JE NE SUIS PAS CHARLIE

Originally posted Friday, January 16th, 2015

Like many people at home and around the world, I'm still processing the tumultuous events that occurred in France in recent days. 

On Wednesday, January 7, two French-born Islamist terrorists attacked the Paris offices of the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo.  They killed 12 people that day, including a police officer who was Muslim.  The terrorists purported to be acting out of religious motivation in response to the magazine having published cartoon depictions of the Muslim prophet Mohammed.  Another terrorist who was a friend of the first two, murdered another police officer on Thursday.  Then on Friday, the terrorist who had murdered the police officer on Thursday proceeded to attack Hyper Cacher, a kosher supermarket in eastern Paris.  Four customers, all Jews shopping in preparation for Shabbat, were gunned down by that terrorist.  Other hostages managed to escape to safety.  Other hostages were able to remain hidden on the scene thanks to the heroic efforts of a Muslim employee of the kosher market, who also assisted the police in their successful efforts to end the siege and kill the terrorist.  Meanwhile, the other two terrorists who had attacked the Charlie Hebdo offices were also killed by police.

On Friday evening, the Grand Synagogue in Paris cancelled services for the first time since World War II out of security concerns.

On Sunday afternoon, more than a million demonstrators, including many world leaders, marched through Paris in a show of solidarity --- French citizens and foreigners, Muslims, Jews, Christians and Atheists.  They were there at the urging of the French president Francois Hollande in support of French national ideals of freedom of speech and national solidarity.  They marched in opposition to violent religious extremism.  They marched in support of the French Jewish community that had been subject to attack.  And they marched in support of the vast majority of the French Muslim community who find themselves subject to backlash from those who would unfairly link them to the radicalized terrorist extremists who bring shame upon Islam while claiming to represent it.

And then on Sunday evening, a memorial service for all the victims took place at the Grand Synagogue, with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu as a featured speaker.

The Charlie Hebdo attack reminds us that the exercise of freedom of speech should not be impeded by threats or acts of terrorism.  This doesn’t mean that one has to believe that the magazine was wise or thoughtful to print (and to continue to print) cartoons that are intentionally designed to offend religious sensibilities.   In that regard, I can say for myself “Je ne suis pas Charlie” (“I am not Charlie”). 

But it does mean that those who would carry out such attacks threaten the civilized world and must be reined in. 

And the Hyper Cacher attack reminds us that violent anti-Semitism still exists in the world and that vigilance is required against it.  

Even though I’m generally not much of a fan of the current Israeli government, I was still very moved at the sight of Prime Minister Netanyahu speaking at the Grand Synagogue in Paris on Sunday night.  Reminding all of us that no matter what might happen in France or in any place in the world where we might live, that we have a home in the State of Israel, which is the fulfillment of the historical national aspirations of the Jewish people.

This is a good opportunity to highlight that we are currently in the election season for the 37th World Zionist Congress, which will meet in Jerusalem in fall of 2015.  The first Zionist Congress was convened by Theodore Herzl in 1897.  Prior to 1948, these Congresses were concerned with establishing a Jewish homeland in Eretz Yisra’el (“The land of Israel”).  Since 1948, these Congresses have been the official venue for world Jewry to help shape the vision and priorities of Medinat Yisra’el (“The State of Israel”).

For more information about the current elections, you might wish to read the recent article by J.J. Goldberg in the Forward, which can be found here:  http://forward.com/articles/212347/the-zionist-election-you-can-participate-in-if-y/

The American delegation in the World Zionist Congress holds 145 out of the 500 seats. Israel receives 190, allocated by Knesset election results. The rest of the world shares the other 165.

A number of American Zionist organizations are presenting delegate slates representing a spectrum of religious and political positions.  Both of the movements with which Temple Israel is affiliated, the Union for Reform Judaism and Jewish Reconstructionist Communities, officially encourage all of us who are eligible to vote in the Zionist elections to vote for the slate put forward by ARZA, the Association of Reform Zionists of America.  The ARZA platform for the World Zionist Congress advocates for gender equality in Israel, religious equality in Israel for all streams of Judaism, and the pursuit of peace through a commitment to a two-state solution.  More information, including voting instructions, can be found at the Reform movement website at https://www.reformjews4israel.org/ or at the Reconstructionist movement site at http://www.jewishrecon.org/resource/vote-give-reconstructionist-views-and-values-voice-israeli-society-today

As Jews, we are part of a global, multicultural, multiracial people with Israel as our spiritual center and homeland.  While we demand and deserve to be free to live as equal citizens in all nations including the United States of America, we dare not forsake our connection with the land of our people’s birth and rebirth.  

We stand in solidarity with our fellow Jews in France, in Israel and around the world.

And we stand in solidarity with those of all religions -- and those of no religion -- who believe in peace and mutual respect among all humanity.

L’shalom,

Rabbi David Steinberg
rabbidavid@jewishduluth.org

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

CHANUKAH REFLECTIONS

A short kavanah (intention setting) that appears in Siddur Sha’ar Zahav greatly resonates with me during this Chanukah season:

“In times of darkness, people have always kndled light – to remove the gloom of ignorance, to chase away the clouds of doubt, and to overcome the fear of oppression.  We, too, come together to kindle light: the symbol of our prayers for peace, for hope, for freedom, and for blessings for ourselves and for the entire world.” [1]

I think that this basic truth explains the endurance and magic of the eight days of Chanukah.

Much more than gift giving. For, as our tradition teaches – “Azehu Ashir? Hasame’ach bechelko.” -   “Who is rich?  The one who is happy with his or her lot.”  (Pirke Avot 4:1)

Much more than militaristic victory celebrations.  For, as our tradition teaches – “Azehu gibor – Hakovesh et yitzro”  --   “Who is strong? The one who has impulse control. For one who is slow to anger is better than one who is strong; and one who rules one’s own spirit is better than better than one who conquers a city.” (Ibid.)

But lighting candles in the face of darkness symbolizes courage, faith and hope. And increasing the light with each night of Chanukah, reminds us to have optimism in the future.  As the Talmud teaches --- וטעמא דבית הלל דמעלין בקדש ואין מורידין  -- “Bet Hillel’s reasoning was that in matters of holiness we ascend rather than descend.”  (Shabbat 21b)

There’s a modern Israeli Chanukah song that I love that goes –

Banu choshech legaresh /Biyadeinu ohr va’esh /Kol echad hu ohr katan /Vekulanu ohr eitan. /Surah choshech hal’ah shchor./ Surah mip’nei ha’ohr. 

We come to chase the darkness away. In our hands are light and fire. Each person is a small light.  But together we are a mighty light.  Turn away O Darkness. Turn away in the face of the light. 

I once heard it taught that the miracle of Chanukah was not that the single jar of oil lasted for eight days, but rather, that we had the courage to light it without knowing whether it could last.

So it is with our lives:  Faith, community and tradition can give us the strength to push ahead even when we can’t predict what the future may hold.

Whatever challenges we face individually or communally -- May we all be blessed with the capacity to focus our hearts and minds on the light of gratitude – and to banish from ourselves the darkness of cynicism and despair.

Surah choshech mipnei ha’or – Turn away o darkness in the face of the light.

Chag Urim Sameach/ Happy Chanukah!

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

CHILDREN OF JOSEPH

Dvar Torah for Temple Israel Annual Meeting on Sunday, December 14, 2014

We traditionally refer to ourselves as “Ahm Yisra’el” (the people of Israel) or "Bnei Yisra’el" (the children of Israel) --- or simply “Israel”.  And, of course, that’s the name of our congregation as well:  Temple Israel.  Israel, as we know, is the name given to Jacob by God after he wrestles with the angel in Genesis 32:29.  There the angel declares:   לֹא יַעֲקֹב יֵאָמֵר עוֹד שִׁמְךָ--כִּי, אִם-יִשְׂרָאֵל:  כִּי-שָׂרִיתָ עִם-אֱלֹהִים וְעִם-אֲנָשִׁים, וַתּוּכָל.  ("Your name shall no longer be Jacob, but Israel ["yisra'el"] , for you have striven ["saritah"] with beings divine ["elohim"] and human, and have prevailed.")

This idea of striving, struggling, wrestling with issues both philosophical and practical is indeed an important characteristic of Jewish life. 

However, during this time of year when our Torah reading cycle features the story of Joseph, I often feel that Ahm Yosef  ("the people of Joseph") might be an even better name for us.  The Torah teaches that various patriarchs and matriarchs prior to Joseph experience God directly and explicitly.  Indeed the same claim is made for Adam and Eve and Noah before them.  God speaks to them and appears to them directly.

Joseph, on the other hand, is more like us.  God never addresses him directly. And yet, Joseph models for us the religious behavior of a much later age:  He doesn’t experience direct, unmediated revelation.  Yet he understands that God’s presence is reflected in the visicitudes of his life.  In this week’s Torah portion, Miketz, when he interprets Pharaoh’s dreams he insists the dreams and the interpretations ultimately come from God (see Gen. 41:25) .  And when, in next week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, he and his brothers are finally reunited, Joseph forgives them for having sold him into slavery, asserting that it was ultimately God who sent him ahead of them to Egypt in order to be able to save lives. (see Gen. 45: 5-8)

So to with our lives:  We each have our ups and downs, our joys and our heartbreaks,  and it’s easy to succumb to despair at the seeming meaningless and randomness of it all.  But, following the lead of Yosef Ha-Tzadik ("Joseph the Righteous"), our Jewish tradition teaches us to look for God’s presence, to look for meaning, to look for a bigger picture. 

When in our Temple’s mission statement we see that Temple Israel is to be " a center for Jewish life" --that’s an important part of that mission: providing opportunities --  through worship, study, social action and communal camaraderie--- to experience the Divine that infuses the everyday.

One more teaching I’d like to share about this week’s Parasha.  In the very last verse of Parashat Miketz (Gen. 44:17) Joseph sends his brothers off to return to Jacob telling them “Alu leshalom el avichem” (literally, "Go up towards peace to your father.")

By contrast, in Genesis 1515, Abraham is promised by God that he would die and be buried “beshalom” ("in peace").

Of the contrast between the phrase “lekh beshalom” (go in peace) verses “lekh leshalom” (go towards peace) the Talmud, citing a couple of other biblical verses, teaches:

ואמר רבי אבין הלוי הנפטר מחברו אל יאמר לו לך בשלום אלא לך לשלום שהרי יתרו שאמר לו למשה (שמות ד) לך לשלום עלה והצליח דוד שאמר לו לאבשלום (שמואל ב טו) לך בשלום הלך ונתלה:  ואמר רבי אבין הלוי הנפטר מן המת אל יאמר לו לך לשלום אלא לך בשלום שנאמר (בראשית טו) ואתה תבא אל אבותיך בשלום: 

R. Abin the Levite also said: When a man takes leave of his fellow, he should not say to him, 'Go in peace' (lekh beshalom), but 'Go to peace' (lekh leshalom). For Moses, to whom Jethro said, Go to peace, (Ex. 4:18) went up and prospered, whereas Absalom to whom David said, Go in peace, (2 Samuel 15:9) went away and was hung. R. Abin the Levite also said: One who takes leave of the dead [upon leaving a funeral procession] should not say to him 'Go to peace', but 'Go in peace', as it says, But thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace. (Gen. 15:15)

May our incoming board and the congregation as a whole lekh leshalom/ go towards peace – towards increasing fulfillment, fellowship and vitality in the year to come.

Amen.

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

TAKING IT TO THE STREETS

Sermon for Yom Kippur Morning 5775

October 4, 2014

 

I spoke last night about how Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Shabbaton --- literally a Sabbath of Sabbaths or a cessation of cessations.  Calling for us to stop dead in our tracks and take stock of the state of our souls.

But what about the rest of the week?

What about the rest of the year?

That’s when we carry our values out into the world.

The prophet Hosea describes the relationship between God and the collectivity of the Jewish people as that of a married couple.  There may have been times of estrangement, times of distance, but there is reconciliation at the end when God, as it were, declares:

 

כא  וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי, לְעוֹלָם; וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי בְּצֶדֶק וּבְמִשְׁפָּט, וּבְחֶסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים.

21 I will espouse you to Me forever; I will espouse you to Me with righteousness and with justice, and with kindness and with compassion.

כב  וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי, בֶּאֱמוּנָה; וְיָדַעַתְּ, אֶת-יְהוָה. 

22 And I will espouse you to ME with faithfulness; and you shall know the Eternal.

We see here the purpose of such qualities as tzedek/righteousness, mishpat/justice, chesed/kindness and rachamim/compassion.  It is by means of exercising these qualities that we get to have communion with God; that we get to know God.

Moses gets a similar lesson when he pleads with God: הַרְאֵנִי נָא, אֶת-כְּבֹדֶךָ / Show me your Glory! (or as the Jewish Publication Society translates it): “Oh, let me behold your Presence!”  (Ex. 33:18).

And God responds that no human can understand God’s fundamental essence but what we can understand is God’s attributes. 

God is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, extending kindness, forgiving iniquity and transgression.  (See Ex. 34: 6-8).

The implication is that we should do likewise.

More explicitly, in Deuteronomy 13:5, Moses charges the people אַחֲרֵי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם תֵּלֵכוּ / “You shall walk after your God”

And the Talmud, in Tractate Sotah, deals with the question of how to do so:

R. Hama son of R. Hanina further said: What means the text: "You shall walk after your God" (Deuteronomy 13)? Is it, then, possible for a human being to walk after God; for has it not been said: "For God is a devouring fire" (Deuteronomy 4)? But [the meaning is] to walk after the attributes of the Holy One. Just as God clothes the naked, as it says, "And God made garments of skins for Adam and his wife, and clothed them" (Genesis 3), so do you also clothe the naked. The Holy One, blessed be God, visited the sick, for it is written: "And God appeared to him by the oaks of Mamre" (Genesis 18), so do you also visit the sick. The Holy One, blessed be God, comforted mourners, for it is written: "And it came to pass after the death of Abraham, that God blessed Isaac his son" (Genesis 25), so do you also comfort mourners. The Holy one, blessed be God, buried the dead, for it is written: "And [God] buried him in the valley" (Deuteronomy 34), so do you also bury the dead.

And, of course, in Isaiah, in the haftarah that Ben chanted so beautifully this morning, the theme is stated even more strongly --- our fasting and our prayers and our worship on this Sabbath of Sabbaths are important – but they must be matched by our sense of justice and compassion for others. 

Our fasting this day – and by extension all of our ritual practices this day – are pointless if, in the words of the haftarah, “on the day of your fast you are preoccupied with your possessions and oppress those who toil on your behalf!” (Isa. 58:3)

And as our own stomachs are growling from our Yom Kippur fast, the haftarah challenges us:

6 Is this not the fast I desire?!
To unlock the fetters of wickedness,
And untie the cords of the yoke
To let the oppressed go free;
To break off every yoke.
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
And to take the wretched poor into your home;
When you see the naked, to clothe him,
And not to ignore your own kin?!

That, of course, is what our response must be – at the local level, at the national level and at the international level.  Our politicians often speak about the middle class-- but I’m always looking for them to speak about the poor.

Depending on where each of us are on the American political spectrum, we may have various ideas regarding how much of this religious obligation of caring for the poor should be borne by government and how much should be borne by individuals. 

But, realistically, I can’t conceive of a way in which our religious obligations to:

Feed the hungry,

House the homeless,

Clothe the naked

Free the oppressed

Can be borne by government alone or by charitable organizations alone, or by individuals alone.  We have to do it together.

On the local level, that’s why CHUM – which describes itself as “people of faith working together to provide basic necessities, foster stable lives, and organize for a just and compassionate community” works on all these fronts:  lobbying governmental entities on behalf of the needs of the poor; providing services through the work of its own professional staff and community of volunteers, and raising funds from individuals and congregations to fund its work.  And that’s why Temple Israel is a member congregation of CHUM.

In your Yom Kippur program booklet there is a flyer about the Steve 0’Neil Apartments, which consists of 44 permanent supportive housing units as well as six emergency shelter units for long term homeless families that are being built on the northwest corner of Fourth Street and First Avenue West. 

There is much we can do as individual members of Temple Israel and as a congregation to take part in this CHUM initiative.  The flyer gives you information about how to donate to the “Community Housewarming Registry” for the purpose of stocking the new Steve O’Neill Community apartments with basic essentials.

In my recent conversations with CHUM Executive Director Lee Stuart and CHUM congregational outreach and volunteer coordinator Courtney Cochran, I’ve also learned that they are looking for volunteers in a number of different capacities to get involved in the “CHUM Families Connection” network.  For example:  Helping a family move into a new apartment;  helping drive families to appointments, school or shopping;  helping to run monthly birthday parties for kids living in the Steve O’Neill Apartments; Helping with child care needs;  etc.  Any of these opportunities would come with step-by-step guidance by CHUM staff.  Let’s do this!  See me if you have any ideas about how we can establish an organized presence from our congregation in these efforts.

Meanwhile, another way Temple members can help in the community is by taking part in a home rehabilitation project for a needy family through Habitat for Humanity.  We’ve been doing this during Sukkot week for the past few years, and this year will be no exception.  Please see Tom Griggs if you would like to take part in this year’s work day to take place a week from Tuesday, when we will join together with volunteers from Glen Avon Presbyterian Church.

And once again, the envelopes from MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger and the shopping bags for the food shelf are here on your seats to remind us of how we can respond to the words of the haftarah.

Donate to the food shelf.

Donate to MAZON.

Donate to the Jewish Federation

Donate to American Jewish World Service.

Donate to the charity of your choice.

Vote for political candidates who you believe will be most focused on establishing and maintaining a just and compassionate society.

I read earlier this week a neat little dvar torah by Rabbi Shlomo Riskin that touches on these themes.  He notes that the closing service of Yom Kippur is called “Ne’ilah” a word which means “locking” and refers to the metaphor of the “closing of gates.”  And that the typical interpretation we might have is something along the lines of “Don’t lock me out!  Don’t close the doors or the gates in my face as long as there is still time, let me come in.”

But Rabbi Riskin suggests that instead when we get to Ne’ilah a few hours from now we should really be crying out --- “Don’t lock me in!”  Because --- after the many hours that we will have spent during these High Holy Days focusing on cheshbon hanefesh/ personal inventory and teshuvah/repentance and tefilah/prayer are done --- the next step is to “take it to the streets!” 

We literally do so when we leave the solidity of our homes to dwell in the fragile sukkah and when we experience the texture and fragrance of the arba minim – the four species of etrog, lulav, myrtle and willow.

But we also --- literally – do it by responding to the prophetic call to

unlock the fetters of wickedness,
And untie the cords of the yoke
To let the oppressed go free;
To break off every yoke.
… to share our bread with the hungry,
And to take the wretched poor into our home;
… to provide clothes for those in need
In short, “not to ignore our neighbor”

It’s all very daunting. But the important thing is simply to get involved in the effort.  For it is not upon us to complete the work, but neither are we free to absent ourselves from it.

That is the message of this day.

Gmar Chatimah Tovah ve-Shabbat shalom.

 

(c) Rabbi David Steinberg

October 2014/ Yom Kippur 5775

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

FULL STOP

Sermon for Kol Nidre Night 5775

October 3, 2014

In the Torah, in Leviticus 23:27, the holiday we now call Yom Kippur/ Day of Atonement is called Yom Hakipurim/ Day of the Atonements (plural).  According to the medieval Spanish Jewish commentator Isaac Abarbanel (1437-1508), the plural “kippurim” refers to the fact that on this particular day each year transgressions from throughout the year would be expiated during the course of the rituals carried out by the Kohen Gadol/ High Priest.  This plural version of the name of this holiday gives rise to a classic pun:  The 18th century commentator known as the Vilna Ga’on interprets the phrase Yom kippurim – Day of Kippurim – Day of Atonements as Yom ki Purim.  “A day like Purim” since the prefix ki can mean “like.”[1]

Now there are entire sermons that can be built around the Vilna Ga’on’s teaching that Yom Kippur and Purim are two sides of the same coin.  Maybe I’ll do that sermon next year.  Come to think of It, I did speak of this “Yom Ki Purrim” theme last year on Kol Nidre night when I invited us to imagine Vladimir Putin in drag as Queen Esther…

(I guess you hadda be there….)

Anyway, this whole convoluted introduction is just my way of saying – I want to open with some jokes and you shouldn’t think that this is inappropriate for Kol Nidre night.

I know – I worry too much…

*****************

So……       An elderly Jewish man living in Century Village in South Florida calls his son Joshua in New York. The father says to the son, "I hate to tell you, but your mother and I can't stand each other anymore, and we are divorcing. That's it!! I want to live out the rest of my years in peace. I am telling you now, so you and your sister shouldn't go into shock later when I move out." The father hangs up, and the son immediately calls his sister Melissa in the Hamptons and tells her the news. She says, "I'll handle this." Melissa calls Florida and gets her father on the phone. She pleads to her father, "Don't do ANYTHING 'til Joshua and I get there! We will be there Friday." The father says, "All right, all right already." When the father hangs up the phone he hollers to his wife, "Okay, the kids are coming for the High Holidays!'' 

**************************** 

Rabbi to congregant: "Yes I understand that McDonalds calls it "fast food"...but you STILL can't eat it on Yom Kippur!"

********************

A friend was in front of me coming out of the Synagogue one day, and as always the Rabbi was standing at the door shaking hands as the congregation departed. He grabbed my friend by the hand and pulled him aside. The Rabbi said to him, "You need to join the Army of G-d!"

My friend replied, "I'm already in the Army of G-d, Rabbi."

Rabbi questioned, "How come I don't see you except for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur?"

He whispered back, "I'm in the secret service."

***********************************

On Yom Kippur morning, the Rabbi noticed little Adam was staring up at the large plaque that hung in the foyer of the synagogue. It was covered with names, and small American flags were mounted on either side of it.

The seven-year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the Rabbi walked up, stood beside the boy, and said quietly, "Shalom, Adam."

"Shalom, Rabbi," replied the young man, still focused on the plaque. "Rabbi Resnick, what is this?" Adam asked.

"Well, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service."

Soberly, they stood together, staring at the large plaque. Little Adam's voice was barely audible when he asked: "Which service? Shacharit, Mincha or Ma’ariv?"

******************

I really was just aiming for that last joke…

Because, all kidding aside, this idea of “dying in the service” does have some background to it.  For it is indeed true that some of the customs of Yom Kippur are meant to make it feel like a dress rehearsal for our own death.  The kittel that I’m wearing is reminiscent of “tachrichim” the shrouds in which Jews are traditionally buried.  The rejection of food and drink and other creature comforts points to the time when our souls will no longer inhabit these earthly bodies of ours.  The “vidui” or confession of sins that we recite in synagogue on Yom Kippur has its parallel in the “vidui” prayer that is traditionally recited by or on behalf of someone who is near the point of death.

We confront our mortality ---- and we confront the state of our souls --- during this Day of Atonement. 

The word “Shabbat” literally means “cessation.”  And Torah designates Yom Kippur (in the Yom Kippur morning Torah reading) as “Shabbat Shabbaton[2]” --- Cessation of cessations --- FULL STOP….

Just like death.

This is the climax of the process of cheshbon hanefesh/soul searching that we’ve been leading up to for the past 40 days, since the 1st day of the month of Elul.  Those 40 days from the 1st of Elul until the 10th of Tishri correspond to the 40 days that Moses communed with God on Mt. Sinai following the smashing of the 1st set of tablets in the wake of the incident of the Golden Calf.

Yom Kippur is a somber and serious day. 

But---- even without the warm-up jokes---- it’s not a sad day.  For, built in alongside the prayers of confession and the pleas for forgiveness, is the confidence that, indeed, we will be forgiven.

In the Song of Songs chapter 5 verse two – it says:  “I was asleep but my heart was awake. My beloved knocks! Saying --- “Pitchu li, achoti, rayati, yonati, chamati … Open up for me – O my sister, my friend, my flawless dove”. 

The rabbinic midrash on Song of Songs sees us as the sleeper and God as the one who knocks, interpreting the verse thus:

Amar Hakadosh Barukh Hu le-yisra’el: Pitchu li petach echad shel teshuvah ke-chudah shel machat --- The Blessed holy one said to Israel“My children, show me an opening of repentance no larger than the eye of a needle, and I will widen it into openings through which wagons and carriages can pass”[3]

That’s how the system works.

And with the long blast of the Shofar at the end of Yom Kippur, we are, as it were, reborn --- hopefully a bit wiser, a bit more compassionate, a bit more faithful than we may have been when we entered this day in the company of our fellow sinners. 

****************

Yom Kippur --- “Shabbat Shabbaton” --- Cessation of cessations --- FULL STOP….

We certainly need these pauses, these way stations on our life’s journeys.  Our death bed should not be the first time we take stock of our lives.  And Yom Kippur should not be the only day of the year when we pause to reflect; when we pause to give thanks. 

Our tradition teaches of doing so three times a day morning, afternoon and evening (Shacharit, Mincha and Ma’ariv).  And, more so, every time we are about to taste a morsel of food – and every time we have finished eating a meal, and every time we encounter a natural wonder of the world and every time we carry out a ritual mitzvah…  

But even if we don’t davven three times a day; and even if we don’t say 100 blessings every day --- we get the idea…..

Our lives are a collection of moments.  Moments of grace.  Moments of trial.  Moments of insight.  Moments of pleasure.  Moments of pain. 

And then they’re over. 

As it says in Psalm 103 – In words that the choir will sing tomorrow afternoon to open our Yizkor servie:

 

טו אֱנוֹשׁ, כֶּחָצִיר יָמָיו; כְּצִיץ הַשָּׂדֶה, כֵּן יָצִיץ.

15 As for the human being, our days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so do we flourish.

טז כִּי רוּחַ עָבְרָה-בּוֹ וְאֵינֶנּוּ; וְלֹא-יַכִּירֶנּוּ עוֹד מְקוֹמוֹ.

16 For the wind passes over it, and it is gone; and its place knows it no more.

This all reminds me of what I think is the best movie I’ve seen in the past few years:  Richard Linklater’s film “Boyhood.” 

Linklater and his cast of actors met for a few weeks every year for 12 years to create a film in which the main character grows from a 6 year old boy to an 18 year old young man – and we see the other characters – his sister, his parents, their friends – age as well… in real time.  Real time, that is to say, compressed into two and half seamless hours.

Spoiler alert:  For the most part there are no melodramatic cataclysms and plot reversals – and yet we are spellbound.  I was, anyway.  So much so that I saw the movie twice this summer, once when I was on vacation in London and again when I was back home in Duluth. The moral or theme of the movie seems to be just what we’ve been talking up here --- that life is made up of moments.  And that these moments can rush by before we know it. 

But we want to know it.  So we need these set times to help us acquire that knowledge.

We need that full stop.

And, now that we’re stopped – for this holiest of holy days – now that we are here observing Yom Kippur -- how shall we use this time?

In the days of the Mishkan or Tabernacle of which the Torah speaks, and in the days of the ancient Temples of which the Talmud speaks  – Yom Hakippurim was about cleaning out the accumulated ritual impurities of the sanctuary.

The Kohen Gadol wore the right clothes and said the right words, the scape goat was sent off to the wilderness bearing the people’s sins, the animals and grain offerings were offered in the proper manner and “voila”

 

ל  כִּי-בַיּוֹם הַזֶּה יְכַפֵּר עֲלֵיכֶם, לְטַהֵר אֶתְכֶם:  מִכֹּל, חַטֹּאתֵיכֶם, לִפְנֵי יְהוָה, תִּטְהָרוּ.

30 On this day atonement will be made for you, to purify you; from all your wrongs.  In the presence of Adonai shall ye be pure. [4]

A metaphorical way of viewing that Biblical conception of Yom Kippur might be to see it as about “cleaning out our spiritual shmutz, the accumulated gunk in our souls.”   

Sort of like how we go to the dentist every six months to get the plaque buildup removed.  Or how we use a cleaner app on our smartphones to clear out the junk files from our cache.

How many bad habits or destructive tendencies have we permitted to clog up our spiritual pores this past year?  May the power of this day enable us to purify ourselves.

I mentioned a moment ago that I was in London during part of my vacation this summer.  I got a lot of use out of the London Underground and, if you’ve ever been on the London Underground, you might recall that there is a ubiquitous phrase that you hear all the time on the recorded announcements and that you see posted on all the train doors: 

“Mind the Gap!”

I think that’s a good way of describing how the meaning of the Day of Atonement evolved from the “Yom Hakippurim” of the Biblical period to the “Yom Kippur” of susbsequent centuries.

Originally, kaparah/atonement was about cleaning out the shmutz –which, as we’ve just mentioned still does have resonance today even after the destruction of the second Temple so many centuries ago.

But it was in the rabbinic period, the period of the Talmud, that Judaism expanded upon the concept of Teshuvah/Repentance/Return as the major theme of not just Yom Kippur but of the enter High Holiday season.

What is teshuvah?  It’s about responding to that urgent message:

MIND THE GAP

That gap/ that distance between the subway car and the station platform can be treacherous.

And so can that gap/ that distance between ourselves and God – or, if you prefer – that gap between how we are living our lives and how we know in our hearts we should be living our lives.

Our consciences, informed by our Jewish values, prompt us to mind the gap, to come to a full stop, to reflect upon how we might close the distance.

To complete the passage from Psalm 103 that the choir will sing tomorrow at Yizkor:

Yes --

טו אֱנוֹשׁ, כֶּחָצִיר יָמָיו; כְּצִיץ הַשָּׂדֶה, כֵּן יָצִיץ.

15 As for the human being, our days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so do we flourish

טז כִּי רוּחַ עָבְרָה-בּוֹ וְאֵינֶנּוּ; וְלֹא-יַכִּירֶנּוּ עוֹד מְקוֹמוֹ.

16 For the wind passes over it, and it is gone; and its place knows it no more.

But ---

יז וְחֶסֶד יְהוָה, מֵעוֹלָם וְעַד-עוֹלָם-- עַל-יְרֵאָיו;
וְצִדְקָתוֹ, לִבְנֵי בָנִים.

17 [T]he steadfast love of the Eternal is from everlasting to everlasting upon those who revere the Eternal, and divine righteousness extends to all generations.

 

And here we are.

 

Tomorrow in my Yom Kippur morning sermon I plan to focus more on where we might go from here.

In the meantime,

Tzom Kal/ Have an easy fast – those of you who are able to do so.

And may each and every one of us, and the whole house of Israel, be inscribed and sealed for a good year – a year of peace and blessing not just for us but for the world at large.

Gmar Chatimah Tovah ve-Shabbat shalom.

 

(c) Rabbi David Steinberg

October 2014/ Yom Kippur 5775

 

[1] See http://www.ou.org/holidays/purim/every_day_purim_every_night_kippurim/

[2] Lev. 16:31 – Part of the main Torah reading for Yom Kippur morning.

[3] Song of Songs Rabba 5:2.2 as translated in Kol Haneshama: Machzor Leyamim Nora’im, Reconstructionist Press, 1999, p. 17.

[4]  Leviticus 16:30 (The “signature verse” introducing the Yom Kippur Amidah).

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

IF THE SIREN IS SOUNDED

Sermon for first morning of Rosh Hashanah 5775

September 25, 2014

 אִם-יִתָּקַע שׁוֹפָר בְּעִיר, וְעָם לֹא יֶחֱרָדוּ

6 If a shofar is sounded in a city, do the people not tremble?

That quotation from Amos chapter 3 verse 6 has been much on my mind, especially since my return from Israel.

If Amos had been living in Israel this summer, I think that instead of asking

IM YITAKA SHOFAR B’IR/ IF A SHOFAR IS SOUNDED IN THE CITY DO THE PEOPLE NOT TREMBLE?…

He would have asked:

IM YITAKA TZOFAR B’IR/ IF A SIREN IS SOUNDED IN THE CITY DO THE PEOPLE NOT TREMBLE?

As many of you know, I was in Israel this summer, from July 11-21 to be exact, to participate in a study mission for Reconstructionist rabbis.  The sirens were indeed like shofarot to us and all Israel.  They would sound and we would tremble.

Although sirens were heard all over the country at various times, I personally only heard them when I was in Tel Aviv. 

My first siren was when I was settled into my hotel room on my first evening in Israel on Friday, July 11th.  I didn’t really know what to do. They hadn’t gone over the procedure with me when I checked in.  So, I went out into the hallway and shouted “is anyone around?” “where am I supposed to go?” --- No response, so I went into the internal stairwell, followed the sounds of voices I heard a floor or two above me, and found a bunch of Russian speaking hotel guests in a laundry room. They were looking at their cel phones trying to get the latest news.  They told me that you’re supposed to wait 10 minutes after the siren stops before you leave the secured area, but that most people don’t bother waiting that long.  There were some nervous expressions on some people’s faces, but they were mostly taking it in stride.  It was clearly not their “first time.”

The next evening, Saturday evening July 12th, I was eating dinner at a restaurant on the “Namal”, the refurbished Tel Aviv Port.  I didn’t actually hear the siren, it must have been too far away.  But apparently there had been one, because suddenly all the restaurant guests and staff were rushing past me into the storage area in the rear of the restaurant next to the kitchen.  It was sort of a bonding experience: Now, as they checked their smartphones, folks were talking with each other even though they had been in separate dinner parties in the restaurant. 

What really got me nervous was that only about 15 minutes after we went back to our tables there was another siren and we all had to rush to the back of the restaurant a second time.  This time, I heard a boom.  At first I thought a missile had crashed nearby.  But folks explained to me that that was the sound of Israel’s Iron Dome defense system intercepting and destroying the Hamas missile in the sky overhead.  Okay --- this time when I got back to my table I quickly chugged down the remainder of my pint of Goldstar beer and decided I’d hurry back to my hotel.  Thankfully, it was quiet the rest of the night.

The next day, Sunday, July 13th, I got together for lunch in southern Tel Aviv with my rabbinic colleague Nina Mandel from northeastern Pennsylvania.  Our Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association study mission was set to start on Monday afternoon in Jerusalem but Nina, like me, had decided to arrive a few days early to spend the weekend in Tel Aviv.  Nina and I were wandering around an older neighborhood called Neve Tzedek.  This was the first Jewish neighborhood to be established outside of the Jaffa city walls, about 20 years prior to the founding of Tel Aviv itself.  A very peaceful and relaxing afternoon. 

But then, while we were browsing in a souvenir shop, the siren sounded.  The store manager led us out of the store as she locked the door behind us (We had been the only three people in the store at the time).  The three of us rushed across the street to an apartment building and descended to the basement.  A young couple joined us there.   It suddenly occurred to me that this was the sort of private apartment building where normally one would expect the front door to be locked and where you’d expect to have to be buzzed in over the intercom by whomever you were visiting.  But, in the face of missile attacks, such private property restrictions had been preempted by concern for civil defense. 

After we heard the ominous boom over head – which sounded pretty darn close by --- and after the siren stopped, Nina and I went back to the souvenir shop.  The manager offered us glasses of water, and thanked us for being in Tel Aviv this summer when so many tourists had stayed away.  And both of us made sure to buy some souvenirs as we felt a sense of connection with the woman and her store. (I purchased some drink coasters with scenes of Tel Aviv.)  

By this point, I was feeling really uneasy, worse than after the two previous sirens I had experienced. I guess I had lulled myself into thinking that the sirens only come in the evening.  But now I realized that Hamas missiles could be heading our way any time of the day.  After that, Nina and I went to a book store and browsed around.  Then we headed west a few blocks to the Mediterranean, where we sat in the shade at an outdoor restaurant called “Banana Beach.”  It was relaxing to hang out there with my friend and colleague, to wiggle my toes in the sand, drink my beer, listen to the American 70’s and 80’s pop music on the loudspeakers and watch the nearby beach volleyball games. After I said goodbye to Nina, I watched a beautiful sunset as I walked north along the Mediterranean back to my hotel.  It was such an odd experience – Tel Aviv during the Gaza War was stressful and relaxing at the same time. 

The next siren I heard was five days later on Friday, July 18th, and this time I experienced it together with all of my RRA colleagues. We had been based in Jerusalem, for the first three nights of our study mission and then were based in Tel Aviv for the last four nights, though we made day trips throughout the region. 

On Friday the 18th, the siren sounded when we were getting ready to leave the hotel for a Shabbat evening service.  I was actually just finishing up writing my August bulletin article on the computer in the hotel lobby.  I was able to save it on google docs, but had not yet emailed it to Duluth when I had to rush to the basement with everyone else.  I guess I was an old pro by this time.  After the all clear I went back to the lobby to email my bulletin article before heading out. The Shabbat evening service we went to was put on by a wonderful community called Bet Tefila Israeli.  The service leader and his fellow musicians of this community, which is about 10 years old, were featured at the recent URJ biennial in San Diego.  The congregation is part of a renaissance of so-called “secular” Israelis who are re-engaging with Jewish spirituality.  Their motto (found on the inside cover of their prayer book) is taken from a 1930 essay by the poet Chayim Nachman Bialik:

“Celebrate your ancestors’ holidays, and add to them a bit of your own – according to your ability, your taste, and your reason.  What is paramount is that you do everything out of faith, and with a live feeling, and a soulful need – and don’t be too clever."

(Bialik is also the poet who composed “Shabbat Hamalkah”, the 20th century meditation on the medieval poem Shalom Aleichem with which we sometimes open our Shabbat evening services here.)

Bet Tefila Israeli is especially known for its outdoor Friday night services at the Tel Aviv Port, but this summer those services had been moved indoors – and, indeed, most large outdoor gatherings had been cancelled because of the danger of missile attacks.   Still, even though we didn’t get to watch the sun set over the Mediterranean while we were davenning, it was great to experience the warmth and spirituality of that Shabbat evening service in Tel Aviv.

As for Shabbat morning services the next day, a few of us went to the main Reform congregation in Tel Aviv, Bet Daniel.  A young man was celebrating his Bar Mitzvah there that morning. His Torah portion, Matot, describes Moses speaking to the heads of the various tribes (Matot) of Israel.  In his speech, in Hebrew of course, the young man reflected upon how the various modern “matot” of the State of Israel ---Religious/Secular/Ashkenazi/Sephardi/Ethiopian/Rich/Poor  ---were now working together in the Israel Defense Forces to protect the nation from terrorist attacks.

Finally, on Monday morning July 21st, while we were on a “Graffiti Tour” in the Florentine neighborhood of Southern Tel Aviv, the siren sounded once more.  This time we found ourselves taking cover inside a construction site for a new high rise that was in the process of being built in that rapidly gentrifying neighborhood.

I flew out of Israel on Monday evening July 21st, and have to admit that I breathed a little sigh of relief when we finally left Israeli airspace after some flight maneuvers that lengthened our time in Israeli airspace so that we wouldn’t fly near Gaza.  Had I waited a day I would’ve been stuck in Israel for a few more days because of the cancellation of many flights after a Hamas missile landed near Ben Gurion Airport.

So, that’s my tale of Tel Aviv in Six Sirens.

Of course, while the folks in Tel Aviv experienced ongoing stress over the summer, the situation was far worse the closer you got to the Gaza border.  In Tel Aviv you had 90 seconds to find shelter when the siren went off.  In Sderot, on the Gaza border, you had 15 seconds. And the folks in Sderot and nearby areas have been dealing with Hamas missile attacks for the better part of a decade already, ever since Hamas forcibly expelled Palestinian Authority officials from there in 2007. 

As for this summer’s fighting, though most Hamas missiles were destroyed or fell on unpopulated areas, there were still a few Israeli civilian casualties from the Hamas missiles, including the killing of four-year-old Daniel Tragerman in the community of Sha’ar Hanegev.

As we all know, the civilians in Gaza had it far worse.  Cruelly used by Hamas terrorists as human shields, they suffered the brunt of Israeli attacks.  But what was Israel to do when Hamas deployed its rocket launchers in residential neighborhoods; and when Hamas built its terror tunnels amidst civilian populations using concrete that was supposed to have been used for reconstruction of homes following the previous outbreak of fighting in 2012?

The Israeli author Amos Oz expressed this conundrum vividly in an interview with Germany’s international broadcaster Deutsche Welle published on July 30th. Here’s how that interview began: 

“Amoz Oz: I would like to begin the interview in a very unusual way: by presenting one or two questions to your readers and listeners. May I do that?

“Deutsche Welle: Go ahead!

“Question 1: What would you do if your neighbor across the street sits down on the balcony, puts his little boy on his lap and starts shooting machine gun fire into your nursery?

“Question 2: What would you do if your neighbor across the street digs a tunnel from his nursery to your nursery in order to blow up your home or in order to kidnap your family?

“With these two questions I pass the interview to you.”

One of my colleagues in the Minnesota Rabbinical Association, Rabbi Hayim Herring, put it this way at an MRA meeting that I attended earlier this month in St. Paul:

“My right to life is greater than your right to kill me.”

As for Amos Oz, the great Israeli author, I very much agree with what he says later in his interview with Deutsche Welle:

“The present hostilities will only stop, unfortunately, when one of the parties or both of them are exhausted. This morning I read very carefully the charter of Hamas. It says that the Prophet commands every Muslim to kill every Jew everywhere in the world. It quotes the Protocols of the Elders of Zion [anti-Semitic diatribe – the ed.] and says that the Jews controlled the world through the League of Nations and through the United Nations, that the Jews caused the two world wars and that the entire world is controlled by Jewish money. So I hardly see a prospect for a compromise between Israel and Hamas. I have been a man of compromise all my life. But even a man of compromise cannot approach Hamas and say: ‘Maybe we meet halfway and Israel only exists on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.’” 

Later in the interview Oz goes on to say: 

The only alternative to continuing the Israeli military operation is simply to follow Jesus Christ and turn the other cheek. I never agreed with Jesus Christ about the need to turn the other cheek to an enemy. Unlike European pacifists I never believed the ultimate evil in the world is war. In my view the ultimate evil in the world is aggression, and the only way to repel aggression is unfortunately by force. That is where the difference lies between a European pacifist and an Israeli peacenik like myself. And if I may add a little anecdote: A relative of mine who survived the Nazi Holocaust in Theresienstadt always reminded her children and her grandchildren that her life was saved in 1945 not by peace demonstrators with placards and flowers but by Soviet soldiers and submachine guns.”

Amos Oz’s views notwithstanding -- The fighting did cease on August 26th in accordance with a temporary ceasefire arranged under Egyptian auspices.  So far, the ceasefire has stayed in place for the most part.

As you surely know, there have been fierce protests against Israel’s conduct of the Gaza campaign, especially in Europe, where some of the protests have crossed the line and degenerated into crude anti-Semitic agitation.  There was even a front page article in the New York Times just yesterday warning of a general rise in anti-Semitism in Europe. 

However, lest we become despairing or fearful, we should not ignore the profound difference between the Europe of the 1930’s and the Europe of today.  In this regard, we should take heart from events like the huge demonstration against anti-Semitism that took place on Sunday, September 14th at Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate. 

Germany’s chancellor, Angela Merkel, was there and here is some of what she said:

“That people in Germany are threatened and abused because of their Jewish appearance or their support for Israel is an outrageous scandal that we won’t accept.”

“It’s our national and civic duty to fight anti-Semitism.”

“Anyone who hits someone wearing a skullcap is hitting us all. Anyone who damages a Jewish gravestone is disgracing our culture. Anyone who attacks a synagogue is attacking the foundations of our free society.”

“That far more than 100,000 Jews are now living in Germany is something of a miracle. It’s a gift and it fills me with a deepest gratitude.”

“Jewish life is part of our identity and culture.” 

Remember:  Those are the words of the Chancellor of Germany speaking.  We should not minimize their importance.

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

In the wake of this summer’s fighting, I find myself harboring a complex mix of feelings.

On the one hand, while the fighting was going on, I found myself (like the majority of the Israeli electorate) very much in support of Netanyahu’s leadership with respect to the IDF’s efforts to fight back against the Hamas missile attacks, to destroy Hamas infrastructure, and to dismantle their terror tunnels.

And, to the extent that IDF soldiers failed to adhere to their own rules of engagement, I trust Israel to investigate these incidents and mete out punishment as appropriate, as it is in the process of doing right now.

As Rabbi Herring says:  My right to live is greater than your right to kill me.

HOWEVER, ON THE OTHER HAND:

It seems to me that Israel would not even have been in this situation if it had been more forthcoming in its negotiations with the Palestinian Authority under Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas.  The Israeli government has consistently undercut Abbas.  They have paid lip service to supporting the idea of a two-state solution, yet undercut that possibility by expanding settlements and seizing more and more land in the West Bank.

I was on a conference call earlier this month sponsored by the American pro-Israel pro-peace lobby “J-Street” with Knesset Member Nitan Horowitz from the left-wing party Meretz.

Horowitz put things quite bluntly[1]:

Concerning, Mahmoud Abbas (otherwise known as Abu Mazen), he said: 

 “Abbas was very helpful in curbing violence in the West Bank.  This is to his merit and proof of his true desire for peace.  But it will not last forever if there is no hope for peace process.  He is not a young man.  He is a Palestinian leader.  He is not Jewish.  He is not Zionist.  But we have to help him because it is in our own interests.  Otherwise, of course we will have a third intifada and revival of Gaza violence if there are no peace talks.  The lesson is:  When there is no hope, that’s when you get violence.  RESUME THE PEACE TALKS. THIS WILL PREVENT THE THIRD INTIFADA.”

[Concerning the recent appropriation of land in the Gush Etzion area of the west bank, Horowitz said:]

… “[W]e have an opportunity to resume peace talks and the Israeli govt. instead chooses to poke the eye of the Palestinians.  They are repeating the same mistakes of building more settlements and seizing more land.  This is telling us that Netanyahu does not want peace.  It’s a lack of will not a lack of power on his part.  We will pay a heavy price for such moves."

[Later Knesset Member Horowitz elaborated:]

“[R]ealistically, foreign or outside pressure won’t affect Netanyahu’s settlement policy.  The only way to change the policy is to change the government and it’s up to the Israeli political system to do it.  As long as this government is in place there is no real chance of changing this policy.  If you look at this Knesset, you see there is a solid majority for peace.  Netanyahu has the political support to make a deal with Abu Mazen but the problem is that he doesn’t want it.”

So, where does this leave us? 

I for one keep thinking that we’ve known for decades what the solution is:  Two states – Israel and Palestine – living peacefully side by side based on the 1967 borders as modified by mutually agreed upon land swaps – along with a small symbolic number of pre-1948 Palestinian refugees being permitted to return to Israel proper under the guise of family reunification. 

And, if all this can’t be done right away in Gaza because of Hamas intransigence – then  at least Israel should do it now with the West Bank-- permitting the West Bank to become a model of Palestinian freedom and prosperity that will inspire Gazans to want to reject Hamas and follow suit.

Meanwhile, we wait for moderates on both sides to hold sway.

Back to Amos – His question:  

 

ו  אִם-יִתָּקַע שׁוֹפָר בְּעִיר, וְעָם לֹא יֶחֱרָדוּ

6 If the shofar is sounded in a city, do the people not tremble?

 

is actually just one in a series of rhetorical questions in Chapter 3 of the Book of Amos.

Another one of those rhetorical questions, at Amos ch. 3 verse 3, seems a fitting place to close. 

 

ג  הֲיֵלְכוּ שְׁנַיִם, יַחְדָּו, בִּלְתִּי, אִם-נוֹעָדוּ.

3 Can two walk together, without having met?


May that meeting – a meeting of minds, hearts and spirits --- come speedily in our days, so that Israelis and Palestinians can walk together---  with no one trembling in fear.  

 

Shanah tovah.

© Rabbi David Steinberg

September 2014/ Rosh Hashanah 5775

 

[1] The quotations from Nitan Horowitz are based on my own simultaneous notes.  They are verbatim to the extent I was able to type them out accurately while I was on the call.

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

CASTING OFF TOGETHER

Sermon for First Evening of Rosh Hashanah 5775

Wed. 9/24/14

As you probably know, it’s a long standing tradition to visit the graves of loved ones during the month of Elul, the month immediately preceding the High Holidays. 

This year when we gathered at Temple Emanuel Cemetery for our congregational visit on Sunday, September 13th we didn’t have a minyan present, so we didn’t recite mourners kaddish.  Subsequently, I was asked by someone who had been present there why we couldn’t simply count some dead Jews in the minyan since we were standing in a Jewish cemetery.  I told him, sorry, it doesn’t work that way:

ONLY THE LIVING CAN PERFORM MITZVOT.  NOT THE DEAD.

For in the Talmud in Masechet Berachot/ The Tractate on Blessings, a story is told about two sages who were visiting a cemetery. 

רבי חייא ורבי יונתן הוו שקלי ואזלי בבית הקברות הוה קשדיא תכלתא דרבי יונתן

“Rabbi Chiya and Rabbi Yonatan were walking in a cemetery, and Rabbi Yonatan’s tzitzit (the fringe of his garment) was dragging [over the graves].  Rabbi Chiyah said to him ---  “Dalyey”/”Lift it up!”  ---  ‘Lift up your garment lest the dead say“Tomorrow they will be joining us yet now they mock us.”’[1]

Hearing this story, we might wonder --- Why did Rabbi Chiyah think that dragging his fringed garment on the graves constitutes mocking the dead? 

According to various commentators on that Talmudic story, we learn this from a verse in the Book of Proverbs, Proverbs 17:5 to be exact:   

ה  לֹעֵג לָרָשׁ, חֵרֵף עֹשֵׂהוּ

5 Whoever mocks the poor blasphemes his Maker […]

The commentators say that the dead are considered “poor” in that they can’t perform mitzvot (such as, for example, the mitzvah of wearing a fringed garment). So, that explains Rabbi Chiyah’s challenge to Rabbi Yonatan: 

‘Lift up your garment [don’t drag your tzitzit on the graves] lest the dead say“Tomorrow they will be joining us yet now they mock us.”’

*******

I’ve often thought about this general idea that it‘s only the living who can perform mitzvot.

Certainly, we are spiritually blessed by the life lessons that our loved ones of previous generations have left us – lessons of proper living based on the examples of their lives.  That’s why funeral eulogies traditionally end with the phrase --- zichrono livracha/ may his memory be for a blessing or zichrona livracha/ may her memory be for a blessing.  And that’s why we mark our loved ones’ yahrtzeits each year on the anniversary of their deaths.  And that’s why we have a yizkor service on Yom Kippur.  Zichronam livracha/ for their memories are a blessing and an inspiration to us.

And blessing can also come from the material generosity provided by previous generations.  A prime example of this is the legacy of Jeanne and Ben Overman through the Ben and Jeanne Overman Charitable Trust which to this day helps assure the financial stability of Temple Israel.  Indeed, those of you in the rear rows this evening are physically sitting in the “Overman Room,” our social hall, which we rededicated in summer 2013. 

But, in the final analysis, Judaism teaches that the most important time for realizing our values is here and now/ ba’olam hazeh/ in this world-- a world in which we are only temporary sojourners.    

As it says in Psalm 90:

 

12. Teach us to number our days, so that we shall acquire a heart of wisdom.

 

יב. לִמְנוֹת יָמֵינוּ כֵּן הוֹדַע וְנָבִא לְבַב חָכְמָה:

We do so by being here for one another – celebrating each other’s joys and supporting each other in times of sorrow.  And helping one another to engage with the traditions of our people. 

That, in short, is what being members of a congregation is all about.

Someone asked me recently what was so important about being a Temple member, especially if one participated in Temple functions and even donated monetarily to the Temple – but without officially being a member.

In looking for a way to respond I found an article on the web that summed up the value of synagogue membership much more eloquently than I could do in my own words.  I liked the article so much that I shared it with the Board – and members of the Board liked it so much that they asked if I could share it with you. 

So, here permit me to share with you some excerpts from an essay, composed in 2009 by Rabbi Gil Steinlauf of Adas Israel Congregation in Washington, DC, and entitled “The Power of Membership:”

Rabbi Steinlauf writes:

Why be a member at a synagogue? The answer to this question is not at all as simple as it was a generation ago. Once upon a time, belonging to a synagogue was a given in American Jewish life. There were a host of unspoken bonds that linked us Jews to one another—ethnic bonds, Yiddish language and culture, first and second-generation immigrant values and aspirations—and synagogues were our gathering place. We may not have necessarily believed in God. We may have been secular in every other aspect of our lives. We may have attended synagogue only on High Holy Days. But synagogue membership was sacrosanct. By and large, we didn’t belong to country clubs, to the uppermost echelons of professional societies, and we didn’t attend the old-boy elite universities.

[And, an aside here, as Jack Seiler remarked to me, in Duluth some of those country clubs and private societies, such as the Northland Country Club, explicitly barred Jews from membership not so long ago.]

Rabbi Steinlauf’s essay continues:

Shul was where we gathered and affirmed that we belonged to something important, timeless and meaningful. Shul was where we accessed our time-honored traditions, where we felt special, where we could marshal our resources to look out for each other, and for Jews around the world.

Times have changed. We Jews have made it in America. There is hardly an elite institution or cultural achievement in this society where there is not a Jewish presence and influence. Yiddish language, culture, and ethnic identity—however beloved and cherished—has fallen into the background of our lived experience.

[…]

Of course, there are still many Jewish people who still proudly support synagogues because of strong family traditions, strong ethnic sensibilities, and identification with Jewish particularism in the world. But for all the Jews who belong for the time-honored reasons, there are many more Jews today who do not feel that they need a synagogue to play its traditional role for them anymore. Jews today can belong to so many movements, so many institutions, so many means of finding and expressing meaning beyond the Jewish world. Ever-increasing numbers of 21st-century Jews no longer seek meaning through ethnic identification. We’re global citizens now. Many Jews today see just as much in common with other races and religious groups as we do with our ancestral religious and ethnic group. Our prevailing societal outlook is postmodern: we can and do invent ourselves. […]

To become a member of a synagogue in today’s world is an extraordinary act. It’s something we can easily choose not to do. To do so, then, is not just about giving money to receive services. It is, first and foremost, an act of faith that this institution called a synagogue stands for something important in our lives, and in the world. Synagogue membership runs against the grain of postmodern expectation. In most settings nowadays, you give your money, you click that button, and you receive instant and personalized gratification. Not so in synagogues. Synagogue membership is about something deeper. You give your money so that you and your family benefit, yes, but also because other individuals and families will benefit from the very same services that you value. Those other individuals and families may be your friends, but they also may be people whom you don’t know at all. At times, they may even be people you don’t like! To be a synagogue member is to rise above all of that, and to acknowledge: “I may not know you at all, but I am responsible to you for no other reason than the fact that you and I share a common heritage that matters in the world. I am responsible to you because--just maybe--you and I share a common destiny to improve this world as Jews.” In other words, synagogue membership is an act of faith in the power of community to transform the world.

[…] To be a member of a synagogue means that you are expressing faith that the community will not only mirror your personal expectations and preferences, but it will also challenge you to question those very preferences and expectations by force of Torah and wisdom when circumstances demand that we be challenged. To be a member at a synagogue nowadays is an expression of faith that the synagogue just may inspire us to live in new and more meaningful ways. It’s an affirmation that we just may discover insight from an ancient heritage with thousands of years of collective wisdom. […]

On the deepest level, synagogue membership is not just an act of faith. It’s an act of Chesed, of lovingkindness. […] It symbolizes that we care about what it does, that its mission succeeds. It’s an act of Chesed [kindness] because it it’s not about instant gratification! […] We give for our membership because we know that our funds will keep the lights and heat on, even if we’re not there. It will pay the salaries of the teachers of Torah who can enrich the soul of someone else’s child, if not my own child.

Our ancient sages teach that Chesed shel Emet, True Lovingkindness, is giving with no expectation of reward. This is the essence of synagogue membership in the 21st century. We belong not because we’re in it just to get something out of it. We belong because the very act of belonging is an act of kindness and giving, of being there for others beyond our personal self-interest. […] To belong to a synagogue confirms that we really can transform our lives—together. And together, from generation to generation, is the only way we can transform the world.

Those excerpts from Rabbi Steinlauf’s essay, “The Power of Membership,” remind me of a couple of verses from Psalms that appear in the liturgy for Selichot (which we observed last Saturday night) and Yom Kippur (which we’ll observe next week):

From Psalm 51: 

יג  אַל-תַּשְׁלִיכֵנִי מִלְּפָנֶיךָ;    וְרוּחַ קָדְשְׁךָ, אַל-תִּקַּח מִמֶּנִּי.

“Do not cast me away from Your Presence; Do not take Your holy spirit from me.

And from Psalm 71: 

ט  אַל-תַּשְׁלִיכֵנִי, לְעֵת זִקְנָה;    כִּכְלוֹת כֹּחִי, אַל-תַּעַזְבֵנִי.

“Do not cast me off in old age; when my strength fails, do not forsake me.

The psalmist writes in the first person singular, but when these verses are incorporated into the High Holiday liturgy, Jewish tradition does what it often does – It transforms them from the realm of the individual to the realm of the community. 

“al tashlicheNUmilfanekha [SAYS THE MACHZOR]-- Do not cast US away from your presence; do not take your holy spirit from US

“al tashlicheNU l’eyt ziknah -- Do not cast US off in old age; when OUR strength fails; do not forsake US!

The fact that our prayers are so often in the first person plural – even when incorporating biblical verses that were originally in the first person singular – reminds us of the importance of community in Judaism. 

As Temple members, we join together in fellowship so that, hopefully, we can ensure that none of us ever feel cast away or forsaken.  In fact, in Hebrew, the same word – chaver – means both friend and member.

This is a work in progress.

But it is indeed our work.

As chaverim/ as members here at Temple Israel we also come together to share the simchaot/the joys and happy occasions/ in our lives as well.  (The next such simcha, by the way, will be the brit milah of Maxwell W_______ --- 5pm this Monday here at Temple Israel – YOU’RE ALL INVITED!). 

To put it in the words of Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan (words which mean so much to me that I’ve included them in the signature line on all my outgoing Temple e-mails:)

“We short-circuit religion when we treat it as an affair between the individual and God. To function normally, the religious current connecting the individual with God must pass through the life of the people.”

Tomorrow afternoon at Chester Bowl, our Tashlikh --- our “Casting Off” --  will be a symbolic casting off of our sins even as we continue to engage in prayerful reflection and repentance over this entire period of the Aseret Ymey Teshuvah.

During these Ten Days of Repentance – as we try to cast away our sins --- it also behooves us to give some focus to our responsibility not to cast away one another. 

Like all mitzvot, we see this responsibility not as a burden but rather as a gift and a blessing – as an opportunity to make real the poetic sentiments of the siddur:  

Ashreinu, mah tov chelkeynu, umah na’im goraleinu, umah yafah yerushateinu…

“Happy are we, how good is our portion, how pleasant our lot, and how beautiful our heritage….”

Let us be thankful for the blessing of being able to observe these Yamim Nora’im/Days of Awe together with one another once again.

May each of us, and the whole House of Israel, be inscribed and sealed in the book of life for this new year Five Thousand Seven Hundred and Seventy Five.

And may it be a year of shalom u’veracha/ peace and blessing for all the world.

L’Shanah Tovah.

(c) Rabbi David Steinberg

September 2014/ Rosh Hashanah 5775

Posted on April 13, 2016 .

OFFERINGS

This week we begin Sefer Vayikra ("The Book of Leviticus") in our lectionary cycle.  I wrote the following dvar torah back in 2004 when I was rabbi of Temple Beth Israel in Plattsburgh, New York.

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

The cycle of weekly Torah portions begins and ends on Simchat Torah in the fall, but it doesn’t necessarily match up with the cycle of Jewish holidays on the calendar. So, for instance, tonight – with Passover less than two weeks away, and many of us already busy cleaning our houses of chametz [NOTE: THIS YEAR (2014) PASSOVER DOES NOT START UNTIL THE EVENING OF APRIL 14], we’ve already finished the Torah’s account of the Exodus some weeks ago.  Now we are ready to start a new book of the Torah  --- Sefer Vayikra/ The Book of Leviticus – which has an entirely different focus. 

Still, as a way of getting ourselves into the text of this sometimes difficult biblical book, I’d like first to go back to the Passover story in the Sefer Shemot/ the Book of Exodus for a moment.   We all remember God’s famous demand relayed by Moses to Pharoah, “Let my people go”.  But that’s actually only the first half of the sentence.  Does anyone remember the rest of it?

There are a few variations in different parts of Sefer Shemot, but basically the full idea is, as expressed in Ex. 8:16 ---  is “Shalach [et] ami v’ya’avduni” /“Let my people go that they may serve me”  (See also, e.g., Ex. 4:23, 7:16).

And so, one way of thinking about Sefer Vayikra/ the Book of Leviticus is that it attempts to answer the second part of the challenge “Let my people go that they may serve me”.  Leviticus, beginning with this week’s parasha, talks about how to serve God.

The first thing to note is that “avodat hashem”/ “service to God” comprises both ritual and ethical observances.  The first seven chapters of Leviticus focus on ritual service – which in biblical times centered on grain offerings and animal sacrifices, and which in subsequent eras and to this day centers on prayer.  Indeed, the same Hebrew word, “avodah” refers both to the sacrificial rites of the ancient Temples,  and the prayer services of the post-biblical synagogue.

Later chapters of Leviticus have a mixture of ethical precepts like loving your neighbor as yourself, and honesty in commerce ---  and ritual precepts like the dietary laws of kashrut and the traditional practices of family purity.

But Judaism teaches that both the ritual and the ethical precepts have the same purpose – the purpose  of acknowledging God as the source of all life and the master of all the world.

The Jewish people include thelogically orthodox folks who believe that the Torah is an accurate account of God’s will for humanity --- and theologically liberal folks who believe that the Torah is the record of the Jewish people’s necessarily imperfect human efforts to find ultimate meaning.   And of course, we can and do fall everywhere in between on that spectrum as well.

And the particular synagogue we belong do doesn’t necessarily determine where in the theological spectrum each of us falls.

No matter where on the theological spectrum we find ourselves, it’s a challenge to relate to the detailed descriptions of the rituals of grain offerings and animal sacrifices in these first weekly portions of the Book of Leviticus. For example, the Orthodox Rabbi Yisroel Ciner writes that For most people with a western upbringing, the karbonos [sacrifices] are an issue that is difficult to relate to. For many they bring back bad memories of late night horror movies.”  (www.torah.org/learning/parsha-insights/5757/vayikra.html)

Similarly, Reform Rabbi Norman Lipson writes in this week’s “Torat Chayim/Living Torah” article from the U.R.J. website, “For anyone who has ever read or studied Torah, approaching Leviticus […] often fills one with a desire to skip whole sections it in search of ostensibly more religious or meaningful verses that hopefully manage to shine through the often tediously redundant narration, with its graphic detail of numerous sacrifices and how and why they would be performed.”  (accessible at www.urj.org/learning).

One important way of understanding the sacrifices is to place them in a historical context.  No less a giant of traditional Judaism than Maimonides took that approach in his “Guide of the Perplexed”, written some eight centuries ago.  Here’s a taste of his approach:

“[A] sudden transition from one opposite to another is impossible … [A]t that time the way of life generally accepted and customary in the whole world and the universal service upon which we were brought up consisted in offering various species of living beings in the temples in which images were set up, in worshipping the latter, and in burning incense before them …  [God’s] wisdom, may [God] be exalted, and [God’s] gracious ruse … did not require that [God] give us a Law prescribing the rejection, abandonment, and abolition of all these kinds of worship.  For one could not then conceive the acceptance of [such a Law], considering [human] nature, which always likes that to which it is accustomed.  At that time this would have been similar to the appearance of a prophet in these times who, calling upon the people to worship God, would say: ‘God has given you a Law forbidding you to pray to Him, [or] to fast, [or] to call upon Him for help in misfortune.  Your worship should consist solely in meditation without any works at all.”  (Guide III:32, translation by Shlomo Pines, Univ. of Chicago Press, 1963, pp. 525-526).

Maimonides then goes on to explain how the point of the sacrifices was not really that God needs to be fed or that God enjoys the smell – obviously Judaism does not contemplate the concept of a God who is so limited by human weaknesses and drives.  Rather, as the Talmud states in a quote that Maimonides cites in the Guide of the Perplexed – “The Torah is written in the language of human beings.” (Baba Metzia 31b) (Guide I: 26).  Rather, Maimonides argues, since these were the natural modes of behavior at the time of the Torah, the best way to establish monotheism in the world would be to modify and redirect these existing practices towards the one Eternal God.

We no longer worship God through grain offerings and animal sacrifices as described in the Torah.  But we still seek to find ways to express gratitude to God for our blessings.  We still seek to find ways to reconnect with God when we feel that God is hidden from us.  And we still seek to find ways to relate to our fellow human beings that acknowledge the divine spark within each of us.

The closing chapters of Exodus talk about the building of the Tabernacle or Tent of Meeting.  Leviticus opens with the statement:  “Adonai called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting”.

In a classic midrash from Vayikra Rabbah, the sages imagine God saying to God’s self – “All of this glory Moses did for me and I am inside and he is outside?! [So God] called him that he might enter within.”

And so does God call each of us.  Boi v’shalom.  Enter in peace.

Shabbat shalom.

 

 

(c) Rabbi David Steinberg 5774/2014 

 

 

Posted on March 6, 2014 .

A JEW WITH HORNS

Dvar Torah for Shabbat Ki Tisa (Exodus 30:11 - 34:35) given at Temple Israel on 2/14/14

 

At the end of this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Ki Tisa, in Exodus 34: 29-35 to be exact, Moses comes down from Mt. Sinai with the second set of tablets following the sin of the golden calf and the smashing of the first set of tablets.  Here’s the passage to which I’m referring:

29 Moses came down from Mount Sinai. And as Moses came down from the mountain bearing the two tablets of the Pact, Moses was not aware that the skin of his face was radiant, since he had spoken with God. 30 Aaron and all the Israelites saw that the skin of Moses' face was radiant; and they shrank from coming near him. 31 But Moses called to them, and Aaron and all the chieftains in the assembly returned to him, and Moses spoke to them. 32 Afterward all the Israelites came near, and he instructed them concerning all that the Eternal had imparted to him on Mount Sinai. 33 And when Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil over his face.

34 Whenever Moses went in before the Eternal to converse, he would leave the veil off until he came out; and when he came out and told the Israelites what he had been commanded, 35 the Israelites would see how radiant the skin of Moses' face was. Moses would then put the veil back over his face until he went in to speak with God.

 

Later Jewish tradition teaches that the date on which Moses returned with the second set of tablets was the 10th of Tishri, which is Yom Kippur/ The Day of Atonement.

The Torah reports that when Moses returned, קָרַן עוֹר פָּנָיו /   “karan or panav” / “the skin of his face was beaming” from having been in such close communion with God.  The Hebrew word “karan/ קרן”  (which the Jewish Publication Society translates as “radiant” and that I just translated as “beaming,” is a verb derived from the noun “keren” (same Hebrew letters but pronounced with different vowels) meaning “horn”.   Rashi comments that the word “keren” is used here:  שהאור מבהיק ובולט כמין קרן / “sheha’or mavhik uvolet kemin keren” (“because the light shines out and projects like a sort of horn”).  

Of course, this is the root of some old anti-Semitic misunderstandings that claimed that Jews had horns.  But In a more sympathetic, contemporary context we might describe Moses here as having a sort of “aura.”

However we understand the phrase “karan or panav,” a question remains for us:  Moses had spoken with God many times before without getting these beams, or horns or rays of light.  So what’s different about this latest encounter with God compared to his previous encounters with God? 

What’s different is that it’s on this occasion that Moses learns of the possibility of teshuvah/repentance/turning.  The very fact that Moses could come back with a replacement set of tablets was a sign that God had decided to give the people a second chance.

And so we find, earlier in our parasha, that when Moses asks God to show him God’s ways, God’s response is all about teshuva ( Indeed, although the most common translation of “teshuvah” is “repentance,” the word can also, literally, be translated as “response”). 

We are well familiar with that response, the Shelosh Esrey Midot/ “The Thirteen Divine Attributes.”  These words from our Torah portion, in somewhat abbreviated fashion, are part of our Yom Kippur liturgy:

 

יְהוָה יְהוָה, אֵל רַחוּם וְחַנּוּן--אֶרֶךְ אַפַּיִם, וְרַב-חֶסֶד וֶאֱמֶת.

Adonai, Adonai, God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth

נֹצֵר חֶסֶד לָאֲלָפִים, נֹשֵׂא עָו‍ֹן וָפֶשַׁע וְחַטָּאָה; וְנַקֵּה

keeping mercy unto the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin; and acquitting the penitent.

It’s in this new, deeper experience of God, this new perception of God’s aspect of granting pardon and forgiveness, that Moses acquires that aura. 

The gift of the second set of tablets teaches Moses, and teaches us, that it’s never too late to start over, to refocus, to return to our better selves. 

And just as God gives us the possibility of being forgiven, so also ought we to be forgiving to others who may have messed up in one way or another in their relationships with us.

For, ultimately, healthy relationship is not about being perfect and never making a mistake.  Rather it’s about having faith and trust in the long run.  Indeed, in the Hebrew language, the verb “l’ha’amin” (להאמין)  from the root letters aleph-mem-nun/א.מ.נ. ) (and the related noun “emunah  אמוניה include the English concepts of faith, belief and trust – all in the same word. 

So, to use another word derived from the same root letters (aleph-mem-nun):  Whenever we say Ameyn (or “Amen” in English) --- we’re not just saying that we believe the message of a particular prayer to be factually true.  More importantly --  we’re saying that we have faith and trust in the ongoing relationship between ourselves and God.

And yet, the Torah also reports that the people at first recoil in fear at Moshe’s beaming countenance.  So Moses puts on a veil to help the people to be more comfortable in his presence.

How often do we act in similar fashion?  When we have had life-changing experiences --- be they joyful or sorrowful -- sometimes we know that those close to us are not always capable of really hearing what we have to say. 

What we want to say to them is too sublime, too powerful to put out to them totally unfiltered, at least not right away.  And so, most times, most days, most places, we veil our innermost truths, and comport ourselves with the polite social conventions of small talk and pleasantries.

This is not a bad thing per se.  We would simply burn out if every interpersonal interaction was as intense as the Revelation at Sinai.

But we must not veil ourselves all the time.  As the Torah teaches, Moses takes off the veil when he speaks with God and when he teaches God’s mitzvot to his people.

To me, the analogous message for us is this:  Despite whatever polite, social conventions we may feel we need to adopt in whatever social settings, we still need to be able to be out, to be open, and to be fully who we are when it matters most --- when we seek intimate connection with others, and when we seek to live out our deepest values.

Shabbat shalom.

© Rabbi David Steinberg (5774/2014)           

Posted on February 18, 2014 .

CHOOSING LIFE

Dvar Torah for Parashat Mishpatim (Exodus 21:1 - 24:18) given at Temple Israel, Duluth on Friday evening 1/24/14

 

Earlier this week our country marked the forty-first anniversary of the historic United States Supreme Court decision in Roe v. Wade.  As I’m sure you are all well aware, this decision struck down then existing laws that had sought to deny women the right to abort a pregnancy.  Since then, the holding in Roe v. Wade has been progressively whittled away by statutes and court decisions narrowing its scope.  Opponents of abortion rights, mostly though not entirely on the political right, have remained determined all these years to whittle away abortion rights further.  Indeed, the possibility exists that a current or future U.S. Supreme Court might seek to overturn Roe v. Wade in its entirety.

What does this have to do with this week’s Torah portion?  From a certain perspective, nothing at all.  Our nation, thankfully, is a nation without an established religion.  The particular tenets of any particular organized religion, including our own, do not determine the holdings of our secular courts.  Rather, the courts are supposed to base their interpretations of law on the provisions of the United States Constitution and judicial precedent.  Our religious beliefs and practices teach us how to live a good and moral life, but, as citizens of a secular republic, we try to live in harmony with fellow citizens who may have a variety of views on a variety of moral matters.

All that being said, Judaism does have something to say on the question of abortion.  In this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Mishpatim, we are presented with a hypothetical case of two men who are fighting with one another, who accidentally injure a pregnant woman bystander.  The Torah states that if the woman as a result has a miscarriage, then the person who caused the miscarriage is liable to a monetary fine (Ex. 21:22).  However, if the mother herself dies, then the person who caused the damage is liable to the death penalty.

Jewish tradition derived from this the general principal that a fetus is not considered a person in the same way as one who has been born.  For if the fetus were a person, then the person who caused the miscarriage would have been liable to the death penalty. 

Of course this case doesn’t deal directly with intentional abortion.  For that scenario, we look to the Mishnah, the codification of Jewish law that was put in its final form in approximately 200 C.E.   In Tractate Ohalot of the Mishnah, Jewish law provides that “If a woman suffers hard labor in travail, the child must be cut up in her womb and brought out piecemeal, for her life takes precedence over its life; [but] if the greater part has already come forth, it must not be touched, for the claim of one life can not supercede that of another life.” (Ohalot 7:6)

Later rabbinic jurisprudence provides that abortion is permissible not only when a mother’s life is endangered, but also when the mother’s health would be seriously endangered by bringing the fetus to term.   Some halachic authorities include severe mental anguish in this category.  All the rabbinic authorities, it seems, agree with the Talmudic teaching, found in Tractate Yevamot 69b, that says that during the first forty days after conception the fetus is to be considered as מיא בעלמא / “mey be’alma” (“mere fluid”) as if a woman were not really pregnant.

In addition, the traditional Jewish authorities tend to be in agreement that the fetus is not considered to be a “nefesh” or “soul” until it is born, and that, prior to delivery, it is considered part of the mother’s body.

The Central Conference of American Rabbis had this to say in a responsum issued in 1985: “The Reform Movement has had a long history of liberalism on many social and family matters. We feel that the pattern of tradition, until the most recent generation, has demonstrated a liberal approach to abortion and has definitely permitted it in case of any danger to the life of the mother. That danger may be physical or psychological. When this occurs at any time during the pregnancy, we would not hesitate to permit an abortion. This would also include cases of incest and rape if the mother wishes to have an abortion.”

However, the responsum was careful to conclude with the observation:  “We do not encourage abortion, nor favor it for trivial reasons, or sanction it ‘on demand.’”  This view is quoted with favor in a more recent CCAR responsum dated 1995.

Clearly, the extreme positions advocated by some “pro-life” groups are inconsistent with Jewish tradition.  Jewish law, both Reform and Orthodox sources would agree, permits abortion sometimes, and even requires abortion sometimes.  The bottom line is always the life and health of the pregnant woman.  For her life already exists, while the fetus is only a potential life until it is born.

A clergy colleague of mine years ago addressed the subject in a way that resonated for me when that colleague wrote in an op-ed piece that abortion “while sometimes acceptable, is always tragic.” And many of you may remember Bill Clinton’s formulation when he was president that he hoped for abortion to be “safe, legal and rare” – again nodding to the moral complexities of the topic.

When the so-called “pro-choice” side of the issue is taken to its logical conclusion, we sometimes hear the argument being made that it’s a woman’s own body and so she should have the absolute right to treat it as she sees fit, including aborting a pregnancy for any reason.  When the so-called “pro-life” side of the issue is taken to its logical conclusion, we sometimes hear it claimed that life begins at conception, so that any interference with a pregnancy is tantamount to murder and should be outlawed.

Traditional Jewish halacha clearly accepts that before a baby is delivered, the fetus is indeed considered part of the woman’s own body.  (Indeed, if it’s not too irreverent to mention, you may have heard the old joke that in Judaism the fetus is not considered viable until after it graduates from medical school…) 

But all kidding aside, what happens when advances in medical science point to greater sensitivity and cognition on the part of a fetus than earlier generations may have assumed?  What value should an expectant mother give to the pain felt by the fetus when she faces the momentous choice of whether she wishes to terminate her pregnancy? What happens when medical advances permit a child to live outside the womb under medical care at earlier and earlier stages of gestation?  And what value ought we give to the potential life, even if we don’t consider life to fully begin until it exists outside the womb?

These are all deep spiritual questions to be considered.

And yet, whatever any of us might think or believe in the abstract, the ultimate decision rests with the pregnant woman herself.  From my own perspective as a rabbi, as a Jew, and as a human being, I believe that sometimes a woman’s choice to have an abortion is morally correct and sometimes it is morally incorrect.  From that perspective, I would distance myself from extremists on either side of the abortion rights debate.

But, the bottom line is, regardless of what I (or anyone else who would not actually be carrying the fetus inside their own body) might think, it is only the woman herself who can be the ultimate judge of her own particular situation.   Therefore, in the face of continual attempts by anti-abortion rights activists to overturn Roe v. Wade, we must remain diligent to be sure that it remains the law of the land.  And we must oppose attempts by legislators or lobbyists to limit the availability of legal and safe abortion services.  For the alternative would be a return for many women to a world of unsafe back-alley abortions. 

And so, even to those in our society who would consider a fetus a life, I would say better the loss of one life (that of the fetus) than the potential loss of two lives (that of the fetus and that of the mother) were safe, legal abortions services not available.

The availability of safe, legal abortion services is from my perspective, a matter of pikuach nefesh/ saving a life, and that should trump all other considerations.

Just last week Rabbi David Saperstein, Director and Counsel of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, and Rabbi Marla Feldman, Executive Director of the Women of Reform Judaism, submitted a joint statement to the House Judiciary Subcommittee on the Constitution and Civil Justice in opposition to H.R. 7 – “The No Tax Payer Funding for Abortion Act.”   (See http://rac.org/Articles/index.cfm?id=23375&pge_prg_id=16317 )

Here’s an excerpt from their statement to the House Subcommittee. Rabbis Saperstein and Feldman wrote: 

"The Reform Movement views abortion as a deeply personal issue and, like most Americans, holds the core belief that women are moral decision-makers in their own right entitled to make fundamental medical and reproductive choices. A woman should make a decision about whether to have an abortion according to her own beliefs and in consultation with her clergy, her family, and her doctor; politicians and ideologues should not make the decision for her. We believe that religious matters are best left to religious communities and individual conscience, and decisions about health, including what constitutes a life-saving procedure, are best left to patients in consultation with physicians.

"We come to these beliefs inspired by the sanctity of life. Our faith tradition teaches that women are commanded to care for the health and well-being of their bodies above all else. Banning potentially life-saving medical procedures and interfering with a doctor's medical decision-making are contrary to the Jewish commandment to protect life. Although an unborn fetus is precious and is to be protected as a potential human being, Judaism views the life and health of the mother as paramount, placing a higher value on existing life than on potential life."

By the way, Rabbi David Saperstein will be the keynote speaker on Thursday, March 13th at the Joint Religious Legislative Coalition “Day on the Hill” at the State Capitol in St. Paul.  Admittedly, abortion rights will not be among the topics covered that day given the difference of views among the various Christian, Muslim and Jewish organizations affiliated with the JRLC.

This year the JRLC Day on the Hill activities will focus on efforts to regulate Payday Lending and to raise Minnesota’s minimum wage, among other legislative goals currently being finalized.  CHUM is sponsoring a bus and I hope you will join me and your neighbors for that day of legislative lobbying.

In the final analysis, our religious values do have a bearing on our goals for the sort of general society we want to live in.  But the balance between our own sense of morality and justice on the one hand versus our commitment to pluralism on the other hand gets recalculated issue by issue.  We just hope and pray that the ideological battles that divide our society today remain makhlekot lesheym shamayim / “arguments for the sake of Heaven.”

Shabbat shalom.

 

(c) Rabbi David Steinberg (5774/2014) 

Posted on January 28, 2014 .