Just before I began this month of sabbatical, I attended the Union for Reform Judaism’s Biennial in Washington DC. Usually, I do not go to the Biennial unless we have a congregational delegation going as well. This gathering of the Reform movement’s congregational arm is mainly not designed for Jewish professionals, but for the volunteer leaders of congregations. I like to go as support to our delegation and, as Susan Sedwin and Sally Isaacs put it when we were at the Biennial in Houston, to be their “personal rabbi” in services, classes, etc. This year, I was planning to attend anyway, because of the Campaign for Youth Engagement (see the Director of Education’s article). Michelle and I were also asked to lead one of the four Thursday morning services from the prayerbook that we edited (Mishkan Tfilah Journal).
In the event, I experienced one of the great joys of my rabbinate so far. As I have often said, one of the things that most fulfills me as a rabbi is sharing lifecycle events with families in the congregation – being there for weddings and funerals, brit ceremonies, b’nei mitzvah and confirmation. At the Biennial in DC, I discovered a new joy – a pride in my congregants as they engaged in the larger Reform Jewish community.
Because of a wonderful article that she wrote with Jackie Lieberman, Shelly Glaser-Freedman was invited to present at a session on Temple Sholom’s Women on Their Own group. In support, Claire Bisgay and Marjorie Cohen traveled with her, and she did a great job representing the group, Temple Sholom, and small congregations in general. Their takeaway from the session, where Shelly was joined on the dais by professionals from large congregations, was that Temple Sholom manages to do with volunteers what larger congregations have to hire staff to do.
Our current president, Susan Sedwin, and 1st vice president, Sandra Nussenfeld, were also there to represent the congregation. We all know it takes a great deal of dedication and time away from family to be an officer, but it takes another level to use vacation time and personal savings to spend time away from home, learning about how our Temple can thrive and getting excited about where we are in our larger movement.
I will admit, however, that my proudest moment was when I realized that we had four people at the Biennial at whose confirmation I had officiated. Ted Dreier, who is now working as our Religious School Administrator while he awaits the answer to his application to Hebrew Union College’s Rhea Hirsch School of Education in Los Angeles (Michelle’s alma mater), attended the CYE as well as a special invitation-only meeting on re-imagining Bar/Bat Mitzvah with HUC’s Dr. Isa Aron. Rebekah Sedwin, who has been our youth group advisor and religious school teacher, also attended the CYE. Stephanie Fields, who taught in our religious school and is now the Family and Teen Educator at the Temple in Atlanta, came with her congregational team and Heather Stoloff, former SPANCY president, came down from Brandeis. The point of the Campaign for Youth Engagement is finding ways to keep our young congregants active in their own Jewish lives through their adulthood. To see four of our former students, not only active, but taking on the leadership role of participating in this debate was a m’chayah (inspiration, lit. “life-giver” – Yiddish) for me as their rabbi.
Sitting in Shabbat morning t’fillah with them, kvelling, I also realized something else. In this congregation, we are leaders – and have some control over what happens and the direction the congregation is heading. In the greater community of the URJ, we are congregants. We have the same concerns about (MUM) dues, whether the leadership is acting in our best interest, and where we fit in the huge structure. Just like at Temple Sholom, there are people that we know very well (three of our past student Cantors – Darcie Naomi Sharlein, Hayley Kobilinsky Poserow, and Shira Nafshi send their best wishes) and those that we do not. We all share the same community and the same goals, and the same frustrations. Just like we gather together once or twice a year to worship together at the High HolyDays, and once a year to confirm our goals – at the annual congregational meeting; so does the Union for Reform Judaism gather every two years to worship together and to dream.
As I continue to be inspired by our congregation, so am I reinvigorated and inspired by those I had a hand in teaching – our former student Cantors, our confirmands, and our Temple leaders, who have given of themselves to dream a new future not just for Temple Sholom, but for Reform Judaism as well.
See you on the 20th.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Don't Tell It Like History, Tell It Like YOURstory
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.
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.
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
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