed it to her. In response, Ra’id sister, sitting on the other side of his bed, extended a box of chocolates towards Danny and I. We each took one, said thank you, and left Ra’id and his family. I remember thinking there had to be a lesson in this – you say thank you for stopping a suicide bomber and you get a chocolate in return.

I tell this story now as this past week we observed the 5th anniversary of 9/11, a dark day for our community. This year the anniversary of the twin towers falls in the month of Elul, a time of reconciliation and forgiveness in the Jewish calendar. It is a season for bridging the chasm between people and combat hate with dialogue and understanding. As 9/11 moves further into history and we do our best to honor the memory of those who died, we receive instruction from this week’s torah portion. Parshat Nitzavim instructs us in simple terms, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – so you are your offspring may live.” And so I tell the story of Ra’id Muhammed as an example of one who chose life, and in doing so inspired me and countless others to do the same.
Similar words were expressed by Jamil Tarayra of East Jerusalem who was quoted in the SF Chronicle, saying, “I am here today because your kids and mine deserve a better present and a better future.” Jamil’s comments were made during the Peacemakers Camp which took place over labor day at Camp Tawonga. 250 participants, their ages ranging from 1-77, coming from the US, Israel and the Palestinian territories, gathered for four days of open discussion. It was not always easy or light and voices were raised at times. But all parties left with a better understanding of each other’s perspective and a commitment to foster a sense of understanding and trust between their communities.
Elul is indeed a time for reconciliation. This week’s September 11th issue of Newsweek featured an article on Ruth and Judea Pearl, the parents of Daniel Pearl, the WSJ writer who was murdered in Pakistan by Muslim fundamentalists. Seeking to fight hate with understanding, Judea and Ruth created the Daniel Pearl foundation. Operating out of Daniel’s childhood bedroom in Encino, the couple brings Muslim journalists to work as fellows in US newsrooms and Jewish newspapers. This years recipients of the Daniel Pearl fellowships are Ghanashyam Ojha, Senior Reporter for The Kathmandu Post who will be working at the North Adams Transcript/Berkshire Eagle, where Daniel Pearl began his career. And Shahid Hussain Shah of Pakistan, reporter for The News International, will join the staff of the Washington DC bureau of The Wall Street Journal. This program is absolutely necessary – after all, the 5th anniversary of 9/11 gave us the news that Iran had shut down its two largest leftist newspapers in response to their critical reporting. A free press is one of the foundations to cultural understanding and tolerance. And so the Daniel Pearl Foundation also trains highschool students around the world to be future journalists.
The Pearls made headlines this week as Judea, a former Israeli soldier, along with Pakistani diplomat Akbar Achmed were awarded the inaugural Purpose Prize from the San Francisco based Civic Ventures foundation. The Purpose Prize is awarded to people over the age of 60 who have taken on society’s biggest challenges. Judea and Akbar have partnered in a series of public dialogues around the country. Their goal is to create lines of communication for individuals who are often worlds apart. When asked why he had put together this program, Judea responded, “We have to defeat the hatred that took Danny’s life. In that sense, it’s revenge. That hatred caused our pain, therefore we have to reduce it, eliminate it, lessen it.”. Elul is indeed a time for reconciliation. And the 70 year old Judea and 63 year old Achmed show us that it is never too late to begin the process.
So how can we get involved in interfaith dialogue and reconciliation? First of all, the Daniel Pearl foundation offers an entire menu of programs and events at DanielPearl.org. When I checked out the sight, I saw that the annual Daniel Pearl Lecture Series at Stanford (Daniel’s alma mater) will be launched this coming October in partnership with Hillel and the Office of the President at Stanford. You can find out all about it at the website. It is a foundation well worth supporting.
Secondly, you can contact the JCC to inquire about the interfaith connection program, which brings together Muslims, Christians and Jews for open dialogue and discussion. This offers a wonderful chance for learning as we begin the new year.
Finally, while you may have missed this year’s Peacemakers camp (although we may have a few participants from Emanuel here with us tonight), you can still sign up for the upcoming interfaith retreat at Camp Tawonga slated for Sukkot weekend, October 6-8. This program is being sponsored by our congregation along with Congregation Rodef Shalom, Temple Beth Am and the Interfaith Connection at the JCC. Ryan Bauer, my counterpart rabbinic intern will be attending along with Emanuel congregants and representatives from the local Jewish, Christian and Muslim communities. And perhaps other religions as well! Space is still available but the date is fast approaching. Please visit camptawonga.org for more information and for registration materials for this remarkable program.
“I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life – so you are your offspring may live.” In this season of somber remembrance and commemoration, I remember Ra’id Muhammed as someone who chose life and opened the doors for understanding and reconciliation. May we all have the courage and optimism to renew ourselves this Rosh Hashanah, and dedicate ourselves towards the reconciliation of our disparate communities. I wish you all a meaningful final week of Elul and Shabbat shalom.

Sermon 10.20.07 - Parshat Breishit: A Welcome to All New Members

2008-11-05T13:44:00.000-08:00

Every day, I have the distinct pleasure of walking into the synagogue, up the stairs beyond the front office and behind the Martin Meyer sanctuary, up into the balcony of the main sanctuary. I cross through the balcony, each footstep echoing loudly against the walls and throughout the corridor. As I make the morning journey to the my office in the back of the hall, I am welcomed by a stream of colorful shadows from the stained glass of the Northeast wall, spilling red, blue, yellow and green shards onto the walkway. In the late afternoon, the Southwest wall answers in kind with deep burgundies and purples. Otherwise, the world is silent. The seats are folded and the prayer books are neatly stacked. The bimah and ark stand as mute, regal reminders of what has come before and what will come to be.
I can close my eyes and remember the scene over high holidays, with children spilling onto the bimah and sitting on the high benches covered in tapestry. I see rows of people stacked to the edge of the walls. I hear murmur of the people, the organ, the choir, the cantor and the call of the shofar. Though all is now silent, I know that the building, along with its inhabitants, is engaged in anticipation and preparation for the halls to be filled with people. The entire structure waits, anxiously looking forward to coming alive once again.
So it goes with all of us. We spend the week furiously constructing our lives and the world around us. Like the ancient Israelites, we spend the week building our holy sanctuaries, our mishkanot. They are built of our daily responsibilities, the to and fro dictated by our chosen vocations and living situations. On the seventh day, Shabbat, we cease our work and come together in celebration. Only then does the mishkan achieve its purpose – to host the community it times of celebration and reverence. Having finished the work, we realize that we do not celebrate Shabbat in order to finish the week, but that we construct our week in anticipation its arrival.
Those of us lucky enough to work at Temple Emanu-El feel the weekly buildup to Shabbat in all that we do. The stained glass of the sanctuary windows depicts the creation of the world as depicted in this week’s torah portion. The incandescent sparks and colored shadows remind us that with light the weekly creation has begun and that we must play our part. The Torah reads, “Bereshit bara elohim et ha shamayim ve-et ha-aretz” In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. What is this reishit or beginning? Midrash Rabbah answers, quoting the book of Proverbs which reads,
AK+r>D; tyviäare ynIn"q'â hw"©hy God made me at the beginning ‘ reishit’ of God’s way. The Rabbis read Proverbs to be the Torah speaking in the first person, saying that the entire world was created with it in mind. God made me at the beginning of God’s way The world was not created for its own sake, but rather, was built specifically for the future generations of the Torah, for Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah. For Moses and Aaron and Miriam and Deborah. Creation was not complete until humans were produced to care for and enjoy it. Therefore we are all shapers of God’s creation, challenged with the task of bringing creation to its fruition.
Which brings us to why we are here tonight. We sit together tonight for two reasons: to observe and celebrate the Shabbat, and to welcome and celebrate those of you who have joined our community over the past year. Or I should say as those of us who have joined the community over the past year. After all, as the president of the hair club for men would say, I’m not just the rabbinic intern; I’m also a new member. You are the Abraham and Isaacs, Leah and Rachels of today. It is you who have joined our community and therefore given meaning to our work.
Tonight we began our celebration with the singing of Lecha Dodi, the welcoming of the Sabbath bride to the people Israel. We called shabbat, Sof ma-aseh, b'machashavah t'chilah - last in deed, but first in thought. Though the Shabbat was the final day of creation, it was thought of first, serving as inspiration for the work of the other days. And so it is with all of you. You are the inspiration for those of us who spend the week preparing this holy space. It is you who transform a building into a sanctuary, an edifice into a clei kodesh, a holy vessel. Sof ma-aseh, b'machashavah t'chilah – You are the latest to enter yet the first in our intentions. So thank you for contributing to this community and giving us shelimut – wholeness, which is also the root for shalom, peace. Tonight we thank you for your Shabbat shalom.
In Judaism, objects carry little value of holiness in themselves. Only through proper usage does any item become imbued with holiness. A sukkah is just an ordinary structure or booth until it is filled with guests or ushpizin. The willow, myrtle and palm are by themselves ordinary plants, yet are transformed when they are brought together with the etrog in religious observance. The ram’s horn is just that; yet when it is filled with breath it becomes the shofar, the instrument which calls our people to action. So it also goes in this week’s torah portion, as dust is transformed into man by God blowing a soul into it. While we are lucky enough to congregate in such a beautiful and historic building, we are reminded that the bricks and mortar of this synagogue are but dust brought to life by the souls which inhabit it each Shabbat. You are the instrument of holiness which actualizes the spiritual potential of this building, bringing it to life.
In joining this congregation, you have made a bold stand against the status quo. According to the most recent UJC survey, less than 26% of Reform Jews are affiliated with a synagogue. Yet here at Temple Emanu-el, over 342 families, virtually another entire symagogue, have joined in just the past year, pushing our congregation towards 2,500 families. In an era of rugged individualism and a societal reticence to commit to communal organizations, you have followed the Torah commandment “Al tifrosh min a tsibur” – Do not separate yourselves from the community. As each of you brings your own gift of holiness to the congregation, you make the community all the more unique and distinct. You give purpose to the mundane preparations that go into a moment like this. Sof ma-aseh, b'machashavah t'chilah – The latest to enter yet the first in intention.
Another famous Midrash asks why the Torah begins with the letter Bet of Bereishit. The letter aleph approaches God and asks why it is not given the honor of beginning the scroll. God answers that the Torah is a document of Bracha or blessing, and not Arura, or curse. Moreover, the Torah begins with the letter Bet and not Aleph to remind us that all of the letters are special, finding their true value only when they are arranged into patterns of holiness. The Midrash continues to run through the Hebrew alphabet backwards, from Tav to Shin and so on to Bet, showing how each letter is imbued with meaning.
And so we are likewise arranged here this evening, structured into forms of holiness, from the aleph of new member Ms. Estelle Alberts to the Tav of Amy and Frank Torrano. Just within the past year we have added two Goldbergs, a Goldblatt, a Goldenberg, a Goldfarb, two Goldmans and two Goldsteins. Its like the old joke – one guy says to another, did you hear that a Jew sank the Titanic. Really? He responds, I thought it was an iceberg. The first man replies, iceberg Goldberg same difference.
I was happy to count myself as the additional Jaffe for the year until I found out that Dr. Ian and Mrs. Jacqueline Jaffee had already joined. We’ve added Greenbergs, Greenspans, Greensteins and a Greenhut, otherwise known as a sukkah. Our new congregants have brought holiness in their names, from Ms. Mary Love to Omid and Sareena Naim (Naim means peaceful). We have two beermans and a tapper. I look forward to them getting together. Just in this week’s torah portion, we welcome Adam Eisendrath, Adam Odessky and Ms. Eve Peters. We don’t have any Abels, but we can welcome Ms. Isabella Ehrlich. But we won’t let her get too close to Mr. Cain, I mean, Ken Perlmutter. Mr. Jeremy Noah Lateiner, you’ll have to wait until next week.
All of you are ma’aseh techilah, the latest to arrive yet the first in our intentions. It is you who transform the silent halls of this building into a bayit, a Jewish home. And so I would like to invite Terry Krause, our director of Membership Services and the rest of the congregation to join me in welcoming and blessing our newest members. Can any member who has joined the congregation over the past calendar year please join us up here on the bimah. I will read the Hebrew and Terry will read the English. We invite all of our other congregants to stand and repeat after us.

Numbers 6:24 May God bless you and protect you!

Numbers 6:25 May God deal kindly and graciously with you!

Numbers 6:26 May God’s presence be lifted upon you, and grant you peace.

Boachem L’Shalom v’ Tesitchem l’shalom. May you be blessed in coming and may you be blessed in going. We welcome you all to the family and say Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 9.9.06 - Parshat Ki Tavo: Evolving Chagim Due to Deuteronom7

2008-11-05T13:43:00.000-08:00

Ki Tavo Sermon Outline
Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El, San Francisco
9.9.06

1. Tucked within the text of this week’s parsha is a revolutionary subject which changed Judaism forever: the centralization of the religion around the Jerusalem temple.
- Book of Deuteronomy written last, reported found under King Josiah in 7th century BCE. Radically centralized Judaism. A very political document.
- Before, sacrifices and offerings made anywhere. Noah after the ark, Abraham after the covenant. No particular place.
- In this week’s parsha, see Deut 26:

Deuteronomy 26:1-2 When you enter the land that the LORD your God is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, 2 you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you harvest from the land that the LORD your God is giving you, put it in a basket and go to the place where the LORD your God will choose to establish His name.

2. The greatest ramification of this law is the evolution of Jewish holidays.
3. Holidays always evolving
- We borrow from others, just no Canaanites around now
- Ancient (torah) holidays based largely on agricultural celebrations
- 3 chagim. Sukkot (please rain) – Passover (please stop raining) – Shavuot (thanks for the harvest).
- Torah adds religious significance to holidays, culminating in Deut’s shift.
- Lets look holiday by holiday at how centralization of the religion around the Jerusalem temple fundamentally changes its holiday observance:

Let’s begin with one of our most important holidays, Passover. While we immediately connect Passover to the liberation from Egypt, the holiday actually goes back to agrarian impulses. There were originally two separate holidays, one for farmers and the other for hunters. In order to thank God for the Spring bounty, to pray for a cessation of rain, and to ask for a plentiful year to come, each would make offerings of their own goods. The farmers would offer bread or matsot, and the farmers would offer a lamb. Biblical trivia time – Where have we seen a farmer and a hunter present rival offerings before in the torah? (Cain/Abel, Jacob/Esau) Only later did these two traditions become fused together into a single offering and a single festival. Matsah + Lamb = Passover.
While Exodus’ account of Passover clearly connects the paschal and matsot offerings to the escape from Egypt, Deuteronomy completely changes the holiday. Deuteronomy adds to the laws of Passover that the head of the household travel to Jerusalem to make a sacrifice in the temple. Therefore the cessation of rain is connected to pleasing the singular God of the Jerusalem temple. Passover is not celebrated at home but rather in Jerusalem. Only after the destruction of the temple did the modern observance of Passover evolve, largely based upon the service in the Jerusalem temple.
Shavuot goes through a similar evolution. Originally called Chag HaKatsir (the reaping holiday), Shavuot evolves out of an agrarian holiday surrounding the Spring bounty. Now you may be scratching your head here and saying, “Wait, but Shavuot is in Summer, not Spring.” Well, Deuteronomy has a huge impact on this festival, as the need to travel to Jerusalem causes the holiday to be moved a full 7 weeks after the harvest, so there will be time for reaping the fields before the journey. Otherwise, people would be forced to leave their fields and leave their crops to rot as they traveled to Jerusalem. Of course the name now had to change as well as the festival was no longer about reaping at all. Thus in this week’s parsha it is deemed the festival of the gathering of the crop. The practical need for time for reaping is now given religious meaning by counting off seven weeks, each of seven days. As we well know, the number seven is extremely important in Jewish theology, marking the day God rested from creation. Seven times seven weeks makes Shavuot a Shabbat of shabbatot. In reality, however, the connection to 50 days is probably a borrowed tradition, like latkes and Channukah gifts. Mary Douglas writes in Leviticus as Literature that the dry winds of North Africa and certain parts of the Middle East during this period are called “Sirocco” or “fifty”, based upon their duration. Perhaps the timing of the celebration was tied to such natural events.
Sukkot is perhaps more affected by this week’s parsha than any other holiday in the Jewish tradition. While we American Reform Jews celebrate Sukkot as almost an afterthought of the high holidays, Sukkot was originally one of, if not the most important holiday in the Jewish calendar. Like Shavuot and Passover, Sukkot began as an agrarian holiday, this time marking the beginning of the rainy season. Thus people would pray for the proper rain to sustain their fall and winter crops. Signs of pantheism may still be seen in Sukkot practice. When a group comes together to chant hallel and rubs the etrog and shakes the lulav, it is almost like a spiritual rain dance. The rubbing of the citrus fruit makes the room smell like rain. And the chorus of beaten palms makes the sound of raindrops on the ground. In all, the Sukkot hallel prayer acts and sounds quite a whole lot like a tribal rain dance.
Sukkot is called Chag Ha’asif, the ingathering festival, in the book of Exodus. It is said take place at the end of the year. This may sound strange to many of you who rightly recognize Rosh Hashanah as the beginning of the year, only 10 days earlier. That would make for a rather short year. Recent archeological studies show that nearby ancient Gezer’s agricultural calendar year began and ended in Autumn. Thus its likely that viewing Sukkot as the end of the year could be due to, once again, outside influences. This timing issue is further exacerbated by Deuteronomy, which proscribes – you guessed it – a pilgrimage to the temple in Jerusalem. If Sukkot marks another harvesting period, it needs to be delayed, much like Shavuot. This is exactly what happens and Sukkot, like Shavuot before it, is pushed back and given the date of the 15th day of the month. Why is Shavuot moved back 7 weeks and sukkot only 2? Because reaping and processing takes longer than planting.
Unlike Shavuot and Passover, Sukkot demands that not just the head of the household but rather the entire family travel to Jerusalem. This 8 day family pilgrimage creates another problem. What do you think? What is the problem with taking an entire family to Jerusalem during a busy time? Hint: According to another well-known religion, a man and his pregnant wife come to Jerusalem during a census and have some trouble. – Right! Where are all of these people going to sleep while in Jerusalem?
The tradition of building huts or sukkot stems from this exact situation. Pilgrims would erect small huts to live in while in Jerusalem. This practice is even confirmed in the book of Nehemiah, as it reads,

“So the people went out and brought them, and made themselves booths on their roofs, in their courtyards, in the courtyards of the House of God, in the square of the Water Gate and in the square of the Ephraim Gate.” (Nehemiah, 8:16)

Only later did the religious connection between the sukkot and the Israelites dwelling in the desert evolve.
Given that Sukkot originally represented the end of the year, the final day was marked as a celebration of the new year. Thus the holiday of Shemini Artseret, the concluding assembly marking the beginning of the new year. Later, as Rosh Hashanah became defined as the Jewish new year, Shemini Artseret was kept even though it now seems a bit out of place. Like Shavuot, it was given new religious significance as a day of congregation following Sukkot.
Finally, we reach the holidays, only a month away. Yom Kippur and Sukkot seem to be diametrically opposed. Today we view Yom Kippur as the holiest day of the year, while Sukkot is rather an afterthought. It seems as though the opposite was the case originally. If pilgrims were making a special pilgrimage to Jerusalem for Sukkot, then there was a need to clean and purify the temple before the festivities. Therefore Yom Kippur may be viewed as “Setup for Sukkot Day” as pilgrims arrive early in Jerusalem for Sukkot anyways, with a desire to atone and purify themselves and the temple. Only in the book of Numbers is Yom Kippur illustrated as a day for self affliction.
Rosh Hashanah’s evolution is similarly attached to Sukkot. Rosh Hashanah was originally only the Rosh Chodesh or new moon preceding the principal pilgrimage festival of Sukkot. As Psalm 81:4 reads, “Blow the horn on the new moon, on the full moon for our feast day.” The shofar blasts of Rosh Hashanah are meant to arouse the deity and community alike for the coming holiday of Sukkot. Like Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah eventually garnered the importance to stand on its own in the Jewish calendar. Today it overshadows Sukkot for many of us modern Jews.
Overall, the centralization of the Jewish religion around the Jerusalem temple made pilgrimages necessary and thus transformed Judaism. Farmers could not sacrifice in their fields but also could not leave their crops during harvest time. Therefore, harvest-bound dates were shifted. Later on, religious significance was given to these changes, such as the 49 days of the counting of the Omer before Shavuot. Studying today’s torah portion can be likened to studying a pre-human fossil. We may learn about our evolution by studying one of the steps between two given ends. Jewish holidays, along with the rest of Jewish tradition, are highly evolved and edited ceremonies reflecting the changing nature of theology and social interaction. We can see this even within the last few generations as Hannukah, a relatively minor holiday, has grown in importance due to the influence of Christmas. Our holidays are not ends in themselves as much as means towards understanding our surroundings and our place in time. It is ultimately up to each of us to find personal significance in our communal celebrations, so that we may add our own tinkering to the millennia old process of evolving tradition, as exhibited here with the centralization around Jerusalem. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 2.10.07 - Parshat Yitro: Are We Allowed to Criticize Israel?

2008-11-05T13:41:00.000-08:00

I begin tonight with a question: as Jews, are we prohibited from criticizing the state of Israel? Does our religious and cultural identity mandate that we support Israel’s national policy at each step? I ask this question in light of the recent essay entitled “Progressive Jewish Thought and the New Anti-Semitism” written by Alvin Rosenfeld and commissioned by the American Jewish Committee.
In the essay, which has stirred great debate within the Jewish community, Rosenfeld argues that a new liberal anti-Semitism is being led by progressive Jews and their condemnations of Israeli policy. That is, Jewish criticism of Israel is endangering Israel and is therefore anti-Zionist. And in her commentary, Brandeis professor Shulamit Reinharz takes the next step from anti-Zionism to anti-Semitism, saying, “In a world where there is only one Jewish state, to oppose it vehemently is to endanger Jews.”
Rosenfeld’s essay outs several prominent liberal Jews such as playwright Tony Kushner and Washington Post editorialist Richard Cohen as leaders of this liberal conspiracy. By speaking out against Israeli policy or by buying into the revisions of new Israeli historians such as Tom Segev, these liberals have sparked a new tide of anti-Semitism. I guess Mr. Rosenfeld believes that the correct way to support Israel is to give it carte blanche in its internal and external operations.
Professor Rosenfeld’s argument seems all too insensitive as an American living in an era in which public dissent is often portrayed as anti-patriotism. Our own government has consistently used the same line of argument, saying that criticism of American policy “enables our enemies” and “puts our troops in danger”. Any real American must support the president in “staying the course”. Rosenfeld has taken this logic one step further, arguing that criticizing a country in which none of us live and of which we are not even citizens constitutes political sabotage. Since when does criticism amount to treachery?
I recall the wise words of one American Jewish liberal (you can tell the AJC already doesn’t like him) commentator Al Frenken. In response to the argument that criticism of American policy amounts to anti-Patriotism, Frenken makes the following analogy. He says that there are two kinds of love: childish love and adult love. For a child, everything their mommy does is perfect and wonderful. Mommy can do no wrong and to criticize mommy is purely unthinkable. All of us have experienced this form of love. It is the childish love that Mr. Rosenfeld and others would have us foster towards Israel.
But as we get older, Frenken argues, we graduate to adult love. Adult love is when we realize that our loved ones are fallible and imperfect. True mature love occurs when we accept the other, despite their blemishes and faults. Over time, these quirks may indeed even enhance our love for the other. At the same time, we acknowledge our own imperfections. In adult love, we save our most honest criticism for those we love most. We criticize because we love; because we want our loved ones to live up the great expectations and standards we have for them.
As an American Jew, I have a fervent adult love for the state of Israel. This does not mean that I love everything Israel does. And while I see Israel as imperfect and still evolving, that does not mean that her neighbors stand beyond judgment either. I love Israel as the greatest of social experiments, the bringing together of disparate peoples from around the globe, each with distinct languages and cultures, and melding them into a burgeoning democracy, in the heart of the world’s most hostile zipcode. I love Israel as the fulfillment of my people’s 2000 year-old dream, to live as a people in the land of our ancestors. I love Israel as a vibrant democracy and economic juggernaut in a region of cultural stagnation.
And yet as Israel is only 59 years old, I realize that it is still figuring out who it is. This is one reason why it is so exciting to visit Israel – I imagine the feeling is quite similar to what it must have been like to visit our country in the beginning of the 19th century, when the nation was young and still figuring itself out. It took us over a century to finally wrestle with slavery, an issue far more egregious than anything Israel has done. Israel is still going through these growing pains.
The love I carry for Israel is an adult one. So when Israeli policy puts 3,000 fanatical settlers into a Gaza strip packed with 3 million Palestinians, I criticize out of love. When Israel devotes 30% of the roads and infrastructure to these 3,000 settlers, I criticize out of love. When Arab Israelis are treated inferiorly to their fellow citizens, I criticize out of love. When Israel abuses immigrant laborers and allows them to be taken advantage of, I criticize out of love. When Israel raises its pension age and lowers teachers’ pay, all the while supporting thousands of non-working Orthodox Jews, I criticize out of love. When Israel caves into political pressure to cancel the only gay pride parade in the entire region, I criticize out of love. And hopefully, none of this makes me the new Jimmy Carter. I steadfastly maintain Israel’s right to exist and to defend herself. But I am personally pained when Israel makes poor decisions which limit her from reaching the high expectations I hold for her. This isn’t anti-Zionism and it certainly isn’t anti-Semitism. It’s a mature, adult love for my people’s homeland.
Sadly lost in the false historicism and moral posturing of Jimmy Carter’s book is a true flash of insight. Carter is correct when he observes that Israelis are much more comfortable voicing dissent to Israeli policy then we Americans. Israelis have long embraced such an open debate. Open the editorial page of ha’aretz on any given day and you will find open criticism and a will to change. Here in America, we panic when a Muslim is elected to the House of Representatives and wants to be sworn in using the Quran. But Israel, which has been attacked numerous times by a coalition of Arab armies, opens its doors to Arab political parties and hardly raises a peep when they send Muslim representatives to the Knesset. How is it that debate on Israel is so stifled here, halfway around the world, whereas in Israel, criticism is made openly and freely? Does Mr. Rosenfeld consider these Israeli critics to be anti-Zionist even though they have chosen to live in the country and send their children to the army while he comfortably sits in his home in Midwest America? Isn’t his choice to live here and not there a silent critique of Israel in itself?
In this week’s Torah portion, Moses’ father in law, Yitro, observes Moses legislating to the people. After watching Moses labor throughout the day, Yitro offers constructive criticism, saying to him, “The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone.” In today’s era of modern discourse, we might as well expect Moses to reply, “Foolish old man. Don’t you see that your questioning of my tactics only emboldens the enemy? You are not even one of us and so your criticism of Israel smacks of anti-Semitism. Bite your tongue and support our troops.”
But Moses recognizes that Yitro’s criticism is made out of love for him and the people. He listens to his father in law and changes his ways, allowing the Israelites to deal with their own problems. Without this change, Moses would not endure as the leader of the Israelites.
Like Yitro, we stand with one foot in and the other foot out of Israeli society. We are part of the Jewish community, and Israel’s actions do indeed affect our lives. And we provide crucial support to Israel by our presence in the United States, the country which sends Israel 9 billion dollars a year annually. Yet like Yitro, we do not fully partake in this people’s journey. We do not send our children to the Israeli army, and we do not face the daily perils of suicide bombing. We sit on the sideline, yet act as though we are in the game. As Israeli author AB Yehoshua once said, the Jews of Israel stand upon the very public stage of world affairs, while we Jews of the Diaspora remain in the audience.
But while our influence is limited, we nevertheless have the right and indeed the obligation to offer Israel our insight. After all, what sort of advocate would we be if our purpose were to serve merely as yes-men? Its clear that Israel can take the criticism and at times, will even listen and change course. And it is also clear that if we are to love Israel openly and maturely, then we have the obligation to offer critique when it fails to live up to our lofty standards, just as our most patriotic act as Americans is to offer critique of our own government. Such sentiment is neither anti-Patriotic, anti-Zionist nor anti-Semitic. When we criticize out of love, we show our deepest respect for our homeland and our brothers and sisters who live there. Jewish tradition teaches us, kol yisrael aravim zeh le zeh. All of Israel is responsible for one another. May we have the wisdom and love to expect the best out of one another, and the honesty and courage to speak out when we fail to do so.

Sermon 7.4.07 - Parshat Pinchas: The Current Failures of Israeli Socialism

2008-11-05T13:40:00.000-08:00

In this week’s parsha, Moses divvies up the land to the Israelite families according to the instructions given to him by God. But it seems as though God has overlooked one minor detail. As the land is to be divided between the male heads of clans, women without male heads of family are seemingly thrown to the curb. And so we are introduced to the daughters of Tselofchad, descendents of Jacob’s son Manasseh. Their father has died and they have no brothers nor husbands to inherit any land. Sensing the impending injustice, they take their case directly to the ancient appellate court, in this case Moses and Eleazar the priest, and demand an amendment to God’s decree. Moses submits the case to the ancient Supreme court, in this case, God. God agrees to hear the case and indeed even finds in case of the plaintiffs. God overturns his own law in order to allow women without male heirs to inherit their father’s estate.
What we see here this week is the flexibility of the Torah to bend its own rules in support of those less fortunate. For the writers of the Torah, there are no more pressing needs than those of the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the disenfranchised. And while we might be surprised that women have to fight just to be included, or that they must appeal an earlier law to receive true justice, we must recognize the Torah as a large step forward from the patriarchal society from which the text emerged. For the Torah, there are rules, but there are also moral concerns. And when push comes to shove, these concerns outweigh the rules, leading to exceptions and reversals. This is a natural part of the Torah’s law making process.
I was reminded of the lesson of Tselofchad’s daughters earlier this week when I read an article from the Wall Street Journal discussing Israel’s modern chasm between rich and poor. As you may know, the original socialist state of Israel was built upon kibbutzim and moshavs, farming collectives and settlements. But over time, Israel has turned more and more towards Western capitalism. Now only a handful of true kibbutzim remain in which all property and income is shared among members. The Israel of today is no longer built upon kibbutz farms and dairies. But the Jewish state is powering your new iphone (the chip is Israeli) and securing many of your online transactions (VeriSign is an Israeli technology). Powered by high-tech exports, the Israeli economy grew a whopping 6.3% in the first quarter of this year. But with Western capitalism, Israel has also imported its ugly stepchild, hyperactive consumerism. And so that 6% growth in economy is dwarfed by the 28% jump in personal consumption of durable goods, such as cars and refrigerators. Sales of Porsches in Israel have doubled between 2004 and 2006. Last year, Lexus opened its first shop in the Jewish state. And so a country founded upon the ideals of social welfare and individual sacrifice for the common good now sports a widening chasm between rich and poor. Though the average Israeli salary has risen steadily, to more than $22,000 a year currently, one in four families live below the official poverty line. The poverty rate among children has ballooned to 35%.
The original founders of the Zionist state sought to create a country which would stand as an example for the world. After all, Jews had risen to the forefront of political dissent and criticism in pre WWI Europe. Now at last with a land of their own, the Jews would create a state through the toil of the common worker, all for one and one for all. But as this nascent endeavor has matured into a economic power, many of these ideas have been discarded over time. So as modern high rises are erected next to slums throughout Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, we are left to wonder, what happened? And perhaps most importantly, what is happening to the modern iterations of the daughters of Tselofchad? Are their cases have been heard? Are their needs being adequately addressed?
Post 1967, we American Jews constructed our own sort of covenant with the state of Israel. We would send our kids and travel ourselves to Israel to import its idealism and heroic narrative: Come see Israel: Where a forgotten people have transformed a forgotten region into a land of milk and honey. In return, we would support Israel financially, politically and militarily. But this relationship had some unforeseen side effects. As we were importing Israeli idealism, Israel was importing the American dream. Tourists arrived in Israel and displayed American wealth and consumerism; and Israelis took note of our designer clothing and expensive gear. And so as we sought to emulate Israel, Israel, in many ways, was emulating us.
And so this week as we Americans face the tragedy of the failed American health care system in Michael Moore’s newest documentary, Israel faces the modern reality that economic changes have eroded the socialist infrastructure of the founding Zionists, from the closing of numerous moshavim and kibbutzim to the slashing of national labor and health-care systems. State subsidies for families, based on size, have also been cut. Even public relief duties have been privatized and curtailed. As a result, during last summer's war, thousands of Israelis in the north went hungry in bomb shelters. According to Chagit Shvarzman, an organizer with the General Federation of Students and Young Workers, no one came to help because the companies to which the government had handed over relief duties fled when the missiles fell. It seems as though Israel has even imported our Katrina moments.
And so we come back to the modern daughters of Tselofchad, whether they be migrant workers, the new Israeli poor, or the refugee who is left in a bomb shelter without answer. They cannot look to the Israeli government, currently tarnished by corruption and scandal. After all, prime minister Olmert’s approval ratings make Bush’s seem stratospheric. Moreover, they cannot rely upon a state which once sought to take in the world’s forgotten and give them a sense of purpose and a home in which to flourish. While the early Reform Jews sought to establish a new Zion here in America, it seems as though our bretheren across the Atlantic and Mediterranean were doing the opposite, creating a new Los Angeles of the East. We can only hope that they give a better answer to Tselofchad’s daughters than we do. Because the moment Israel ceases to be an extraordinary dream, it will be relegated to just another ordinary country. And the modern day daughters of Tselofchad surely deserve better than that.

Sermon 5.9.08 - Parshat Emor / Yom Haatzamaut: Absentee Residents of Israel

2008-11-05T13:38:00.001-08:00

According to the Jewish calendar, tonight marks the 20th day of the counting of the Omer. We count 49 days from Passover to Shavuot, to mark the time from the liberation of the Israelites from Egypt to the revelation of the Torah at Sinai. The rest of the story you probably know – the 40 years of wandering in the desert, the entrance into and settling of the land of Israel and so on... But tonight, in honor of the 60th anniversary of Israeli independence, I’d like to add a new chapter; another ending to this story. In this alternate reality, you see, the Israelites enter into the land only to find that it has already been purchased by foreign investors and speculators. Joshua and his clan move into disturbingly quiet housing complexes, largely vacated throughout the year, modern ghost towns except for the occasional visitor. Sound like a terrible idea for a series spinoff, right?
Well, this is exactly the situation which many Jerusalem inhabitants face today. A convergence of relative calm in Israel and the rising wealth of the French, British and American diaspora communities has created a buying frenzy of Israeli real estate, most significantly in Jerusalem. Some buy as a second option in case of rising anti-semetic fervor. Other buy to have a place to visit during holy times of the year. But few purchase real estate with any realistic expectation of living there full time. Such consumer behavior has led to radical ramifications.
Firstly, foreign investment has driven up the price of Jerusalem real estate so much that it is now out of reach for many local potential buyers. A recent study of the Jerusalem municipality found that 20% of all city center apartments are owned by foreigners living outside of the country. Jerusalem urban planners expect that by 2015, the city will be 50% empty. Property prices in Jerusalem in central neighborhoods have increased 60% since 2002. Modest three bedroom family apartments are up from an average of $180k to $270k. This may sound affordable by San Francisco standards, but keep in mind that the average salary in Israel is $25k. Thus the current mid size family apartment is over 10 times annual salary.
In a recent sign of the times, a Jerusalem duplex in the tony neighborhood of Abu Tor, overlooking the old city, with eight rooms, a whirlpool bath and garden complete with fish pond and fruit trees is listed at $2.2 million. Until recently, such a price was unheard of in crowded and bustling Jerusalem. Nearly the entire neighborhood of Abu Tor lies vacant throughout the year. Says neighbor Yishai Amoyal, “People with American and French accents are constantly knocking on my door and offering me a blank check to fill out for my house.”
Add this up and you get an increasingly empty and yet expensive city to live in. The real estate market is changing the makeup of modern day Jerusalem. Keep in mind that Jerusalem is Israel’s poorest city, due to large numbers of ultra-Orthodox Jews and Palestinians, communities with higher than average poverty rates. These groups are being forced into increasingly squalor conditions.
In the meantime, the middle class is evacuating. A recent report by the Knesset found that 30k young people left Jerusalem last year alone due to a lack of affordable housing. The number is expected to rise this year. Thus the real estate market is leading to a further political polarization of the city – those overall moderate groups abandon the city, leaving diametrically opposed fanatical groups in their wake. In this way, Jerusalem becomes an even more difficult city in which to live.
Meanwhile, the city has become a provider of educated workers for the rest of the country and abroad. Its students from the prestigious Hebrew University and Bezalel Academy on Mount Scopus find neither jobs nor housing awaiting them in Jerusalem. Says Shlomo Hassan, professor of Urban and Regional Studies at Hebrew University: “Its an urban nightmare, the city center is supposed to be where young people thrive and where the creative class fuels the city with ideas and commerce but now it is deserted.” The remaining inhabitants of Jerusalem increasingly mirror the famous Jerusalem stone: old, hard and brittle.
Those residents who decide to stay often complain about living in fully purchased and yet virtually empty apartment complexes. The part time tenants take less care of the day to day maintenance of the property, leaving the few full time residents to pick up the pieces. No wonder moderate middle class Israelis are increasingly heading to the suburbs or out of the city altogether. For them, Jerusalem has become Flat Bush and Toronto East, the city which bustles through Passover and Channukah, yet sleeps dormant through the rest of the year.
Next week, we will read parshat Behar, the Torah portion in which we receive many of the laws of maintaining the land. These laws teach us that the land is God’s and we human beings are only allowed to inhabit it. Eventually, all land is returned to God. God commands us, saying, “The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is Mine, for you are sojourners and residents with me.” The Torah goes so far as to mandate that all land be returned to God every 50 years, in the jubilee year.
Now while modern economics makes such a decree rather difficult to follow, the underlying message remains. Land is a necessary factor towards creating and maintaining a community. It must be shared by those who live there. The state of Israel and the city of David are holy only by virtue of the people who dwell there, the lives they live and the customs which they practice. When Jerusalem is transformed into Aspen, Kona, or Cabo San Lucas, we all lose. This is one time share opportunity we can afford to miss, and should overlook. This is ir ha’kodesh – the holy city – where our collective history is anchored and where our ancestors once settled.
Tonight is the 20th day of the counting of the omer. We celebrate the real ending to the history of Jewish wandering. How our hope and sacrifice was ultimately rewarded, how our perseverance eventually led to a sovereign nation. We recall our heritage as wanderers, in search of a land and a home. This search ultimately lasted 2 millenia, through which we endured through the collective dream. “Lihiot am chofshi, - beartzeinu” – to be a free people, in our land, the land of Zion, Jerusalem. I pray that this dream endures. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 12.14.07 - Parshat Vayigash: New Generation of Support for Israel

2008-11-05T13:35:00.000-08:00

Dvar Torah Vayigash
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe – Congregation Emanu-El
12.14.2007

Like many of you, I presume, I’ve always been a sucker for a good story. You know, good guys against bad guys and just enough suspense to make me wonder if this time could be our hero’s demise, then the obligatory resolution and happy ending as the good guy saves the day. Perhaps this is why we have become a nation of moviegoers, as in most all of today’s films, we know how things are going to eventually play out. Good stories are pleasing to watch and easy to digest. We don’t have to think too hard or get hot and bothered during our leisure time. Escapism demands a story with a tidy ending and a good guy to root for.
Or take the story of Channukah, which we just finished celebrating. We tell this cleaned up version on a regular basis: Bad guy (Antiochus) attacks good guys (Judah Maccabbee and his gang). The underdog kicks butt and saves the day. The end. But the truth is, the Channukah story is not so clean at all. The historical record illustrates more of a civil war within the Jewish world, based upon the notion of accepting foreign influence. The Maccabees were historical hard liners, fundamentalists, if you will, who wanted no part of the Hellenized world, with its aqueducts, columns, and gymnasia. They fought other Jews who wanted to meld Jewish tradition with modern practice and ideas. Hmm, sounds a bit familiar. And though the Maccabees celebrated a somewhat pyrrhic victory by reclaiming the temple; they ultimately lost the war of acculturation. After all, tonight we sit in a synagogue. Synagogue - the word itself is Greek for place of congregation. But all of these details make for a rather difficult story, without clear good guys or bad, winners or losers. And so it becomes much harder to relate to. So we keep on talking about the evil Antiochus and the good Judah Maccabbee. Much better. As I said before, we don’t want to think too hard or get hot and bothered during our leisure time.
I was thinking about the Channukah story when I recently read a new study published by HUC Professor Steven M. Cohen and UC Davis Professor Ari Kelman. Their paper is entitled, “Beyond Distancing: Young Adult American Jews and Their Alienation from Israel.” Professors Cohen and Kelman argue that younger American Jews lack the sense of connection to Israel felt by their parents and grandparents. This discrepancy goes back to our original issue of a good story.
The study explains that each generation of American Jews has a unique connection to Israel, based upon the narratives of their particular age group. Members of the oldest generation, born before World War II, are often highly attached because they can remember the Holocaust and the subsequent founding of the State. Their children, Baby Boomers, have also experienced events that have often forged a strong sense of connection. The Six-Day war of 1967 and the following Yom Kippur war of 1973 showcased Israel as a determined David among the Goliaths of the united Arab front. Children of the Holocaust – those who had gone like sheep to the slaughter – rose to become tank commanders and fighter pilots, and successfully defended their land. Thus Israel became a source of real inspiration and pride for American Jews. According to Cohen and Kelman, most members of these two generations see Israel as socially progressive, tolerant, peace-seeking, efficient, democratic and proudly Jewish; a society that has successfully withstood mortal threats from malevolent, hostile and fanatical enemies. In short, I’d say that this period of history presented a fairly easily digestible story of good versus bad. And so these two generations feel good about Israel as a story of hope, determination and perseverance.
But the same cannot be said for my generation. We have never lived in a world without Israel – and so many of us take it for granted. We have never been faced with the threat of her immediate destruction. Rather than bear witness to heroic wars of self defense, we have lived through two intifadas and two Lebanon wars. These conflicts were perceived as far more morally and politically complex than Israel’s earlier campaigns. Thus as our parents and grandparents’ generations admire Israel as a plucky, progressive and largely successful social experiment, many in my own generation have much more mixed feelings. And so we champion causes with easier stories, like Darfur, a conflict with clear good guys and bad guys. Meanwhile, we leave Israel by the wayside, a difficult story which elicits confused emotions.
It is for this reason that I would like to take the opportunity this evening to congratulate and thank our participants in this year’s family Israel trip. We will offer them our blessing later tonight. This is a trip for all ages, where generations combine to confront the often difficult narrative which is modern day Israel. May each of you find not only stories of hope, heroism and courage, of which there a many to be sure. But may you also confront scenes of heartache, confusion and discord. Through your travels, you will find a much deeper story than the 30 second segments on cable news to which we have all become accustomed. No doubt, Israel is a quagmire, and any trip to the holy land eventually leads to soul searching and contemplation. It is not an easy trip, not a cruise. And so we praise you tonight for taking this deep path, even if it is not necessarily the easiest one. Because what we find in the long run is that the difficult stories are what life is truly all about. We live in a world largely lacking pure good and pure evil – the real world acts in shades of grey. But this does not mean that we should avoid it. The difficulty of Israel’s moment demands our immediate attention and investigation. So congratulations to you for taking this difficult but important journey.
Next week we will reach the end of the book of Genesis and in two weeks we start the book of Exodus and an easy story again, that of the evil Pharoah and the good Israelites. But Genesis has no such easy stories. Even Sodom and Gomorrah, the most evil of all cities, are defended for having a handful of meritorious residents. This week, we find ourselves in the longest and most difficult tale of all, the episode of Joseph and his brothers. There is no blameless character here, nor any villain to clearly root against. Rather we find a story of family conflict, loss and finally, reconciliation. In recent years, Israel has bared witness to much conflict and loss between the sons of Abraham. We are still hoping for a reconciliation. This week’s parsha, Vayigash, opens with Judah pleading with his brother Joseph for mercy and understanding. Finally, Joseph reaches his breaking point, and sobbing aloud, reveals himself to his estranged brothers.
Midrash Bereshit Rabbah comments on this scene by likening Judah to someone who lowers a bucket deeper and deeper into a well. The text reads, “Judah did not cease from answering Joseph word for word until he penetrated his very heart.” For Judah this is a long a difficult process, yet his tenacity eventually pays off. And so tonight we salute those of you embarking on this important journey, lowering your buckets into the deep, not entirely sure of what you may find. We look forward to your safe return. But most of all, we look forward to all you will have to teach us, and the new perspectives you will bring to bear from your experiences. Pirke Avot teaches us to turn the torah again and again, as each student finds original insight within it. I believe that we can say the same thing about Israel. And this year presents your turn. And for the rest of you here tonight, this difficult and complicated story awaits your visit. Nesiah Tova – May you have a thought provoking journey worthy full of wonderful stories. Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon 3.7.05 - Parshat Pekude: Why Create a Mishkan To Carry Through Wilderness

2008-11-05T13:34:00.000-08:00

If you’ll please allow me to begin this morning with an old joke: So three men are beginning a long and arduous journey through the desert. One man turns to one of his fellow travelers and asks, why are you carrying that empty jug with you? He replies, Im hoping that we’ll come upon an oasis and then I can save water to carry with me during the journey. The man asks his other compatriot, what about you? - Why are you carrying that straw mat? The man replies, you see, I can spread it out when I need to rest and don’t want to be burned by the desert sand. And if the sun beats down too hard, I can carry it over my head for shade. So what about you? He asks the first man. Why are you carrying that car door with you? Oh its simple, he says. I brought this along so in case it gets too hot, I can always roll down the window.
You can just imagine Moses and Aaron making their final inventory check before embarking on 39 years of journeying through the desert. Comfortable sandals – check. Manna from heaven – check. Cloud by day and pillar of fire at night – check. 100 cubit by 50 cubit mishkan connected with bronze sockets and adorned with gold, silver, rare gems and goat hair. And you thought that packing your hair dryer was inconvenient! Carrying a the tabernacle, or mishkan for 39 years through the desert makes a car door look almost practical. Needless to say, the timing of the building of the mishkan is quite curious. Why build such an intricate and grandiose project at the beginning of such a long journey? Couldn’t they have made do with the pocket scrabble edition before upgrading to the real deal upon reaching the promised land?
Maimonides comments that the tabernacle was built in order to capture the magic of Sinai and make it both permanent and portable for the Israelites. The redemption from Egypt was not complete until the heights that the nation had achieved temporarily at Sinai had been transformed into an everyday experience. Therefore the tabernacle was constructed immediately following the Sinai moment, like a journal entry written directly after an amazing experience.
You really can tell so much about a person based upon what they carry with them. Many of us keep small sparks of holiness around us, from pictures of loved ones in our wallets to gifts from our friends or a keychain from a favorite place. Just last week CNN dedicated an entire segment of its programming to poking through Anna Nicole Smith’s refrigerator to make conclusions on her mental health at the time of her death. Working as the education director of Camp Newman the past two summers, I saw kids wearing elaborate bracelets woven by their best friends. These kids never take off a friends’ bracelet no matter how unraveled they become. They need to carry a bit of the holiness of their relationship at all times. There is a need within each of us to carry our holiest moments with us, so that we may be inspired in moments and environments of utter mundane qualities.

Sermon 3.28.08 - Parshat Shemini: Why Judaism Condones Drinking in Moderation

2008-11-05T13:30:00.000-08:00

Dvar Torah Parshat Shemini 3.28.08
To Drink or not to Drink
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe, Congregation Emanuel

This week’s Torah portion, “Shemini”, includes a rather odd commandment. In Leviticus 10, God instructs Aaron, saying, “Drink no wine or other intoxicant, you and your sons with you, when you enter the tent of meeting.” What strikes me most about this commandment is the inclusion of Aaron’s sons; that is, the assumption that the children are normally included in the drinking. Why is it Jewish tradition to not only sanctify holy moments with wine, but moreover, to include children in this ritual? Shouldn’t we be afraid that our children will grow up to be alcoholics?
The fact is, Judaism makes drinking a regular part of religious ritual. Many of us had our first taste of wine on our 8th day of life as a part of our bris. And I know that many of us had our first wine samples from the tiny plastic cups of Shabbat onegs. Even if it was Manischevitz, it still counts. Wine plays a prominent role at the beginning and end of every holy day, Shabbat, wedding and circumcision. In sum, it is a constant presence in the Jewish home.
Tonight we find ourselves in the middle of Judaism’s peak drinking season. Last week we just celebrated Purim, the holiday in which the Talmud teaches us to drink until we cannot tell the difference between cursed be Haman and blessed by Mordecai. In practically every chapter of the Megillah, someone is imbibing heavily at a drinking party. In fact, the story of Purim concludes with Mordecai’s instruction to the Jewish community to celebrate these days as “yemei mishteh v’simchah” – days of drinking and rejoicing.
And now we prepare for Passover, the holiday in which we and our children drink four cups of wine apiece. Four full glasses - I don’t think Ive had that much since college! We even leave wine for Elijah, as if this prophet from 2000 years ago will come stumbling into our homes like a western saloon and declare, “Beer me!” And in a moment, we will ask our two bnei mitzvah to come up to the bimah and sip their own glass of Manishevitz. They must be wondering, when will the drinking end? (Or maybe they’re just being hopefully silent).
All of this begs the question, is it responsible to offer and even instruct our children to drink at such religious events? According to modern research as presented this week in the NY Times, the answer is “Yes”. In his article, “Can Sips at Home Prevent Binges?” Eric Asimov examines the connection between childhood tastes of wine and adult alcoholism. Overall, his research shows that it all depends upon how the drinking is viewed. If adults drink in order to get drunk, the child will likely follow suit. But if alcohol is drunk ceremoniously, and with moderation, the child is actually far less likely to have drinking problems later in life. Asimov cites a famous study done at Harvard in the early 80s, which found that people raised in homes where alcohol was forbidden at the table, but was consumed away from home, apart from food, were seven times more likely to be alcoholics than those who came from families where wine was served with meals but drunkenness was not tolerated. Seven times!
Jewish tradition seems to fit neatly in line with this viewpoint. We drink wine to sanctify holidays, not to get drunk. In fact, the Talmud instructs that 2 of the 4 cups of wine at the seder be drunk after the meal so that the participants will not become inebriated. We raise our glasses of wine and say “L’Chaim” – to life, and not “to drunkenness”. Furthermore, the Hebrew bible offers several stern warnings against binging on alcohol. Many of us know the story of Noah’s ark. Less known is the part where Moses gets off the ark, plants a vineyard, gets drunk, and embarrasses himself in front of his children. Similarly, Abraham’s brother Lot allows his daughters to get him drunk so that they may take advantage of him. And finally, the heroin Judith gets the Assyrian general Holofernes to drink wine and fall asleep, whereupon she swiftly beheads him. So drinkers beware! Jewish text clearly advocates for moderation.
But what about the Talmud’s quote about drinking until we can’t tell Haman from Mordecai. Isnt this a clear advocate of binge drinking? The problem is that this quote is taken out of context. Immediately after this declaration, the Talmud continues with a story:
“Rabbah and R. Zeira got together for a Purim afternoon feast. They got very drunk, and Rabbah got up and cut R. Zeira’s throat and killed him. The next day (I suppose, after he sobered up) Rabbah prayed on R Zeira’s behalf and brought him back to life. The following year, Rabbah asked R Zeira, ‘Would you like to join me again for a Purim meal?’ R Zeira replied, ‘One cannot count on a miracle every time.’ In other words, “Thanks but no thanks”.
The Talmud’s instruction to over drink is immediately followed by a story warning us of the dangers of doing so. This serves as a refutation of the original commandment. Even 1000 years ago, the North African commentator Rabbenu Ephraim ibn Avi Alragan wrote, “Based on the story of Rabbah getting up and slaughtering R Zeira, we reject the original instruction, and it is wrong to act in such a way.”
So there you have it – Judaism rejects binging and advocates instead for celebratory drinking in moderation. This follows the advice given by Georgetown Universtiy psychiatrist Paul Steinberg, who writes, “The best evidence shows that teaching kids to drink responsibly is better than shutting them off entirely from it. You want to introduce your kids to it, and get across the point that this is to be enjoyed but not abused.”
I completely agree. As a child raised with plenty of L’chaim’s and kiddush cups, I never had a problem with over drinking. But I clearly remember my first months of college, when many kids who had never been exposed to alcohol back home, suddenly lost themselves to binge drinking. One morning, I was awakened by my neighbor punching his hand through a window at 3 in the morning. A product of an overprotective home, he eventually dropped out of school.
At the same time, this is not to say that we Jews are immune from the diseases of abuse and addiction. According to recent demographic studies, the rate of Jewish alcoholism is relatively similar to the American status quo. We just don’t talk about it as much. We are not immune from the dangers of addiction.
And so I will use this opportunity tonight to raise a glass and offer this wine in hope of health and happiness, moderation, and most of all to life. As Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer teaches us, a grape may be used either for wine or vinegar, for sweetness or bitterness. It is up to us to make of it what we will. Through sanctification and linkage with food, family and festivals, wine may sweeten our lives with goodness and blessings. L’Chaim!

Sermon 7.1.08 - A Textual Response to The Issue of Same Sex Marriage

2008-11-05T13:29:00.000-08:00

Recently, I had the chance to participate in the exciting events at City Hall surrounding the legalization of same sex marriage in California. I joined with other Jewish representatives in handing out wedding cake and singing mazel tov to same-sex couples as they descended the stairs of City Hall. Later, I had the honor of witnessing a same-sex union and blessing the couple. This has truly been a historic week for California and the entire nation. And I must say, it makes me proud to be a Jew.
Most often, progressive Jews have viewed the issue of same-sex marriage through the lens of historical criticism. The argument goes that since the Torah was written by different people at different times, the text is biased by the norms of time and place. Given our modern understanding of homosexuality, we may ignore the Torah’s prohibition of same-sex relationships.
However, I would like to submit and textually based argument for permitting and even celebrating these events as simchas in their own right. Yes, it is true that Leviticus 18:22 states, “Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman; it is a ‘toevah’, an abomination.” This verse demands a text-based answer. How can we, as observant Jews, dismiss such a clear prohibition? I’d like to examine the text in its context.
Firstly, the word toevah, which appears in the Torah six times, is a specifically technical word. We are dealing with the book of Leviticus, which legislates human activity in a cold and impersonal fashion. We are told to eat this, not eat that, go here and not there, do this, don’t do that. It is essentially a book of rules – this is why traditionally, it is the first book to be studied by a Jewish youth. The problem is that words such as abomination or abhorrence are filled with negative judgment. This allows critics of same-sex marriage to polemicize against individuals. But Leviticus deems the action and not the subject to be a problem. Modern biblical scholar Mary Douglas suggests we translate toevah as “You must utterly reject or completely shun.” Therefore, to call the subject an abomination is to miss the point altogether. The classification as a toevah protects the subject from human interference.
Let’s take shrimp as an example. Leviticus states that all shellfish are toevah – that is, off limits. God creates the teeming creatures of the world on the 6th day of creation – the same day we humans first show up. God concludes this day by calling these creations “good”. Therefore we misinterpret the text when we classify the subject as sinful or immoral. We can no less call a homosexual wicked as we can a shrimp or an octopus. All of God’s creations are to be honored and celebrated.
So why must we treat some subjects one way and others another? Why would teeming and swarming animals be deemed taboo by God? According to Douglas, the issue is fertility. Swarming and teeming animals such as shellfish, caterpillars and crabs are symbols of fruitfulness in animal creation. They have many, many babies and save for the power of natural selection, many progeny. Therefore, eating such teeming creatures offends God’s avowed concern for fertility. Remember that being innumerable, like dust, like the sand of the sea, signified desirable fertility in the promise of God to Abraham. Our highest ancestral aspiration is to become as fertile as these teeming creatures! In the meantime, as custodians of the earth, we should not interfere with God’s commandment to pru ur vu – go forth and multiply. And so we are prohibited from using those animals which pru ur vu most efficiently. So shellfish and creepy crawlers are out.
So here we arrive at the real issue: fertility. The Torah regards homosexuality as a toevah because it limits our ability to pru ur vu – to go forth and multiply. Similarly, Deuteronomy 23:2 reads, “No man whose reproductive organs are crushed or whose member is cut off shall be admitted into the congregation of Adonai.” The Babylonian Talmud, in Yevamot 76a, interprets this as a prohibition against marriage for the reproductively challenged. Why would the Torah be concerned with this subject? Fertility, of course! Likewise, Jewish law views male impotence and female barrenness to be grounds for divorce. So to summarize, the Torah prohibits homosexual action because it violates God’s command to go forth and multiply.
This may explain why the Torah is curiously silent when it comes to lesbianism. If there is no seed being wasted, then there’s no harm done, right? Later rabbis prohibited lesbian relations, but had to rely on rabbinic midrash as evidence as they could not find a source in scripture. In fact, Maimonides forbids lesbianism, not on the grounds that it is inherently wrong, but rather that it was practiced by the Egyptians.
Viewing the issue in this light, a plethora of questions arise. Does the biblical view of homosexual relationships hold water in an era of adoption, surrogacy and invitro-fertilization, not to mention global over-population, limitation of natural resources and food epidemics? The Torah views the earth as vast and limitless. In a smaller world with limited resources, does the commandment to go forth and multiply stand? On the other hand, isn’t it contradictory to prohibit same-sex marriages and to permit birth control, not to mention eating shellfish and other teeming life? Bob Dole famously schilled for Viagra. I deduce from this that he has a hard time procreating. Should this be grounds for divorce? And should we ban marriage for all procreating-challenged individuals? Should men leave their wives once menopause begins? Well, some already do, but should we blame then when they do? If we take the Torah literally, than no.
Obviously, same-sex relationships are more controversial in nature than shrimp, or else fisherman’s wharf would be crowded with the same zealots as were seen at city hall. But religious leaders base their conviction not only on this issue of toevah, but also two key narratives from the Hebrew Bible.
In both Genesis 19 and Judges 19, we read of hostile crowds seeking to use sodomy as a punishment for their uninvited guests. The more famous of the two is the story of Sodom and Gommorah from Genesis. Here, two angels of God are harbored by Lot and his daughters from the wicked people of Sodom. They ask Lot to bring out the men so that they may be intimate with them. (Gen 19.5). Similarly, in Judges 19, a man and his concubine are targeted by the evil residents of Gibeah. Using almost the exact same language as found in Genesis, the men of the town ask to be intimate with the stranger.
Now there are two notable facets of these narratives. First, both view same sex relations as a form of punishment inflicted by an ordinarily straight person upon another. This is less akin to consenting homosexual relations and more similar to rape. The fact is, the Torah has no concept of a consenting, loving relationship between two people of the same gender. These stories feature heterosexuals choosing to engage in homosexual activities as a form of brutality. To use these narratives as evidence of God’s condemnation of homosexual relations is inaccurate and misleading at best.
So what is the real point of these stories? Both of them feature external groups threatening Israelites through their actions. As Baruch Levine writes in his commentary to Leviticus, homosexuality is associated with the ancient Canaanites, one of the Israelites’ primary adversaries once they enter into the land of Israel. Thus the Torah views homosexuality through the lens of xenophobia. Such behavior is attributed to pagan priests, called kedeshim. As 1st Kings 14.24 reads, “There were male prostitutes kedeshim in the land. Judah imitated all the abhorrent (toevah) practices of the nation that the Lord had dispossessed before the Israelites.” That is, Israel was led astray by the foreign practices which they adopted. And remember, Maimonides forbid lesbianism based upon Egyptian practice.
This takes us full circle back to Leviticus. The book is primarily interested in three things: God’s holiness, legislating the sanctity of life, and preserving the group from external threats. For the Torah, homosexuality is a foreign practice, right up there with eating shrimp. The action is dangerous only insofar as it leads to assimilation into the host population.
We have now stripped away the layers of text to reach a more pure understanding of the Torah’s view of homosexuality. The Torah is primarily concerned with perpetuating life, protecting the community, and avoiding violent forms of punishment. The entire concept of homosexuality as understood by the Torah presents an otherwise heterosexual male choosing to engage in a violent, foreign act for punitive purposes. Illustrated this way, then yes, I agree that such an action is barbaric and should be utterly avoided. But a loving union of two consenting adults who share the privilege and responsibility of raising a family together? At worst, the Torah is silent on the matter. At best, we may hearken back to God’s initial observation of humankind. “It is not good for human beings to be alone; I will make a fitting companion for them.” Such kedusha, holiness, is deserving of the celebration which we have recently witnessed.

Sermon 6.1.07 Parshat Beha’aloteicha: Top 10 Similarities Between David and Tony Soprano

2008-11-05T13:27:00.000-08:00

My family and I have spent the past week moving into our new apartment. And as my life is currently full of boxes, packing paper, dust and garbage, it lacks the one force powerful enough to mitigate such stress: a working tv. And though the guy from Dish network is coming next week to bring us to the world to come of 200+ channels, I find myself being shut out the great cultural event gripping America primetime tv over the next two weeks: The final two episodes of the Sopranos. What is it about this show that has so captivated the American audience? What is it about the character of Tony Soprano, the chubby, ornery, middle aged mobster that makes him so endearing and each of us so inclined to tune in each week? The guy attempts to run his mafia family from day to day, all the while facing the demons of his actual family, from his demanding wife, miscreant kids, and cunning uncle. And as a rabbi, it is my duty to make the logical biblical connection. Therefore, I present to you tonight in true David Letterman style (you can tell that Im missing my tv), the top 10 ways in which Tony Soprano is based upon the biblical character of King David. By doing so, I hope to also explore what it is about these characters and the archetype they represent which compels us to follow their every move. So lets begin:
10. Both characters are classic bridge and tunnelers, living on the periphery of the big city, constantly looking in, in search of its greatness. For Tony, this means living in suburban New Jersey, and yes, I apologize to those of you here tonight who object to the idea of New Jersey as playing second fiddle to New York. But as the opening credits of the Sopranos illustrates, the drive from the city, through Newark and into suburban New Jersey is a ride through declining relevance. Likewise, David comes from a relatively unknown Jerusalem suburb of Bethlehem. Like Tony, David seeks to make a great name for himself and his town through a rise to power. Eventually, David becomes King of Israel and moves his court to Hebron (the Biblical Newark) and then Jerusalem, for 33 years of rule. In the process, he puts Bethlehem on the map. Similarly, I read the other day that a company has started running tours of “Sopranos” New Jersey. I never thought Montclair would be all that famous.
9. Both characters are lesser known because they are found in less familiar media. The Sopranos runs on HBO, a pay tv channel received by less than 10% of America’s households (you may fairly ask why then I choose to devote an entire show to one if its programs. To you I reply: rent the DVD). Nevertheless, Tony is a less known figure than say, Homer Simpson, because his story is told less often and to smaller crowds. Similarly, King David is not found in the Torah, the one text we read in the synagogue each week. His story is largely told in the books of 1st and 2nd Samuel from the early prophets. We rarely read from these books, even in the Shabbat haftarah, as the poetic verses of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel are most often preferred. And so it seems as though every week we read all about Abraham, Jacob or Moses. But we never pay any attention to David. The narrative early prophets constitute the biblical version of HBO.
8. Both men spend their entire lives on the run. Perhaps what makes both of these characters so fascinating is that we never know what will happen to them. Tony is pursued by the FBI, rival mafia families, his rivals, his mother (we’ll get back to that), his children, his wife and his mistresses. Meanwhile, the book of Kings finds David everywhere except comfortable at home (and even the one time that happens, he finds Bathsheeba which leads to an entire other mess). David is constantly fighting the Philistines or other rival tribes. Other times he is on the run from his own son Absalom, and local rivals Abishag or Adonijah. David’s life is anything but boring and secure. It’s a wonder that he is one of the only characters in the early prophets who actually dies a natural and peaceful death. As for Tony Soprano, that’s what we are all waiting to see in these last 2 episodes.
7. Both men succeed through delegation, most notably to a favored henchman and a personal confidant. For Tony Soprano, the only man he can really trust is Silvio Dante, his slick haired and forever grimacing right hand man. Silvio takes care of the most important matters, such as killing Adriana when it became apparent that she was working as an FBI informant. Whereas other gang members such as Christopher Moltisanti and Paulie Walnuts can be loose cannons, Tony has an unwavering loyalty towards Silvio. So too, David entrusts his most crucial missions to Joab, son of Zeruiah, his biblical consigliore. It is Joab who leads the army into battle and who also takes care of personal assassinations. His loyalty to David is unquestionable. Yet at the end of David’s life, Joab kills David’s rebellious son Absalom, as well as Abner son of Ner and Amasa son of Jether. It is yet to be seen if Silvio will stray from David in these final episodes.
Tony’s most personal matters are discussed with his modern prophet, i.e. therapist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi. Dr. Melfi challenges many of Tony’s assumptions and views in a way that none of his henchmen dare. It was Dr. Melfi who makes Tony consider the consequences of his violent actions. Meanwhile, it is Natan the prophet who stands up to the king and rebukes him for his actions. When David sends Uriah to the front lines of battle to be killed so he may take his wife, Bathsheba, Natan rebukes David through the use of a parable. After Natan tells of a rich man who steals a poor man’s sheep. David replies, “As the Lord lives, the man who did this deserves to die! He shall pay for the lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and showed no pity.” Natan replies, “That man is you!” Only a prophet or therapist could cut a man so deeply to the bone.
6. In both stories, women are publicly taken advantage of but are really the true arbiters of power. For Tony, women often appear as leisurely pursuits as he floats from one mistress to the next, all the time hiding his nocturnal activites from his wife. His most important meetings are held at the Bada Bing, in front of topless young women dancing on poles. And yet his wife Carmela, daughter Meadow, sister Janice and mother Livia all know how to pull the strings to get what they want out of Tony. Carmela’s lunchtime meetings at Artie Bucco’s restaurant often have drastic ramifications on Tony’s professional dealings. King David has a similar tendency to pass through women, from Merav to Michal to Ahinoam to Abigail and finally Bathsheba. And yet when Saul seeks to kill his son, it is Michal who devises the plan for his escape, even sacrificing her own well being. And when Adonijah declares himself the King over the elderly King David, Bathsheba is sent to convince him to support his son Solomon instead. Thus the success and survival of the Davidic kingdom rest upon women’s shoulders. Both men might seem to be in charge, but it is the women who truly hold the cards in their relationships.

Halfway through our list, I can’t resist but to interrupt with the following tangential point. If we want to continue the Davidic dynasty as Mafioso motif, then it must be pointed out that David’s son Solomon is clearly the original inspiration for Michael Corleone from the original Godfather film. The book of Kings opens with Solomon systematically hunting down each of his father’s rival and securing the family’s succession following the death of the family patriarch. 1st Kings chapter 2 is the baptism scene from the end of the first Godfather king. Along the way, Solomon must deal with his meddling siblings (a la Fredo, Sonny, etc), builds the temple (aka the family business) and even secures alliances through marrying Pharoah’s daughter (see: Hyman Roth, Moe Green). Solomon ascends to power by the merit of his wisdom, and takes over for his father in settling local disputes. There, I’m done. Now back to the list.

5. Both men head factional groups towards local supremacy. Tony successfully navigates his mafia family through interactions with Johnny Sack Sacramoni and other crime families. He diversifies the family business through the legitimate waste management business. At the same time, he manages the loose cannons in his own family, even killing Tony Blundetto when he kills one of Johnny Sacks’ members. King David is similarly diplomatic, managing to unite the kingdoms of Judah and Israel, while pacifying the Philistines and other local rivals. He makes uncomfortable deals with traditional enemies such as Barzillai the Gileadite in the name of survival. He curbs his anger when it is diplomatically important, such as when Saul tries to kill him or when he is accosted by Shimei son of Gera. He carefully chooses his tactics to ensure greater political endurance. Overall, both of these guys know how to stay alive long enough to remain in the text or on the air.
4. Both Tony and David must defend themselves against the rebellious nature of their children. Tony’s daughter, Meadow, is both cunning and manipulative, playing the part of the victim when she is most often the culprit. Tony’s son AJ becomes a vagrant junkie and wannabee gangster. Tony’s other family members, such as Christopher or Janice, similarly seek to take power from Tony at key moments. Yet David has it far worse. His son Amnon rapes his daughter Tamar. Later, David’s son Absalom leads a coup against his father. Yet throughout, David tries to protect his family from harm, even ordering that his rebellious son not be killed. Both Tony and David are worried about succession and inheritance, and must travel carefully among descendents who are clearly motivated by their own self-interest.
3. Both men make their names in gruesome violence. Like a surgeon, Tony carefully uses violence only when the procedure is necessary. Yet when the time comes, he seldom holds back. The regular whackings on the show are gruesome in their gore, suddenness and premeditation. Because of this, Tony is revered mostly out of fear. This is what secures his status as head boss. And yet it is David who is the truly gruesome killer. As the slayer of Goliath and tens of thousands of others, David kills more people in the Bible than anyone not named God. As 1st Samuel 18:7 reads, “The women sang as they danced, and they chanted: Saul has slain his thousands; David, his tens of thousands!”
2. Both Tony and David must endure Oedipal relationships and repeated assassination attempts by their own parental figures. Through the ordeal of attempted filicide (I looked it up; it means the killing of one’s child), both learn the skills of survival and self-preservation. Season one of the Sopranos features Tony’s mother Livia and Uncle Junior plotting to kill him. It is this trauma that causes Tony’s panic attacks and sends him to Dr. Melfi’s couch. Tony learns the brutal nature of life and survival of the fittest through his immediate parental figures. Similarly, David’s ascent awakens a madman within King Saul, who adopts him as one of his own following his defeat of Goliath. Saul initially sets David up for embarrassment and death by having his heavy armor set upon David before facing the giant. Later, Saul makes several attempts to kill David, hurling spears at him, sending assassins to his room, and finally sending soldiers into war against him. Just as Tony refuses to take vengeance upon his uncle Junior, so too does David show mercy to Saul, allowing him to live when David could have easily taken his life. Both characters see the monster in their parental figures, and refuse to descend to their level through retribution.
1. We arrive at number one and the real lesson of tonight’s sermon. Both Tony Soprano and King David continue to capture our attention and imagination due to their imperfections. Entertainment Weekly ran a recent story about how the Tony Soprano character established a new paradigm in TV of the imperfect hero, the bad guy the audience will cheer for. He lies, cheats, murders and steals, and yet remains our hero. What the author of this article failed to realize, however, is that this blemished hero archetype has been around forever, from the bible to Greek mythology (see Odysseus) to Shakespeare (Richard the 3rd, Hamlet, Othello). We pay attention to Tony Soprano and King David because they remind us of ourselves, with our flaws, passions and inadequacies. As my professor (and Temple Emanu-el congregant) Dr. Devorah Weisberg teaches, the Hebrew Bible is unique among scriptures of major religions in that it lacks a perfect character or a paradigm of the perfectly lived life. There is no Jesus, Buddha or prophet Muhammed. The best we get is a guy who can’t control his anger and so hits rocks or this King who can’t control his libido and has a tendency towards violence. The Hebrew bible teaches us through description, not prescription.
Both Tony Soprano and King David remind us that we are all imperfect and all struggle against the inner demons to live happy and peaceful lives. And so I share with you this comparison tonight to reintroduce you to Tony Soprano not as a new character, but as one we know so well from our own literature. He is King David and his exploits are well documented in scripture. So when this season of The Sopranos ends and you miss the exploits of Tony and his gang, I encourage you to pick up a copy of the Tanach and read on. You might just find something a bit familiar. And for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, I encourage you to also rent the Sopranos DVD, sit back and relax. And if you do rent the Sopranos DVD, please bring it over to our place as we still have a week until the cable guy comes and we really want to know how things play out for our imperfect hero.

Kol Nidre 2008: We Are All Jews by Choice

2008-11-04T14:16:00.000-08:00

We Are All Jews by Choice
Kol Nidre Sermon 5769 - 2008
Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanuel
10.08.08

This woman’s words broke my heart. We’ll call her Jane. She moved uncomfortably in her chair, breaking eye contact as she told her story. She was dating a young Jewish man and things had begun to get serious. When marriage was eventually discussed, her non-Jewish identity arose as an issue for her boyfriend and his family. Jane was willing to learn more about Judaism and even to contemplate conversion, if she found the teachings to be to her liking, in order to overcome this singular hurdle to their relationship. But it seemed not to matter. Even if she converted, she would never be a “real jew”, at least not for her boyfriend and certainly not for her would be mother in law. She would be a Jew by choice, a 2nd class Jew. Someone who grew up without eating kugle or borscht. Someone who would stumble awkwardly through the Hebrew at the seder table or at synagogue. Someone who would ask embarrassing questions and offend others through her oblivious actions. A fake and a fraud.
To exacerbate matters, Jane was Chinese. And so for her potential mother in law, she would never “look” Jewish, no matter what rituals she performed or studies she completed. No matter how Jewish she became on the inside, she would always been seen as a goy, a shixa, an unwelcomed outsider. And so she and her boyfriend, though they loved each other very much, were deciding to head their separate ways. And she wanted to know from me, the rabbi, how my religion could teach such divisive and hurtful values.
This is not something they teach you in rabbinical school! Nor is it something I had much experience with. After all, I grew up in Honolulu, where the majority of my Sunday School classmates were from interfaith and most often mixed ethnicity marriages. For every Sara Fishlowitz, there was a Yahna Kava’a and an Ari Wong. I’ve been to Bat Mitzvahs with entire roast kalua pig as the main course. One family at my synagogue wanted to show their combined love of Judaism and Hawaiian culture, and so named their poor kid “Shaloha”. And here I was, sitting in San Francisco, the height of cosmopolitan, heterogenous culture, watching this woman sob tears of pain, embarrassment and shame.
Her boyfriend’s family was wrong; dead wrong. Judaism is an open tent, a religion based upon ideals and traditions, not a tribe passed down through blood. They were the ignorant ones. At the same time, I couldn’t say that they were the only ones. There are many Jews out there who remain wary and skeptical of those who convert to Judaism. We have our share of prejudice and even racism. No matter how much this girl would act like a Jew, there would be those in my global community who would object to her not looking like a Jew. And for that, I was deeply sorry.
According to Jewish law, one who converts to Judaism is seen as the holiest of all of Israel. They are given the name, child of Abraham and Sarah; as if they are direct immediate descendents of the first ever Jews. In this way, they are the most pure and real Jews of all. Converts to Judaism are immediately awarded full standing in all 613 mitzvoth – there is no trial period of wait and see. After all, they have made a choice that many of us never even considered. How many of us can say with certainty that if we were born as non-Jews, that we would have had the courage and insight to make such a bold decision? I can’t, and I’m a rabbi!
The issue of conversion is becoming more and more important in modern Judaism. As more dogmatic approaches to religion become increasingly distasteful to many Americans, interest in Reform Judaism increases. While until recently this synagogue used to work with a half dozen or so conversions annually, last year 25 individuals chose to become Jews at Congregation Emanu-El. Our 9 month conversion class now averages around 60 students per trimester. On any given Friday night, whether you know it or not, your prayer experience is being heightened by the presence of Jews by choice and those considering making it their choice.
And here is the real kicker: Jews by choice are more active and know more about Judaism than many of us. As I said, each convert at Emanu-El has attended a 2 hour a week, 9 month intensive program, covering Jewish history, theology, rituals, holidays and lifecycle events from a mature, intellectual perspective. They have met with a guide rabbi regularly and many enroll in pre and post conversion support groups to discuss what they are going through. They are well informed and eager to learn.
Many of our Jews by choice come to Judaism through their spouses or their spouses to be. We ask all of our interfaith wedding couples to take the full 9 month course together, so that they may establish a common vocabulary and cultural literacy as they partner to build a Jewish home and raise Jewish children. And again, it is most often the Jew by choice or even the non-Jewish spouse who brings (or sometimes even drags) the Jew by birth to the synagogue. Once they have children, it is often the Jew by choice or the non-Jewish spouse who insists on enrolling their children in our youth education program, and to observe the Jewish holidays in their home.
From a historical perspective, this is nothing new. We as a people have survived and prospered through the maintenance of a highly porous nucleus. We Jews have spent the past 2 millennia living in other people’s backyards, picking up the best of their cultures and ideas and meshing them with our own. After the Jerusalem temple was destroyed in 70 CE, we moved to Babylonia and learned about this thing called a soul, how it was immaterial and eternal while the body was physical and finite. And so we made that part of our theology. Then we moved into the Rhineland of Europe, where we learned the art of biblical commentary and grammatical exegesis. And so our study of Torah flourished. We moved to Spain where we met mystical Catholics, seeking to create personal encounters with the divine. And so Jewish mysticism, or kabbalah was born. We moved into the Pale of Settlement of Poland and White Russia. We liked their food so much, we adopted latkes, gefilte fish, tzimmes, and brisket as our own. We loved their stories of peasants and kings, simpletons and sages, and adopted them into the Hasidic movement. The Russian kids played a betting game with a spinning top and just like that, the dreidle was born. We moved to America, where we saw first hand the power of democracy and pluralism. And so we highlighted those parts of our text which underscore such proud values. We built beautiful synagogues with organs, choirs and stained glass windows in emulation of our Christian neighbors. In all, we as a community are better for the contributions from the external world. And the most direct form of this is the Jew by choice.
It is all the more discouraging, then, that some in our community continue to view not only Jews by choice, but especially those from non-Caucasian backgrounds as somehow inauthentic. This point is nothing short of laughable. After all, Abraham and Sarah, the first Jews, came originally from Haran, found in modern day Southeast Turkey. They came through the Fertile Crescent and settled in modern day Israel. From that point forward, we have established major Jewish communities in North Africa, Arabia, Persia, Spain and beyond. Jews are Ethiopian, Yemenite and yes, even Chinese. They even come from Hawaii. Only in the 20th century did we invent this false nostalgia for Fiddler on the Roof shtetl life, and crown it the quintessential Jewish experience. The Hebrew we read today is Sephardic, hailing from the Iberian Peninsula rather than Eastern Europe. Our High Holiday traditions are Babylonian in origin. European Jewry is one sub community within the greater global Jewish community. It lacks any sense of hegemony or superiority over any other Jewish group. We are after all a religion and not a race; a community and not a tribe. And from a personal perspective, I’d much rather eat hummus, falafel and lentils than I would cabbage, whitefish and chicken intestines. So who’s superior now?
In tomorrow morning’s Torah reading, Moses stands upon the doorstep to Israel, commanding the people as he will not be entering with them. He renews the original covenant made at Sinai, saying,

You stand this day, all of you, before the LORD your God -- your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer -- to enter into the covenant of the LORD your God…I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the LORD our God and with those who are not with us here this day.

That is, the Jewish community transcends space and time and is forever open to those who choose it. From a theological perspective, all Jews, no matter when they became Jews, were present at Sinai and carry an authentic claim to its heritage. No one Jew has enjoys greater personal authenticity over another. Moses should know – he intermarries with the daughter of a Midianite Priest! She joins the Jewish community through the ups and downs of 40 years in the desert. When Moses’ siblings, Aaron and Miriam, castigate the woman for her foreign upbringing, God swiftly rebukes them. She clearly belongs.
The Hebrew Bible’s focus on Jews by choice does not end there. Each Shavuot, when we celebrate the covenant at Sinai, we read the story of Ruth, the Moabite woman who chooses to become a Jew. She tells her Jewish mother in law, “Your people will be my people and your God will be my God.” According to the story, Ruth’s descendents eventually lead to the line of David, the seed from which the messiah is to come. That’s right, you heard it here – King David and the messiah both descend from Jews by choice.
Perhaps the best biblical analogy to our current environment would be the book of Esther, which we read on Purim. Though born a Jew named Hadassah, Esther takes a Persian name (Esther – from the Babylonian God Ishtar), a non-Jewish husband (Ahashuerus) and enters fully into the secular cosmopolitan life of the Persian court. As with us, Esther may opt out of Judaism and assimilate into the greater community. But eventually, Esther realizes that Judaism is a choice, and she puts herself in harms way in order to save her people. In honor of this choice, the high holiday liturgy quotes her twice – both the Uvachen and Unataneh Tokef sections take her words directly. We invoke Esther’s memory as we too plead for the wellbeing of our community. Even our Yom Kippur prayers are based upon words first uttered by a Jew by choice.
The story of Esther brings me to my final point. Why did I feel such pain to see this young woman be denied entrance into the Jewish community? Because, you see, I too am a Jew by choice. No, that doesn’t mean that I converted to Judaism later in life. Rather, living in a modern, pluralistic society, in which we all have the opportunity to assimilate into the general culture, it is strictly a choice to retain one’s Jewish identity and to lead a Jewish life. Like Esther, we are all Jews by choice. Here in America, less than half of our Jewish families affiliate with synagogues. And only a fraction of those families attend Yom Kippur services. As our economy stands at a fragile crossroads and job security cannot be taken for granted, there are Jews throughout the country, still at work or maybe just too busy to attend this evening. And that is understandable. But you have all chosen to make a stand, to put your tradition first and to be here now. To stand and be counted; to answer God’s call with a firm hineini – “Here I am”. Modern Judaism is nothing but a choice. Esther reminds us that we are all in this boat together.
And so as we begin the new year reborn through our prayer, actions and repentance, we ask that God open the gates for all of us. If we are indeed to act as betselem elohim – made in the image of God, it is our duty to open our gates as well. As the liturgy for the closing of Yom Kippur reads, Pitchu Lanu Sha’arei Tsedek Navo Vam Nodeh Yah. Open of us the gates of righteousness, and we shall enter to praise the eternal. Open the gates, open them wide. Open the gates for us and for all Israel. So that never again will an individual be turned away because of the religion she was born into or the color of her skin. So that none of us will ever have to face such a person and apologize for the bigotry of the few within our community. Open the gates, open them wide. The gates of compassion, generosity and acceptance. The gates of tolerance, warmth and kindness. Open the gates, open them wide. And we will bless those who enter and moreover, we will be blessed by them. Their contribution is a sacred element of our growing tradition. Baruch Atah Adonai Ohev Amo Yisrael. Blessed are you the source of all creation, who loves and accepts each member of Am Yisrael, no matter from where they come. And let us say, Amen.

Yom Kippur Day 2008: Multiple Jewish Conceptions of God

2008-11-04T14:14:00.000-08:00

Multiple Jewish Conceptions of God

Yom Kippur Morning Sermon 5769 - 2008

Rabbi Yoni Jaffe, Congregation Emanu-El

10.08.2008

(Reading from book) Once upon a time, there was God on high, and he (congratulations – he’s a boy), ruled over all the world. He would sit on his throne of glory, watching the deeds of his creations, keeping notes on who was naughty and who was nice. At the beginning of each year, he would write in his magnificent, holy book a final judgment of his subjects. Those whose merits outweighed their transgressions would be blessed with a prosperous year. But those whose transgressions outweighed their merits were sentenced to harm and even death, through vicious means such as strangulation and burning. The end.

So goes the story of Yom Kippur. Of course, I am being playful here. Yet this brief introduction encapsulates the central theology of this holiday. No wonder it leaves so many of us feeling confused and frustrated. Sometimes, we read the words on the page and wonder if our personal theology even merits being called “Jewish”. Does being Jewish mean that we subscribe to this vision of God? I’m here this morning to answer “no”.

The high holiday liturgy is based upon the notion of God belonging to a certain time and place: An anthropomorphic monarch, brimming with human emotion and capable of personal relationship. This image forms the foundation for this season of penitence. And while this theology is perfectly acceptable and works for some of us, it leaves little room for those who wrestle with such a notion of the divine. Truth be told, Jewish tradition began offering alternate models of God almost immediately following the canonization of the Torah in the 3^rd century BCE. And its been all downhill since then.

Groucho Marx once famously said, “These are my principles. And if you don’t like them, I have some more.” Similarly, Judaism offers competing notions of God – each integrally Jewish in that God is one and unique in relationship to Israel. As a wandering people, we have picked up influences from our neighboring communities, so that we offer a diverse pantheon of ideas of God. So I’d like to engage in a liberating exercise by introducing you to four friends, and their models for God which you might have an easier time connecting to. I am not saying that the Torah’s concept is wrong – only that other concepts exist within the Jewish fold. So please indulge me for a brief visit back in time.

1. We begin our journey almost a thousand years ago. There we meet a man by the name of Moses son of Maimon. You may know him as Maimonides or the Rambam. He lives in a community outside of Cairo, not unlike our own. His town of Fostat is a cosmopolitan, heterogeneous hodge podge, situated at the meeting point of the Jewish, Christian and Muslim worlds. His Muslim colleagues turn him on to a dynamic Greek thinker, Aristotle, who presents a radically different view of God from the scriptural traditions. For Aristotle, God is a distant impersonal being, the source of all creation and power in the universe. As each entity is moved by something more powerful than it, Aristotle reasons that there must be a primary “unmoved mover”; a source of energy which sends ripples through the world without itself being diminished. He calls this power God. For Aristotle, God does not empathize with or care about you, as these are human emotions. God simply is, and all the world is a reflection of God’s creative energy.

Maimonides’ Muslim colleagues busy themselves building bridges between this new God version 2.0 and the anthropomorphic God of the Koran. And so like a good student, Maimonides seeks out to do the same for Judaism.

Through his central theological work, The Guide for the Perplexed, Maimonides argues that this God is ultimately ineffable – that is, we cannot explain what God is. The Torah represents the closest approximation of God’s essence, but – and here is the big shift – must be read metaphorically as we are limited to a human comprehension of the divine. When the Torah says that God has a back, or walked in the Garden of Eden, or writes in a book, this is merely a metaphor for God’s indescribable presence. And when God gets angry or frustrated, this is man’s perception of God’s energy, explained in human terms. With this simple twist, Maimonides redefines both God and Torah and for this, his book is burned in the streets. But as Aristotelian metaphysics gain acceptance, and as Jews become more comfortable in Muslim society, he grows in popularity until he is hailed as the greatest Jewish thinker of the middle ages.

Maimonides believes in an impersonal and distant God. And he is a Jew.

2. Fast forward 400 years. Since Maimonides’ death, a less rationalistic idea of God has emerged in the golden era in Spain. Based more on Plato than Aristotle, the Jewish mystics or kabbalists conceive of God as a system of balancing forces, harmonized in perfect equilibrium. God is the mean between up and down, light and darkness, positive and negative, male and female. Moreover, God’s power flows through the universe through concentric circles of power, each one balancing upon the next. For these thinkers, the Torah is more than just a metaphoric description of God’s essence. Rather, it is a cryptic treasure map of divine secrets. If read with correct understanding, one can gain knowledge of God’s true nature.

The kabbalistic movement is forever impacted by the Spanish inquisition of 1492 and the Portuguese expulsion of 1536. The Jewish community of the Iberian peninsula is cast in all directions. One landing spot is the small Galilean town of Sfat, in the biblical land of Israel. Here, a group of mystics come under the tutelage of Rabbi Isaac Luria, otherwise knows as Ha-Ari – the Lion. Luria responds to the broken state of the Jewish world by teaching that the perfect balance of God’s essence, this divine harmony, has been shattered and only human action can fix it. You see, when the world was originally created, God’s creative energy was so great that it overpowered this perfect balance. Sparks of God’s energy were scattered throughout the world. This is the cause for the brokenness in people’s lives. But “aha!” says Luria - By doing mitzvoth – positive actions – humanity can return these sparks to their origin and restore balance to the universe.

What a seemingly heretical idea – God isn’t just imperfect; God is broken and reliant upon us for healing! But at the same time, what a radically empowering theology. There are cosmic ramifications to our most modest and secret actions. Last week, when the Walgreens clerk gave you back too much change, and you corrected her and gave back the extra money – you didn’t just do a good deed…You helped to bring the world closer to salvation! You fixed God! When we come here to the synagogue, we don’t just heal ourselves – we move the world closer to perfect divine harmony and balance. We heal God.

And so Isaac Luria, the founder of modern Jewish mysticism, believes in a broken God, in need of our help. And he is a Jew.

3. Jump ahead another 400 years and we enter the early 20^th century where we meet Martin Buber. Buber is born in what is now the Ukraine, before he moves to Germany where he spends most of his life before fleeing the holocaust for what will become the modern state of Israel. Just as Maimonides had picked up on the essential reading of his day, Buber becomes fascinated with the German brands: Kant, Nietzche and Kierkegaard. Based upon their work, he develops another idea of God. For Buber, true reality is found only through relationship. The problem is that the majority of our interactions are transactional in nature – we request and dispense information to those around us in order to achieve personal goals. This is not a bad thing – we need what Buber calls the I-it relationship to get things done. But once in awhile, we enter an I-thou relationship; a moment in which we are radically present to our counterpart, and seek dialogue for its own value. Here, says Buber, is where our true nature emerges.

For Buber, God is the ultimate partner for such an exchange. Given that each individual brings their own qualities and experience to their relationships, God is therefore unique for each of us. Your God is different from my God and that is ok. God is not found in solitude, removed from the world in private meditation. Rather, God is found through our interactions with one another. Through contact, we each develop our own sense of Godliness. We connect with others and find God lurking within and between us. Buber believes that we come to the synagogue today, thirsting for connection, for relationship, so that we may find the divine within ourselves.

Martin Buber believes in a personal, subjective God of relationship. And he is a Jew.

4. Finally, we enter 20^th century America. Here we meet Mordecai Kaplan. A New Yorker at heart, like many of you, Kaplan is fascinated by the emerging field of anthropology. He argues that all cultures originate through geographic isolation, eventually developing foundational values. Stories are then generated to disseminate and foster such values. And religion then ritualizes these narratives into customs and traditions. Culture, mythology and religion layer on top of one another, like striated rock. Therefore, we Jews are a culture first and a religion second. Prayer is Jewish, but so is our language: Hebrew, our land: Israel, our food, our dance, etc. Studying Torah is Jewish but so is eating a bagel.

For Kaplan, God begins with culture before entering religion. As a group, we take our foundational values and project them onto an external idea and call it God. We may then objectify these values and strive towards them, in pursuit of communal harmony. For instance, we Jews value wisdom, kindness, mercy and justice. And so we have a wise God, a kind God, a merciful God, a just God. Through prayer, we calibrate our common moral compass to the key values of the community. Prayer is a process of nomination and confirmation of shared ethics. Torah is a collection of narratives means to deliver these values. For Kaplan, this is not a made up God – these foundational norms have the power to redeem each individual. As an idea, God is more real than anything we know. But as the groups’ values change over time, God does as well.

And so Kaplan makes community the key to his religious identity. He invents this little thing called the Jewish Community Center. He says values have changed over time and so he gives his daughter the first ever bat mitzvah. He changes liturgy to fit the values of the current Jewish community. And he does all of this in the name of God.

Mordecai Kaplan, the founder of Reconstructionst Judaism, believes in God as a reflection of the community’s shared vision and ethics. And he is a Jew.

And so I have introduced you to four friends of mine, among the many upon whose shoulders modern Judaism stands. But they are not alone. And you are not alone as you struggle with the text before you. We are Am Yisrael – literally, those who wrestle with God. This morning, I’d like to bring this journey into the present, into our sanctuary, and invite you to celebrate rather than be embarrassed by this struggle. And so I’d like to introduce some of you here today, as I channel my inner preacher…

There is a woman here among us this morning. She is not sure what to make of the Torah; isn’t even sure how to read the Hebrew on the page. But she remembers the feeling of watching her grandparents light the Shabbat candles and saying the blessing over the wine and challah. She retains the heirlooms which her parents carefully passed down to her. And for some reason, when her family sits down for Shabbat dinner, the world just seems to be right. And she feels in her heart, the need to pass this tradition on to her children. She is sitting among us today. And she is a Jew.

There is a man here among us this morning, who wrestles with this prayer book each time he reads it. Who reads the story of Abraham nearly sacrificing his son Isaac and wonders how we can tell a story of such brutality. He finds parts of the Torah to be confusing or even objectionable, and wonders what it all means. But he values the Jewish approach to questioning and debate, to avoid dogmatic standards but rather to fully embrace the unknown. He loves that Judaism is terrible when it comes to answers, but simply wonderful when it comes to questions. For that reason, he is sitting among us today. And he is a Jew.

There is a child here among us this morning. She is not completely sure why she needs to have a bat mitzvah, let alone believe in God. She knows God isn’t cut out for silly tasks, like helping her to get an A or to score a goal. But she feels securely blessed by her family and friends. Soon enough, she will stand before this congregation, at her most awkward time of life- adolescence - and do the most awkward of things – put on a fancy dress and sing strange sounding Hebrew lines in front of a group of strangers. But through her bat mitzvah experience, she will learn to savor the feeling of achievement, how to break a large task into small steps, and most importantly, find her own voice. Hopefully, she will become addicted to the feeling of accomplishment, catapulting her into adolescence with self-confidence. For now, she knows that her learning has just begun. And she is a Jew.

We come here today – to engage in deep soul searching; to reflect on our lives and where we want to be. To return to ourselves; to become who we originally set out to become. Our diversity of opinion and varied personal experiences allow us to learn from one another. We know that the essence of God and the meaning of life are ultimately lifelong questions to which we offer different answers at different times. And sometimes, things occur in our lives which leave us with no answer at all. Nevertheless, we continue the journey, to make the most of this one precious life, to leave the world a better place than we found it. We are Am Yisrael – a people of questioners and God wrestlers. And we all are Jews.