V’higadita l’vincha bayom hahu leimor ba’avur zeh asah Adonai li btzeiti mimitzrayim.
And you shall tell it to your child on that day, “Because of that which Adonai did for me as I made exodus from Egypt.” - Exodus 13:8
Together, we are about to enter into one of the most familiar and studied texts of our Jewish tradition - the book of Exodus. Most familiar and studied, not only because it is the textual basis of the Passover haggadah, but, as my teacher Rabbi Bill Cutter taught, because it is the the central theme story of Judaism. We will be entering this text not only as part of our yearly cycle of Torah readings, but as we study together as a congregation for our 2nd Trimester theme (December 2011 - February 2012).
The constant refrain of our Torah text is “remember that you were slaves in Egypt”. Countless laws end with the phrase, “you were slaves in Egypt”. “You shall not wrong a stranger, nor oppress them, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:2) A central core of our Judaism is this empathy for others - we, ourselves, must remember how we felt when we were slaves in Egypt. As in the quote above, we are not supposed to tell the story of someone else being a slave, but to tell the story in the first person - forcing ourselves to be in the place of the oppressed, the downtrodden, the slave. Only then can we truly imagine what others feel and why we would not want to take advantage of anyone in such a position.
This text became central to our people during the first exile - after the destruction of the Temple in 586 BCE. Just like the proto-nation of Israel in Egypt, our ancestors were in exile in Babylonia and Persia. They drew strength from the idea that the God with whom they were in a covenantal relationship could not only reach beyond the borders of eretz Yisraeil, but had remembered their ancestors once before, and brought them, against all odds, back to their promised land.
That much might have been enough to restore the faith of our ancestors, yet they did not stop there. Rather then despair, they not only imagined themselves once again free, but enjoined upon their descendants the command to remember what it was like to be in exile - and to make no other feel that way.
We are in difficult times today and we often take comfort from the knowledge that good times will come again; that there are cycles in our economy. Let us also take the lesson from our ancestors and, remembering how we feel now, help to keep others from ever finding themselves in similar situations. Or, if they do, committing ourselves to giving them respect, a feeling of self-worth, and the tools to recover.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
We Are All Responsible for Each Other
Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh
Every member of the Jewish community is responsible, one for the other.
Bab. Talmud. Shavuot 39a
Five Ways to Help Build the Temple Sholom Community - Besides Giving Money
One of the things that I have kept hearing in the aftermath of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene is how good people felt to be a part of a community that reached out to them in time of need. Whether that community was your local municipality or Temple Sholom, none of that happens by magic. Reaching out at that moment is very important, but what makes that possible is the strength of the community already in existence when a crises happens. To that end, I would like to ask you, as a member of this community, to consider these five actions to help strengthen Temple Sholom.
1) Ask someone their name - At services, in the parking lot, at a fundraiser, you now have permission to go up to someone and say, “I know that I see you all the time, but I don’t know that we were ever introduced. My name is...”
2) Use that information and recognize Temple people outside of the Temple. One of my favorite stories is told by a member whose husband, whom she thought wasn’t so involved with the Temple, pointed at someone in a crowd in New York City and said, “Hey, aren’t they a member of our Temple?”
3) Introduce your Temple family to the other people you know. Don’t be afraid to say, “They are a member of my congregation.” Who knows? Your friend could take that opportunity to ask more about this wonderful community that you’ve chosen to be a part of.
4) Make time for the Temple - After reading the Temple Topics, go back to the calendar page and put the upcoming events into your personal calendar. If your calendar is electronic, go to the Temple website, click on the events and add them to your calendar that way. (And, Shabbat is an event, too, even if it happens every week.)
5) Make time for the other members of the Temple. If someone is sitting shivah, even if you don’t know them very well, pick up a box of cookies and drop by. If there is a Bar Mitzvah, attend, even if you are not invited to the reception.
What does the quote above mean - that each one of us is responsible for the other? To be responsible for another, we must first know them (by name at least). We must acknowledge that we are connected, whenever we see them and show to others that we are in some way related. And, finally, we must build a relationship of trust - through presence and tangible support.
Here is the twist - we do these acts - we strengthen our community, not for others, but for ourselves. A strong community is there when we need it - either to share in celebration or to support in sorrow. By providing such a place for others, we ensure it is there for us as well.
Every member of the Jewish community is responsible, one for the other.
Bab. Talmud. Shavuot 39a
Five Ways to Help Build the Temple Sholom Community - Besides Giving Money
One of the things that I have kept hearing in the aftermath of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Irene is how good people felt to be a part of a community that reached out to them in time of need. Whether that community was your local municipality or Temple Sholom, none of that happens by magic. Reaching out at that moment is very important, but what makes that possible is the strength of the community already in existence when a crises happens. To that end, I would like to ask you, as a member of this community, to consider these five actions to help strengthen Temple Sholom.
1) Ask someone their name - At services, in the parking lot, at a fundraiser, you now have permission to go up to someone and say, “I know that I see you all the time, but I don’t know that we were ever introduced. My name is...”
2) Use that information and recognize Temple people outside of the Temple. One of my favorite stories is told by a member whose husband, whom she thought wasn’t so involved with the Temple, pointed at someone in a crowd in New York City and said, “Hey, aren’t they a member of our Temple?”
3) Introduce your Temple family to the other people you know. Don’t be afraid to say, “They are a member of my congregation.” Who knows? Your friend could take that opportunity to ask more about this wonderful community that you’ve chosen to be a part of.
4) Make time for the Temple - After reading the Temple Topics, go back to the calendar page and put the upcoming events into your personal calendar. If your calendar is electronic, go to the Temple website, click on the events and add them to your calendar that way. (And, Shabbat is an event, too, even if it happens every week.)
5) Make time for the other members of the Temple. If someone is sitting shivah, even if you don’t know them very well, pick up a box of cookies and drop by. If there is a Bar Mitzvah, attend, even if you are not invited to the reception.
What does the quote above mean - that each one of us is responsible for the other? To be responsible for another, we must first know them (by name at least). We must acknowledge that we are connected, whenever we see them and show to others that we are in some way related. And, finally, we must build a relationship of trust - through presence and tangible support.
Here is the twist - we do these acts - we strengthen our community, not for others, but for ourselves. A strong community is there when we need it - either to share in celebration or to support in sorrow. By providing such a place for others, we ensure it is there for us as well.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
You SHOULD Be Quaking in Your Fancy Shoes
Let us proclaim the sacred power of this day; it is awesome and full of dread.
If you are not a regular attendee at Temple Sholom services, you might miss the huge differences between our High HolyDay worship and our year-round customs. The Rabbi and the Student Cantor do not wear white robes the rest of the year. We rarely hear the sounds of the organ. Almost all of the music is sung by the whole congregation, and there are very few long pieces. While we work hard during the year to bring ourselves into a circle; to remove the barriers between the bimah and the congregation, on the High HolyDays everything is high up, starched white, and forbidding.
There is a liturgical difference as well. Not only is the music more majestic - slower and sometimes more portentous, but the words of the prayers convey different images of God. Even the prayers with which we are familiar, such as those at the beginning of the amidah - change - adding in images of God as powerful ruler. Additional High HolyDay liturgy, such as the u’netaneh tokef cited above, bring not only metaphors of judgement and terror, but actual details of gruesome death.
Why does our tradition seek to set this mood for this time of year? Is this some kind of Jewish version of Halloween, where we get joy from the contrived terror? There must be a reason for our liturgy - the words AND musical settings - working together to make us unsure, shake our foundations, remind us of the dangers and perils that lurk around every corner.
We often go through life with blinders on - looking directly ahead at what we know we have to do, and not taking time to examine what other paths we might take. We do not take the time for self-examination, to see if we have lived up to the best that we can be. How many movies (or even sit-com episodes) base themselves on the premise that a near-death experience can lead to a main character reconsidering their lives and becoming better people - going after their lost love, pursing their life dream, changing their life’s path? Our liturgy imagines that sometimes we need a good scare to truly wake up and look around.
It is all to easy to look at the High HolyDay liturgy and be put off by its magisterial image of God, it’s simplistic equation of right meriting reward and sin ending in mortal punishment. But, when we refuse to let the effect of this prayer experience penetrate past our ears, we lose an important opportunity to see things clearly, without the near death experience (or disaster that many of us have confronted in the past month).
So, as we enter this new year of 5772, resolve to be shaken up by your High HolyDay experience. Allow a small amount of awe and dread to force you to look seriously at who you are and where you might want to be. Join us as a congregation, as we face this uncertainty together. Share your strength with us as we rededicate ourselves to the tasks of making our world a better place - and making a 5772 that 5771 might not be able to imagine.
L’shanah tovah tikateivu.
-U’netaneh Tokef, High HolyDay liturgy (GOR p.107 and elsewhere)
If you are not a regular attendee at Temple Sholom services, you might miss the huge differences between our High HolyDay worship and our year-round customs. The Rabbi and the Student Cantor do not wear white robes the rest of the year. We rarely hear the sounds of the organ. Almost all of the music is sung by the whole congregation, and there are very few long pieces. While we work hard during the year to bring ourselves into a circle; to remove the barriers between the bimah and the congregation, on the High HolyDays everything is high up, starched white, and forbidding.
There is a liturgical difference as well. Not only is the music more majestic - slower and sometimes more portentous, but the words of the prayers convey different images of God. Even the prayers with which we are familiar, such as those at the beginning of the amidah - change - adding in images of God as powerful ruler. Additional High HolyDay liturgy, such as the u’netaneh tokef cited above, bring not only metaphors of judgement and terror, but actual details of gruesome death.
Why does our tradition seek to set this mood for this time of year? Is this some kind of Jewish version of Halloween, where we get joy from the contrived terror? There must be a reason for our liturgy - the words AND musical settings - working together to make us unsure, shake our foundations, remind us of the dangers and perils that lurk around every corner.
We often go through life with blinders on - looking directly ahead at what we know we have to do, and not taking time to examine what other paths we might take. We do not take the time for self-examination, to see if we have lived up to the best that we can be. How many movies (or even sit-com episodes) base themselves on the premise that a near-death experience can lead to a main character reconsidering their lives and becoming better people - going after their lost love, pursing their life dream, changing their life’s path? Our liturgy imagines that sometimes we need a good scare to truly wake up and look around.
It is all to easy to look at the High HolyDay liturgy and be put off by its magisterial image of God, it’s simplistic equation of right meriting reward and sin ending in mortal punishment. But, when we refuse to let the effect of this prayer experience penetrate past our ears, we lose an important opportunity to see things clearly, without the near death experience (or disaster that many of us have confronted in the past month).
So, as we enter this new year of 5772, resolve to be shaken up by your High HolyDay experience. Allow a small amount of awe and dread to force you to look seriously at who you are and where you might want to be. Join us as a congregation, as we face this uncertainty together. Share your strength with us as we rededicate ourselves to the tasks of making our world a better place - and making a 5772 that 5771 might not be able to imagine.
L’shanah tovah tikateivu.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
A Moment for Every Purpose Under Heaven
L’kol z’man, v’eit l’chol cheifetz tachat hashamayim.
For everything, a time; a moment for every purpose under heaven. Eccl. 3
This month, we begin the second year of our congregational study together. For the second trimester, beginning in December, we will study the book of Exodus. The third trimester, the theme is the Rabbinic period of Jewish history. This trimester (September through November), our holiness strand will focus on the lifecyle - the rites and rituals that we Jews have created to mark pivotal moments in our lives.
The principle lifecycle moments are well-known - birth is celebrated by welcoming a child into the covenant (b’rit) with either a b’rit milah (covenant of circumcision) for boys or a b’rit bat (daughter’s covenant) for a girl. We mark the entry into adulthood with Bar or Bat Mitzvah. In Reform congregations, we celebrate a milestone in Jewish education with Confirmation. Marriage is the lifecyle event celebrated under the chuppah (wedding canopy) with a ketubah (marriage contract). The end of life, of course, is marked by the funeral and shivah.
In many cases (other than birth and death), we create lifecycle events to mark moments that are more nebulous and difficult to pin down. When does a child become an adult - exactly? When does a relationship solidify into a life partnership? As Jews, we have created rituals to mark those liminal moments, to commemorate the change in our lives. In one sense, we are no different from the person we were before the ceremony. In another sense, we are altogether different people marked by and because of the ceremony. “Called to the Torah as a bar/bat mitzvah”; “Now husband and wife” - these words are parts of ceremonies that allow us to grow and change our status within our communities.
Judaism has many such places to hang our memories, to mark the changes in our lives. Modern Judaism is seeking to create meaningful rituals for other significant moments: the most important moment in the suburban child’s life, when he/she receives a driver’s license; when parent and child roles change as a child goes off to college - a lifecyle event for both parents and children; rituals for the beginning of the menstrual cycle and for its end; rituals for individuals and couples facing challenges of fertility.
Lifecycle rituals can help us not only to mark special occasions and to pin them down in our memories, but certain rituals can help ease us through difficult transitions. The rituals of mourning - the transition from shivah (the first seven days of mourning), through shloshim (the first 30 days), through the first yahrzeit (year anniversary of a death), help us move along a path of grief to acceptance. Rituals of divorce can act as a mirror to marriage and provide closure and release.
As we enter into this trimester of study, please take a moment - either through the materials available on our website, attending classes, reading suggested texts or listening at sermons - to become more knowledgeable about the lifecyle events in Judaism. Not only will this knowledge and familiarity help you in your marking of the moments of your life, but also in your sharing with others in our community. One of the ways that we are a sacred community is in how we share joy and sorrow with each other - providing strength and comfort. I had the joy this summer to officiate at the wedding of one of the first children whose Bar Mitzvah I celebrated in this congregation. Let us look forward to much more joy together.
For everything, a time; a moment for every purpose under heaven. Eccl. 3
This month, we begin the second year of our congregational study together. For the second trimester, beginning in December, we will study the book of Exodus. The third trimester, the theme is the Rabbinic period of Jewish history. This trimester (September through November), our holiness strand will focus on the lifecyle - the rites and rituals that we Jews have created to mark pivotal moments in our lives.
The principle lifecycle moments are well-known - birth is celebrated by welcoming a child into the covenant (b’rit) with either a b’rit milah (covenant of circumcision) for boys or a b’rit bat (daughter’s covenant) for a girl. We mark the entry into adulthood with Bar or Bat Mitzvah. In Reform congregations, we celebrate a milestone in Jewish education with Confirmation. Marriage is the lifecyle event celebrated under the chuppah (wedding canopy) with a ketubah (marriage contract). The end of life, of course, is marked by the funeral and shivah.
In many cases (other than birth and death), we create lifecycle events to mark moments that are more nebulous and difficult to pin down. When does a child become an adult - exactly? When does a relationship solidify into a life partnership? As Jews, we have created rituals to mark those liminal moments, to commemorate the change in our lives. In one sense, we are no different from the person we were before the ceremony. In another sense, we are altogether different people marked by and because of the ceremony. “Called to the Torah as a bar/bat mitzvah”; “Now husband and wife” - these words are parts of ceremonies that allow us to grow and change our status within our communities.
Judaism has many such places to hang our memories, to mark the changes in our lives. Modern Judaism is seeking to create meaningful rituals for other significant moments: the most important moment in the suburban child’s life, when he/she receives a driver’s license; when parent and child roles change as a child goes off to college - a lifecyle event for both parents and children; rituals for the beginning of the menstrual cycle and for its end; rituals for individuals and couples facing challenges of fertility.
Lifecycle rituals can help us not only to mark special occasions and to pin them down in our memories, but certain rituals can help ease us through difficult transitions. The rituals of mourning - the transition from shivah (the first seven days of mourning), through shloshim (the first 30 days), through the first yahrzeit (year anniversary of a death), help us move along a path of grief to acceptance. Rituals of divorce can act as a mirror to marriage and provide closure and release.
As we enter into this trimester of study, please take a moment - either through the materials available on our website, attending classes, reading suggested texts or listening at sermons - to become more knowledgeable about the lifecyle events in Judaism. Not only will this knowledge and familiarity help you in your marking of the moments of your life, but also in your sharing with others in our community. One of the ways that we are a sacred community is in how we share joy and sorrow with each other - providing strength and comfort. I had the joy this summer to officiate at the wedding of one of the first children whose Bar Mitzvah I celebrated in this congregation. Let us look forward to much more joy together.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Rise, O Dry Bones
Hinavei al ha’atzamot, ha’eileh v’amarta aleihem: ha’atzamot hiveishot shimu d’var Adonai
Speak prophecy to the bones, saying, “Dry bones, hear the word of Adonai.” Ezekiel 37:4
Traveling with the Confirmation Class last month, we continued our twelve-year old custom of spending erev Shabbat with our sister congregation, Szim Salom, in Budapest. Rabbi Kati Kelemen used the occasion to speak about the prophetic text cited above from Ezekiel, the allegory of the dry bones. In the text, God brings Ezekiel to a valley full of skeletons and asks him if they can live again. Ezekiel, wisely, answers that only God knew. God commands Ezekiel to speak words of prophecy to the bones, which are then covered with flesh and rise alive. The prophet Ezekiel employs this metaphor to show how listening to the word of God can revive the scattered and decimated people of Israel after the Exile. Rabbi Kelemen used Ezekiel’s metaphor to talk about the resurgence of Judaism after the Holocaust - an important lesson to our students who, after their week of seeing the vibrant pre-Holocaust culture and the witness to the Holocaust, needed to see that Judaism was still alive and growing in Central and Eastern Europe.
After the service, when I got a chance to speak, I then compared Rabbi Kelemen to Ezekiel, remarking how, over the decade, we had watched Szim Salom move from a small apartment, to temporary quarters, to a restaurant, to the large apartment they moved into this past year. I also noted how inspiring it was to have a youth group at Szim Salom large enough speak almost one on one to our ten Confirmation students led by young leadership that we had had a chance to host at our congregation. Truly, under the leadership of Rabbi Kelemen, the dry bones of Progressive Judaism have arisen in Hungary and have become alive.
A miracle - for dry bones to be re-animated and come alive. A miracle - for Judaism not only to survive in post-Holocaust Europe, but to renew itself and create new rabbis and young leadership. But why do we always have to focus on the most miraculous events? There is a small miracle in the healing of the wounded, even in the rising up of those who are tired.
We at Temple Sholom are in the midst of such a small miracle. A congregation of nearly 100 years, we were perhaps complacent with who and where we were. Asking ourselves for words of prophecy, we set as a goal becoming a thriving congregation. Ten years later, we are on the road to a new building in a new town; we have an innovative and grant-winning education program, a Temple activity almost every weekend (and sometimes two or three), young families joining, older families becoming benefactor members - we are clothing ourselves with new skin and reviving ourselves.
Ten years ago, the members of this congregation made a leap of faith. At the moment, we are still mid-leap, but... our toes are reaching for the other side, and we have almost landed. Our goal is within our grasp. Let us re-dedicate ourselves to taking that last stride - and then imagining where our next leap may take us.
Speak prophecy to the bones, saying, “Dry bones, hear the word of Adonai.” Ezekiel 37:4
Traveling with the Confirmation Class last month, we continued our twelve-year old custom of spending erev Shabbat with our sister congregation, Szim Salom, in Budapest. Rabbi Kati Kelemen used the occasion to speak about the prophetic text cited above from Ezekiel, the allegory of the dry bones. In the text, God brings Ezekiel to a valley full of skeletons and asks him if they can live again. Ezekiel, wisely, answers that only God knew. God commands Ezekiel to speak words of prophecy to the bones, which are then covered with flesh and rise alive. The prophet Ezekiel employs this metaphor to show how listening to the word of God can revive the scattered and decimated people of Israel after the Exile. Rabbi Kelemen used Ezekiel’s metaphor to talk about the resurgence of Judaism after the Holocaust - an important lesson to our students who, after their week of seeing the vibrant pre-Holocaust culture and the witness to the Holocaust, needed to see that Judaism was still alive and growing in Central and Eastern Europe.
After the service, when I got a chance to speak, I then compared Rabbi Kelemen to Ezekiel, remarking how, over the decade, we had watched Szim Salom move from a small apartment, to temporary quarters, to a restaurant, to the large apartment they moved into this past year. I also noted how inspiring it was to have a youth group at Szim Salom large enough speak almost one on one to our ten Confirmation students led by young leadership that we had had a chance to host at our congregation. Truly, under the leadership of Rabbi Kelemen, the dry bones of Progressive Judaism have arisen in Hungary and have become alive.
A miracle - for dry bones to be re-animated and come alive. A miracle - for Judaism not only to survive in post-Holocaust Europe, but to renew itself and create new rabbis and young leadership. But why do we always have to focus on the most miraculous events? There is a small miracle in the healing of the wounded, even in the rising up of those who are tired.
We at Temple Sholom are in the midst of such a small miracle. A congregation of nearly 100 years, we were perhaps complacent with who and where we were. Asking ourselves for words of prophecy, we set as a goal becoming a thriving congregation. Ten years later, we are on the road to a new building in a new town; we have an innovative and grant-winning education program, a Temple activity almost every weekend (and sometimes two or three), young families joining, older families becoming benefactor members - we are clothing ourselves with new skin and reviving ourselves.
Ten years ago, the members of this congregation made a leap of faith. At the moment, we are still mid-leap, but... our toes are reaching for the other side, and we have almost landed. Our goal is within our grasp. Let us re-dedicate ourselves to taking that last stride - and then imagining where our next leap may take us.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Do Not Stand Idly By
Lo tachmod al dam rei’echa, ani Adonai.
Do not stand unmoving in the presence of your neighbor’s bleeding, I am Adonai. - Lev. 19:16
It is a mitzvah to register as an organ donor.
Even before the events of late March and early April, our congregation has actively supported The New Jersey Sharing Network (http://www.sharenj.org/) by participating in an organ donor Shabbat each year. We have had speakers, put out brochures, and spoken from the bimah about the life-saving importance of registering as an organ donor. Yet nothing has made the importance of this mitzvah more evident to me, as a rabbi, a Jew, a parent and a human being, then sharing with the Rothman family the personal miracle that they have experienced.
I am sorry. Judaism has taught me better and I should have known.
The Conservative Movement has, for years, been far ahead; explicitly calling organ donation a mitzvah - a commandment. Their reasoning, according to halakhah (Jewish law), follows from the quote from the holiness code above. Interpreting the verse above, Maimonides, the medieval sage, said, “Anyone who is able to save a life, but fails to do so, violates 'You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.'" (http://www.uscj.org/The_Mitzvah_of_Organ5455.html) For Conservative Jews, organ donation is not an option, it is required.
The Halakhic Organ Donor Society (www.HODS.org) has been working hard in Orthodox circles to assert the primacy of the value of pikuach nefesh - the Jewish principle that states that virtually any other commandment (such as intact burial of the dead) is superseded by the possibility of saving a life. Visit their website for an incredibly moving video by the families of organ donors.
Our Reform Movement has also advocated for organ donation - most recently though the Women of Reform Judaism’s Matan Chaim (“gift of lives”) program. You can find out more answers to frequently asked questions about organ donation on the URJ site: http://urj.org//life/health/bioethics//?syspage=article&item_id=17160
As a rabbi, as a Jew, and a parent and a human being, I strongly urge you to put down this newsletter for now and return after you have registered to be an organ donor (http://www.donatelifenj.org/).
Even more importantly, have a conversation with your family about organ donation. Let them know what your wishes would be, should you ever find yourself in a position to become a donor. Remember that even if you register, or make your wishes known in a “living will” (which you should have anyway), the final decision will rest with your next-of-kin, or whoever has your durable power of attorney for health care. Tell them why it is important to you to donate, so they can fulfill your last request with confidence and understanding.
In the morning prayers, we recite the eilu d’varim - a prayer which lists the things which are without a fixed limit. The Sages saw l’viyat hameit - participating in the funeral rite - to be the ultimate mitzvah, because the person for whom you are performing the mitzvah has no way to reward you. Becoming an organ donor is the converse of this value - when you can no longer be thanked, you still have much to give.
Please register now to be an organ donor. There are lives at stake.
Rabbi Abraham
Do not stand unmoving in the presence of your neighbor’s bleeding, I am Adonai. - Lev. 19:16
It is a mitzvah to register as an organ donor.
Even before the events of late March and early April, our congregation has actively supported The New Jersey Sharing Network (http://www.sharenj.org/) by participating in an organ donor Shabbat each year. We have had speakers, put out brochures, and spoken from the bimah about the life-saving importance of registering as an organ donor. Yet nothing has made the importance of this mitzvah more evident to me, as a rabbi, a Jew, a parent and a human being, then sharing with the Rothman family the personal miracle that they have experienced.
I am sorry. Judaism has taught me better and I should have known.
The Conservative Movement has, for years, been far ahead; explicitly calling organ donation a mitzvah - a commandment. Their reasoning, according to halakhah (Jewish law), follows from the quote from the holiness code above. Interpreting the verse above, Maimonides, the medieval sage, said, “Anyone who is able to save a life, but fails to do so, violates 'You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.'" (http://www.uscj.org/The_Mitzvah_of_Organ5455.html) For Conservative Jews, organ donation is not an option, it is required.
The Halakhic Organ Donor Society (www.HODS.org) has been working hard in Orthodox circles to assert the primacy of the value of pikuach nefesh - the Jewish principle that states that virtually any other commandment (such as intact burial of the dead) is superseded by the possibility of saving a life. Visit their website for an incredibly moving video by the families of organ donors.
Our Reform Movement has also advocated for organ donation - most recently though the Women of Reform Judaism’s Matan Chaim (“gift of lives”) program. You can find out more answers to frequently asked questions about organ donation on the URJ site: http://urj.org//life/health/bioethics//?syspage=article&item_id=17160
As a rabbi, as a Jew, and a parent and a human being, I strongly urge you to put down this newsletter for now and return after you have registered to be an organ donor (http://www.donatelifenj.org/).
Even more importantly, have a conversation with your family about organ donation. Let them know what your wishes would be, should you ever find yourself in a position to become a donor. Remember that even if you register, or make your wishes known in a “living will” (which you should have anyway), the final decision will rest with your next-of-kin, or whoever has your durable power of attorney for health care. Tell them why it is important to you to donate, so they can fulfill your last request with confidence and understanding.
In the morning prayers, we recite the eilu d’varim - a prayer which lists the things which are without a fixed limit. The Sages saw l’viyat hameit - participating in the funeral rite - to be the ultimate mitzvah, because the person for whom you are performing the mitzvah has no way to reward you. Becoming an organ donor is the converse of this value - when you can no longer be thanked, you still have much to give.
Please register now to be an organ donor. There are lives at stake.
Rabbi Abraham
Friday, April 1, 2011
Who is Wise? - Sabbatical Report
Eizeh hu chacham? Halomeid mikol haadam.
Who is wise? The one who learns from all people. - Ben Zoma, Pirke Avot 4:1
I was asked last month to share with the congregation some of the things that I have learned on the second month of my non-consecutive six-month sabbatical - which took place this past December-January. In thinking back, I was reminded by the quote from Ben Zoma, above. Because I did not want to leave my family, one of the ways I learned was by taking advantage of many different distance learning opportunities. I was able to hear speakers brought together by the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the Jewish National Fund and GreenFaith, and the American Jewish Archives.
As part of a series on the development of the rabbinate, I studied with my former professor, Dr. Lewis Barth, a professor of Midrash at Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles. Looking at some of the miracle worker stories of the Mishnaic rabbis, Dr. Barth showed the similarities with early Christian monks. His theory was that as the rabbi came to prominence in post-Temple Judaism (taking over from prophet and priest), followers needed to believe that rabbis had special powers, and perhaps so did the rabbis themselves. Dr. Barth did not, however, teach us how to perform any of the wonders mentioned in the texts.
As part of a series co-sponsored by GreenFaith (the faith-based environmental group that the Temple has worked with often in the past) and the Jewish National Fund, Rabbi Lawrence Troster and Reverend Fletcher Harper (who was a guest on our bimah) shared how to increase environmental activism in the synagogue and how to give effective sermons on the environment.
In addition to the formal lectures, I took up a study of Jewish graphic novels. Contacting various scholars in the field, I found that there is neither complete agreement on what is a graphic novel, nor what is a Jewish graphic novel. For example, a book composed of the collected one-page, non-connected reflections may be Jewish, but are they a graphic novel of a type of memoir? To be Jewish, must a graphic novel have a Jewish author? Have at least one Jewish character? Must the main character perform Jewish acts, or be self-aware of their Judaism? The range of Jewish novels available is growing every day - from the French artist Joann Sfar’s fantastical tales of his father’s Sephardic roots (The Rabbi’s Cat) or his mother’s Ashkenazic (Klezmer: Tales of the Wild East) to classics like Wil Eisner’s New York series, to the recent award-winning, Hereville, the story of an 11-year old Orthodox girl who fights trolls. Some novels, such as Art Spiegelman’s Maus deal with the Holocaust through the eyes of the child of survivors imagining the Jews as mice and the Nazis as cats. Some are more direct memoirs of survivors. There are novels that analyze the American Jewish experience - through a travelling novelty Jewish barnstorming baseball team (The Mighty Golems), two novels about Jewish gangsters (Brownsville and Jew Gangster), and a novel about a non-Jewish con-man who ends up becoming the rabbi that he pretends to be (The Big Kahn). I would argue that just as authors such as Malamud, Roth, and Ozick helped to propel the conversation about what it means to be an American Jew, so modern Jewish graphic novelists are continuing that dialogue. I discovered a wonderful book by Sarah Glidden entitled “How to Understand Israel in 360 Days or Less”, about her journey from suspicion to confusion on a BirthRight Israel trip. I now send it as a gift to children in our congregation who are about to travel with BirthRight, to give them a chance to start thinking about some of the challenges that we face in identifying with Israel. I hope to construct a website with reviews of each of these novels, as well as helpful tips in studying or teaching them.
For many members of the congregation, this column is not the first time that you are hearing some of these references. I have found opportunities in sermons, classes, and conversations to share what I have learned - and to learn from others. Sabbatical or no - the words of Ben Zoma are still important - to be wise, we must listen to learn from others.
Who is wise? The one who learns from all people. - Ben Zoma, Pirke Avot 4:1
I was asked last month to share with the congregation some of the things that I have learned on the second month of my non-consecutive six-month sabbatical - which took place this past December-January. In thinking back, I was reminded by the quote from Ben Zoma, above. Because I did not want to leave my family, one of the ways I learned was by taking advantage of many different distance learning opportunities. I was able to hear speakers brought together by the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the Jewish National Fund and GreenFaith, and the American Jewish Archives.
As part of a series on the development of the rabbinate, I studied with my former professor, Dr. Lewis Barth, a professor of Midrash at Hebrew Union College in Los Angeles. Looking at some of the miracle worker stories of the Mishnaic rabbis, Dr. Barth showed the similarities with early Christian monks. His theory was that as the rabbi came to prominence in post-Temple Judaism (taking over from prophet and priest), followers needed to believe that rabbis had special powers, and perhaps so did the rabbis themselves. Dr. Barth did not, however, teach us how to perform any of the wonders mentioned in the texts.
As part of a series co-sponsored by GreenFaith (the faith-based environmental group that the Temple has worked with often in the past) and the Jewish National Fund, Rabbi Lawrence Troster and Reverend Fletcher Harper (who was a guest on our bimah) shared how to increase environmental activism in the synagogue and how to give effective sermons on the environment.
In addition to the formal lectures, I took up a study of Jewish graphic novels. Contacting various scholars in the field, I found that there is neither complete agreement on what is a graphic novel, nor what is a Jewish graphic novel. For example, a book composed of the collected one-page, non-connected reflections may be Jewish, but are they a graphic novel of a type of memoir? To be Jewish, must a graphic novel have a Jewish author? Have at least one Jewish character? Must the main character perform Jewish acts, or be self-aware of their Judaism? The range of Jewish novels available is growing every day - from the French artist Joann Sfar’s fantastical tales of his father’s Sephardic roots (The Rabbi’s Cat) or his mother’s Ashkenazic (Klezmer: Tales of the Wild East) to classics like Wil Eisner’s New York series, to the recent award-winning, Hereville, the story of an 11-year old Orthodox girl who fights trolls. Some novels, such as Art Spiegelman’s Maus deal with the Holocaust through the eyes of the child of survivors imagining the Jews as mice and the Nazis as cats. Some are more direct memoirs of survivors. There are novels that analyze the American Jewish experience - through a travelling novelty Jewish barnstorming baseball team (The Mighty Golems), two novels about Jewish gangsters (Brownsville and Jew Gangster), and a novel about a non-Jewish con-man who ends up becoming the rabbi that he pretends to be (The Big Kahn). I would argue that just as authors such as Malamud, Roth, and Ozick helped to propel the conversation about what it means to be an American Jew, so modern Jewish graphic novelists are continuing that dialogue. I discovered a wonderful book by Sarah Glidden entitled “How to Understand Israel in 360 Days or Less”, about her journey from suspicion to confusion on a BirthRight Israel trip. I now send it as a gift to children in our congregation who are about to travel with BirthRight, to give them a chance to start thinking about some of the challenges that we face in identifying with Israel. I hope to construct a website with reviews of each of these novels, as well as helpful tips in studying or teaching them.
For many members of the congregation, this column is not the first time that you are hearing some of these references. I have found opportunities in sermons, classes, and conversations to share what I have learned - and to learn from others. Sabbatical or no - the words of Ben Zoma are still important - to be wise, we must listen to learn from others.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Free to be your God and my God...
This month, we begin our third trimester of congregational study together. As you may remember, we received a Legacy Heritage grant to rethink our congregational education and came up with our Family Track option for the religious school. As part of this process, we have engaged the whole congregation in a four-year cycle, with three trimesters each year, in which we will be studying together the same theme. We began this year with the book of Genesis. We just completed a trimester on the history of the Biblical period and March through May of 2011 will be a chance for us to study Jewish theology - different Jewish understandings of God and the Divine.
Our trimester’s enduring understanding is: Judaism balances between the dichotomy that we are a chosen people in covenant with God from the encounter at Mt. Sinai, and that we are the “children of Israel” – descendants of our ancestor Jacob renamed for wrestling with God and humanity. Holiness/K’dushah is the language we use in pursuing this relationship. We see God in many different ways and how we acknowledge the Divine tells us how to treat other people and act in the world.
An “enduring understanding” is a densely packed statement which the Understanding by Design model of curriculum development uses to help guide the learning of a given topic. The hallmark of a good enduring understanding is that it needs “unpacking”. So, let us unpack our God Concepts’ enduring understanding, and, hopefully, help start each of us on a path of learning for this trimester:
One of the joys that I find in Judaism is its ability to embrace dialectical concepts. The rabbis of the Mishnah would say that all is predetermined and we have free will. The statements seem mutually exclusive, and yet they are both reflective of how we as human beings see (and want to see) the world. On the one hand, one cannot deny that the essence of Judaism comes from the revelation at Mount Sinai - the momentous face-to-face encounter with God that created the covenant between God and the Jewish people. On the other hand, we find it difficult to believe in the literal reality of that event, or even to imagine that an all-seeing, thunderous-voiced, judgemental God is not only watching us every at every moment, but even present in our lives at all.
If there were two things that I would wish each congregant of Temple Sholom would get out of this trimester’s study, it would be an understanding of these two concepts:
1) Judaism accepts a multiplicity of theologies under its broad tent. There have been different ideas of God - even within the Bible. The God that walks with Adam in the garden is not the voice out of the whirlwind in Job. Philo and Maimonides had a theology shaped by Greek philosophy. In the modern age, theologians such as Martin Buber, Franz Rosenzweig, and Mordechai Kaplan have each come up with different understandings of the Divine, all acceptable withing Judaism. Don’t just stick with the “third grade idea of God” (the old man with the white beard) - there is a lot more out there. For a good start, take a look at the two books created by Rabbi Rifat Sonsino. The first Finding God (URJ Press), written with Rabbi Daniel Syme, is ten chapters with short descriptions and primary texts of different God ideas that have developed over Jewish history. The Many Faces of God (also URJ Press) is the same concept, but with contemporary theologies and philosophers.
2) Don’t give up the struggle. Each Saturday morning, at services, I explain that our prayerbook is a collection of different theologies; each prayer is a different metaphor for the Divine. Why? Because our views of God can change not only as we grow and mature, but sometimes from moment to moment. Our rational idea of God, which we might explain at great length in a class or at a cocktail party, may not be the God that we turn to in a hospital bed at 2 am or as our car skids on a patch of ice. We are called yisraeil - which the Torah tells us means the one who struggles with God and human beings. It is expected that we are never satisfied with what we can understand or comprehend about God, but that we must always be looking again. The trick is not to give up when God doesn’t match our expectations, but to push back and keep up the wrestling. For this, I recommend Rabbi Arthur Waskow’s Godwrestling (Schocken Books).
Take a look at page ? to see the opportunities that our Eitz Chayim committee is offering for your study of this topic. You can also join us for the adult learning part of the three havdalah programs where our Family Track will be exploring the trimester theme. In addition, look on our website, listen to sermons, read bulletin articles, and share your conversations. Don’t be afraid - the Temple is actually the place where you can talk about God without people thinking that you are crazy or trying to convert them. (And, give the atheists some respect - not believing in a theistic God is also an acceptable theology in Judaism, ask them what they do believe in.)
Rabbi Joel N. Abraham
Our trimester’s enduring understanding is: Judaism balances between the dichotomy that we are a chosen people in covenant with God from the encounter at Mt. Sinai, and that we are the “children of Israel” – descendants of our ancestor Jacob renamed for wrestling with God and humanity. Holiness/K’dushah is the language we use in pursuing this relationship. We see God in many different ways and how we acknowledge the Divine tells us how to treat other people and act in the world.
An “enduring understanding” is a densely packed statement which the Understanding by Design model of curriculum development uses to help guide the learning of a given topic. The hallmark of a good enduring understanding is that it needs “unpacking”. So, let us unpack our God Concepts’ enduring understanding, and, hopefully, help start each of us on a path of learning for this trimester:
One of the joys that I find in Judaism is its ability to embrace dialectical concepts. The rabbis of the Mishnah would say that all is predetermined and we have free will. The statements seem mutually exclusive, and yet they are both reflective of how we as human beings see (and want to see) the world. On the one hand, one cannot deny that the essence of Judaism comes from the revelation at Mount Sinai - the momentous face-to-face encounter with God that created the covenant between God and the Jewish people. On the other hand, we find it difficult to believe in the literal reality of that event, or even to imagine that an all-seeing, thunderous-voiced, judgemental God is not only watching us every at every moment, but even present in our lives at all.
If there were two things that I would wish each congregant of Temple Sholom would get out of this trimester’s study, it would be an understanding of these two concepts:
1) Judaism accepts a multiplicity of theologies under its broad tent. There have been different ideas of God - even within the Bible. The God that walks with Adam in the garden is not the voice out of the whirlwind in Job. Philo and Maimonides had a theology shaped by Greek philosophy. In the modern age, theologians such as Martin Buber, Franz Rosenzweig, and Mordechai Kaplan have each come up with different understandings of the Divine, all acceptable withing Judaism. Don’t just stick with the “third grade idea of God” (the old man with the white beard) - there is a lot more out there. For a good start, take a look at the two books created by Rabbi Rifat Sonsino. The first Finding God (URJ Press), written with Rabbi Daniel Syme, is ten chapters with short descriptions and primary texts of different God ideas that have developed over Jewish history. The Many Faces of God (also URJ Press) is the same concept, but with contemporary theologies and philosophers.
2) Don’t give up the struggle. Each Saturday morning, at services, I explain that our prayerbook is a collection of different theologies; each prayer is a different metaphor for the Divine. Why? Because our views of God can change not only as we grow and mature, but sometimes from moment to moment. Our rational idea of God, which we might explain at great length in a class or at a cocktail party, may not be the God that we turn to in a hospital bed at 2 am or as our car skids on a patch of ice. We are called yisraeil - which the Torah tells us means the one who struggles with God and human beings. It is expected that we are never satisfied with what we can understand or comprehend about God, but that we must always be looking again. The trick is not to give up when God doesn’t match our expectations, but to push back and keep up the wrestling. For this, I recommend Rabbi Arthur Waskow’s Godwrestling (Schocken Books).
Take a look at page ? to see the opportunities that our Eitz Chayim committee is offering for your study of this topic. You can also join us for the adult learning part of the three havdalah programs where our Family Track will be exploring the trimester theme. In addition, look on our website, listen to sermons, read bulletin articles, and share your conversations. Don’t be afraid - the Temple is actually the place where you can talk about God without people thinking that you are crazy or trying to convert them. (And, give the atheists some respect - not believing in a theistic God is also an acceptable theology in Judaism, ask them what they do believe in.)
Rabbi Joel N. Abraham
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