The Buck Stops Where?

Do not favor the poor or show deference to the rich; judge your kin fairly – Lev. 19:15

[In January, I spoke about what Judaism has to say about politics. Not necessarily that Judaism says that one should belong to a particular American political party or vote in a particular way, but in as much as politics is the expression of our national will, we as Jews should be knowledgeable about and guided by the moral and ethical teachings of our Jewish heritage in making our political decisions. Therefore, I will use this column in this month and going forward to lay out some of the different Jewish texts that relate to political issues of the day. This month, we will examine the issues of political influence and corruption and campaign fundraising reform – Rabbi Abraham]

We seem to accept a certain inexorable logic in American politics. To be elected, one needs to campaign. To campaign, one needs money. To raise money, one needs donors. And, after the election, there is a debt owed to the donors. The recent Supreme Court decision declaring that political donations are an aspect of free speech, and therefore fall under Constitutional protections, is expected to impact that political calculus in ways that will favor larger, corporate donors. The fear is that, since corporations can give more money than individuals, they will have undue influence over legislators and, therefore, over legislation.

Judaism seems to weigh in on the influence of money. In Deuteronomy 16:19, the Torah warns that those in political power should not “take a gift: for a gift blinds the eyes of the wise, and perverts the words of the righteous”. The taking of money, or other types of gifts, can cause even those who are wise to see things differently, despite their best efforts, and distorts testimony, even from expert witnesses. (The word “righteous” in the Biblical legal context, actually means those who are judged by a court to be in the right.) Why does this happen? The Talmud explains in Ketubot 105b: "Why is graft forbidden? Once a judge accepts graft he identifies as one with the briber and no one is capable of seeing a fault in himself." There is a relationship created between the giver and receiver, and the receiver begins to identify his interests with the giver. On the more venal end, if the donor does poorly, there will be no more money to give any one. To give a more generous perspective, a legislator might feel that the commitment of those who gave large amounts to his or her campaign should be reflected in that campaign’s results – that legislator’s term in office.

Recently, Rep. Rangel from New York temporarily stepped down from his powerful position as chair of the Ways and Means committee, because of how the perception of a trip that he took on someone else’s dime reflects on the Democratic party and its other candidates. Amid all the other scandals facing him, New York Governor Paterson is facing accusations regarding his accepting Yankee tickets for his family. As voters, we look on these stories and wonder who and what are the influences on our elected officials. Even if there were no cases in which such gifts actually resulted in changing a vote or a line in a bill, our suspicions lead to broken trust. The very idea that our representatives truly represent those who voted for (or even against) them comes into question.

Judaism expects legal cases to be judged on merit – tzedek, tzedek tirdof – Justice, justice shall you pursue. As it says in the portion that we read on Yom Kippur afternoon, the “holiness code” quoted above in Leviticus, we are told not to be swayed by those who have more money, or by those who have less.

Some questions to ponder –

Do we believe in a standard of judgment? Do we expect our legislators to follow their own consciences or to follow the popular will? Does that expectation change how we pick whom we would vote for? Is “transparency” in donation enough of a counter, or does money still blind the eyes of the wise, even if everyone can see where the money is?

Judaism and Politics

Tzedek, tzedek tirdof - Justice, justice, shall you pursue Deut. 16:20

In September, around the High HolyDays, conservative commentator Norman Podhoretz wrote a column asking, “Why are Jews Liberals?” (You can find a link to the article and my commentary on my blog - http://sholomrav.blogspot.com/2009/09/why-are-jews-liberals-because-they-are.html). As the question on the intersection of Judaism and politics comes up quite often, I thought that I would take a moment to comment.

First of all, let us revisit the primary belief that Jews have about what Judaism has to say about politics: Judaism has nothing to do with politics and, further, religion and politics should be completely separated – especially when it’s somebody else’s religion and somebody else’s political beliefs. As a minority in a democracy, we Jews are often the first group to take umbrage when we hear a political statement delivered with a religious imperative. We hear these statements as, “God (or Allah or Ja or whoever) wants everyone to do this (or not do that) and there is no room for compromise as any other idea is wrong or a sin.” One of the values that, as a minority religious group, we most treasure is the idea of separation of church and state – which we often interpret as religion should have no influence on government.

What then is religion for? Why do we as Jews have a complex and nuanced moral system, honed by millennia of real-world interaction, if not to use as a guide to how we live in the world? Are we not challenged by our religion to be tillers and tenders of the earth? Engage in Tikkun Olam? Do justly and love mercy? If, as Aristotle termed it, the human being is a zoon politikon – a political animal, and politics is the interaction of human beings then it would be a sad religion, culture, or people that did not have some sort of political ethic.

Indeed, most of Judaism is political. The Ten Commandments, the b’rit (covenant) between God and the Jewish people is a political document – laying out our relationship with God (no idols, keep the Sabbath), detailing the society we must create (honoring our parents) and limiting our behavior (no murder, stealing, adultery, coveting, or bearing false witness). The books of Samuel and Kings are a political history of the Jewish nation. The books of the prophets are political screeds – decrying the current society and government and demanding change. Our highest hope in Judaism is the hope for a Messianic Age – a geopolitical moment when justice and mercy will rule for all on earth.

Perhaps it is that politics has become a dirty word – nothing that we would want to engage in; something immoral and certainly not proper for discussion in a house of worship. If so, the problem is not with politics, but the current practice (and perhaps practitioners) of it. Science is not bad because we have created weapons of terrible destruction. We have also found ways to extend life and better the lives of others. Politics (and, may I add, religion) is the same. We must find a way to act politically in a morally authentic – and Jewishly responsible – manner.

What I find in Judaism is not only a moral compass, but the lessons evidenced by centuries of struggle with making the world into a more ideal place. One of those lessons may be that my beliefs are not those of others, and I cannot force them to believe as I. However, that does not remove from me the responsibility of acting according to my Jewish values – of demanding that my government provide equal access to opportunity (as may or not have been provided for me and my ancestors), help to those who struggle, barriers to those who would take advantage of the powerless, and an opportunity to dream dreams larger than those I can construct with solely my own two hands. I do not ask others to act in this way because Judaism demands it of them, rather to explain that I must, because it demands it of me.

Wonder of Wonders, Miracle of Miracles...

Baruch Atah, Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, she'asah nisim lavoteinu bayamim haheim bazman hazeh

Blessed are You, Adonai, Our God, Ruler of the world, Who made miracles for our ancestors in those days at this time

from the Chanukah candle blessings

Last month, a congregant asked me about miracles and what Judaism thought about them. I said that Judaism said many things about miracles, but gave a short explanation of Maimonides' understanding of the supernatural. Maimonides, the medieval Jewish scholar from Arab Spain was a neo-Aristotlean. As such God was perfect - the ideal form. If, therefore, God was perfect, then God could never change - as that would imply that God had not been perfect in the first place. Miracles, which are supernatural - outside the realm of nature, would be changes for God. In another way, if God needed to suspend the rules of nature, which were created by God, then God had either made a mistake or overlooked something - neither of which was possible. So, by this logic, there could be no miracles. The question then arises of how to deal with the miracles described in the Bible. According to my teacher at Hebrew Union College in New York, Dr. Leonard Kravitz, Maimonides thought that the Bible was good, as far as it went. For those who needed miracles, there they were. For those who did not, they could see that it was for literary effect.

The problem that I have with miracles is that they are inherently not fair. Why should one person merit a miracle and another not? It is not that there are too many miracles, but not enough. I'm not comfortable with a God who decides to save this child and not another. I am much more ready to believe in evolution and genetics.

But, lest one say that a world without miracles is uninspiring to live in, I would not cast out the miraculous with the miracle. I may not believe in events that are contra-indicated by reality, but I still revel in those wonderful things that we see all around us. The very fact of our existence - one random mutation leading to another and another - is a wonder to be appreciated. Human beings able to communicate with each other, sharing feelings that go beyond words, are much more than random chance.

Now, back to Chanukah - one could easily be persuaded that the survival of the Jewish people, after the attempts of countless enemies to destroy us physically, religiously, culturally, politically, is evidence of many miracles. The Rabbis of the Talmud, uncomfortable with the miraculous victory of a dedicated band of guerillas over a mighty army, thought we had better focus on a supernatural miracle of oil. The survival of Judaism is no supernatural event - rather it is a proof of our ability to carry on fundamental values while adapting ourselves to the current situation in each and every generation.

In this Chanukah season, we should celebrate not what is beyond our power - or beyond nature, but rather what we can do, and have done, to build and re-build Jewish life. We take time, for eight days, to bless the God who created us able to re-make ourselves in this season, in every season, in our ancestors' time, in our time - to recognize the miraculous in our shared story.

Chanukah sameach

And a Time to Say Thank You...

Hayamim holchim, shanah overet (2x), aval hamanginah (3x) l’olam nisheret.

The days march on, years pass, but the melody is sung forever

Israeli children’s song

I was very touched to find out that the congregation has marked the last Friday of October to celebrate my (first) ten years with Temple Sholom. I am deeply honored and look forward to the event, which may have happened by the time that you are reading this column. I would like to thank everyone involved – those who helped to plan, who attended, sent regrets, made donations, or in any way participated. (As much of what is happening is supposed to be a surprise, I regret that I cannot give any more accurate thank you’s at this time.)

However, looking back over my time here as part of this congregation, there are many I would like to thank. I have learned a great deal from each of the Presidents that I have had the privilege to work with: Cathy Gilbert - who showed me a haimische welcome as my family joined the congregation; Brett Neuhauser – who began as president just before I started as Rabbi and whom I still miss for our weekly lunches; Susan Weiseman – who was ever-present and indefatigable during her three years’ tenure; Susan Sedwin – who continues to set an example by her tireless devotion to the Temple; Mark Isack – whose passion for this community has brought it far; and Steve Saltzman – who is constantly thinking of ways to strengthen the Judaism of our congregation. I also could not have done anything without the help of the Temple staff – from Mildred Goldblatt to Barbara Cooke and Larry Berman – and I am indebted to Norman Pianko, our former educator, and Rabbi Gerald Goldman, our Rabbi Emeritus, for their guidance.

To name just these few is not intended to slight any of the past-Presidents, Trustees, committee chairs and members, congregants and families who have inspired and enlightened me as I have (hopefully) grown in the job of spiritual leader, but I would hope that you know that I have learned from each of you and treasured our interactions together.

Over the years, and not just in interviews, I have been asked why I decided to become a rabbi. Although my stock answer has been lack of imagination, the real answer is that I enjoy getting to know a child at a b’rit ceremony, watching that child grow, officiating when they become bar/bat mitzvah, hopefully meeting a fiancé/e and helping to celebrate the holiness of their marriage, and meeting a new generation at another b’rit. But I also know well that part of that role is being there in sickness and sharing sorrow and memories at a time of loss.

In that spirit, I look forward to March 15, 2012, when I will get the chance to officiate as Andrea Leitner, who was the first child I met in the congregation and my first b’rit bat here at the Temple, becomes a Bat Mitzvah. The Sunday before this Shabbat celebration, I will officiate at the b’rit bat of the youngest daughter of David and Allison Blitzer, who came to my first High HolyDay service at the Temple, asked me to marry them and then traveled with my second Confirmation class to Europe. I continue share the naches of parents as I watch their children grow – whether David Harris (now at college), one of the first B’nai Mitzvah at which I officiated, or my first Confirmation Class – Aaron Cohen (working in NYC), Sarah Gilbert (teaching in Boston), Elliot Kaplan (playing with nuclear fusion), Ricky Ringel (in the Coast Guard), Shelly Schwartz (with a lovely daughter of her own), and Lauren Scaduto (recently married). I am glad that I was there to help with the funeral of Irv Taylor, whom I did not get a chance to know, although I have studied with his widow Mildred regularly over the past decade, and Hazel Tepper, who sent my daughter, born just after we arrived, a card signed, “from the oldest member of Temple Sholom to the newest” and whom we buried this month.

My children, too, were born in this congregation and celebrated their b’ritot in this community. In October of 2012, Michelle and I hope to celebrate Avital’s becoming a Bat Mitzvah with all of you (10/13/12 – save the date). My parents have joined this congregation. We have all grown together – celebrated life’s joys, clung together at life’s sorrows, and held together to meet the challenges of being Rabbi and congregation.

As we say in Hebrew, ad me’ah v’esrim – until one hundred and twenty (which for Temple Sholom would be 2033).

This I Believe.. and You?

The firm faith in and admission of acknowledged truths will best promote a correct course of life; for by being impressed with holy feelings we will be best able to withstand temptations and the inclination to sin inherent in man.

– Isaac Leeser, Catechism for Jewish Children (1839)

Almost four months ago, I began my year in the fourth cohort of Synagogue Transformation and Renewal (STAR)’s Good to Great program. The program means to take rabbis who have finished ten years in congregations and help them through a process of self-reflection, peer encouragement, and revitalization of their rabbinates. It consists of two retreats – one at the beginning of the program and one, at the end, a year later. The program is directed by Rabbi Terry Bookman and Dr. Bill Kahn, two brothers-in-law, one a congregational rabbi, the other a professor of Organizational Behavior. Realizing (over several years’ discussion at Thanksgiving) that rabbis received little training in how to work inside of organizations, the formed Eitzah – A Center for Congregational Leadership – to bring the cutting edge tools of organizational theory, with a Jewish spin, to congregations. Looking at the “Good to Great” model, my cohort was told that great rabbis dream big dreams.

As I said in my High HolyDay sermons, as part of that process, I started to think about why we all think we are here – members of Temple Sholom at this time in our lives. I wondered if there were core things that all of us could agree on. I imagined that we might create a creed – a statement of our belief – that we could stand up and say together to reinforce our community and clarify our path together. As part of that process, I engaged in a study of the idea of creed in Reform Judaism and tracked my journey on a blog. As part of my final High HolyDay sermon on Yom Kippur, I asked everyone present to contribute something that they believe – either with their name or anonymously – for posting on the site. My hope is to help everyone learn about what a creed might be and what a shared creed for our congregation might look like. (As I write this column, it is not yet Yom Kippur, so I can only hope that many of responded.) Please, go to the website, read the articles and links, and make comments and suggestions so this study can go on together.

Finally, I quoted above from Isaac Leeser, one of the first Jewish educators in the United States. He created a catechism – a curriculum of religious doctrines for the instruction of children or converts – and argued very strongly for a creed. As he stated above, a commonly agreed upon standard that can be remembered at need and referred to when facing a moral dilemma can only lead to living a more moral and purposeful life. We would do better in almost any situation if we could easily articulate that which we believe – be it how we treat our fellow human beings, our ideals for the world we live in, what we find valuable, or what our purpose is in life. So often, we meander from choice to choice and can only define what we believe when we look back at what we have done. Join me in taking time to define who we are – and who we want to be – by what we believe in.

Rabbi Joel N. Abraham

The discussion of a Reform creed can be found at www.reformcreed.blogspot.com. My High HolyDay sermons can be found at sholomravsermons.blogspot.com.

A Time to Ask for Forgiveness

I’m sorry. I will try to do better. - Rabbi Joel N. Abraham (and others)

Let me start off by saying that other than not apologizing at all, apologizing through a Temple bulletin column is probably about as weak an apology as you can offer. Even in a sermon, there is at least some measure of eye contact – sadly lacking in the printed page which you are now (hopefully) reading. I’m sorry for that, too.

However, if I have not yet had a chance to speak to you in person, or over the phone, or I have erred or failed to do what I should as your Rabbi, please take this apology as the beginning of t’shuvah – the Jewish process of repentance.

T’shuvah may be one of the most underrated of Jewish innovations. Consider for a moment – other religious systems consider errors (whether classified as “sins” or otherwise) as either permanent or as removable through the intervention of an outside source. Again, once you do something wrong it is either held against you forever; or some other Divine entity can absolve you of that sin, without you even having to speak to the person that you may have offended. Not in Judaism – the Mishnah tells us that the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) atones for sins between the human being and God, but for sins between one human being and another, the Day of Atonement does not atone, until that person has made peace with the other. T’shuvah may not be as easy on the individual. (After all, having to figure out whom you may have wronged, building up the courage and humility to speak to that person, and having the strength to make that wrong right, can take great deal of effort.) However, there is no better model for a healthy community with strong interpersonal relationships than a society in which its members can admit their errors and heal hurtful ruptures. Perversely, a much better future can be created by those who have made the effort to fix the errors of the past than by those who would close the door on previous actions, as if there was no possible redress.

A further benefit of t’shuvah is that, although it is available and encouraged all year, there is a special calendrical moment that reminds us to engage in that process. As individuals in a community, we prepare separately and together to put our best foot forward in the new year, by healing our past. The time is now – as the Hebrew month of Elul leads into Tishri – to review our (mis)deeds, to take responsibility for our actions, and to seek forgiveness from those whom we have wronged.

I take this precious gift very seriously, and I implore you – if there is anything that I have done in the past year to offend, or have not done that may have insulted or slighted, please let me know – that I may seek t’shuvah from you and that both of us may go into the sweet new year together.

L’shanah tovah u’mtukah,

Rabbi Joel N. Abraham

Don't Cut Yourself off from the Community -You Might Need It

Hillel said: Do not separate yourself from the community. And, do not rely on yourself [alone] until the day of your death. And do not judge your fellow until you have come to where s/he has been. And do not say something that is impossible to hear, [hoping] that in the end it will be heard. And do not say, ‘When there is free time, I will study.” It is possible that you will not have the free time. Pirke Avot 2:4

I believe that it was in one of the first of my Rabbi’s columns that I first used the beginning of this quote from Hillel, “Do not separate yourself from the community.” Then, I was talking about the relative position of Rabbi and congregation in prayer, and the expectations of one upon the other. As is the great gift with all Jewish texts – as Ben Bag Bag said – Turn it, and turn it, and turn it, for all is contained within it – at a different time, the same words can have a different, but equally compelling meaning.

Looking again at the first lines – and continuing through the rest of the quote – it seems obvious that Hillel was speaking to us, today, in these difficult economic times. Our society has perhaps changed and human nature may have changed along with it. This world, in which we pull into our driveways, open the garage doors with our remote controls, drive in and close our doors, has removed the contact with our neighbors. Our communities may be on-line, may be scattered across time zones, or may be tenuous or non-existent. When times of trouble come, rather than reach out to others, we shut ourselves in. We try to remain self-sufficient. We do not feel the right or the reason to burden others with our problems, our difficulties. We cannot ask for help – and we suffer the lack thereof.

Picture the typical congregant – and it may be you – who has suffered some economic reversal: the loss of a job, the sudden decrease in formerly fixed income. We cut back on our activities, because we can neither go out with friends as easily as we once did, nor afford to entertain in our homes. We see less of others; we turn down invitations; we find ourselves more and more isolated. [The monthly statement arrives from the Temple bill and rather than call and ask for relief, we move it to the bottom of the pile.]

For this very moment, Hillel has said, “Al tifros min ha-tzibur – Do NOT remove yourself from the community.” The congregation that you have invested your time, your effort, your love and your life in – is ready to return that investment – with interest – when you are most in need. If we can provide social networking to find a new job, economic assistance, or a referral for a handyman, that is all to the good. If we can provide a shoulder to cry on, a kind ear to listen, or even a place to stop the world and listen to the prayers of others, so much the better. The reason to belong to a congregation – to be part of this community – is not only to give when you can, but also to get when you need. All of the good times that you have shared with this community have been stored up for this moment of trouble, when you can find the caring support of your fellow congregants. Perhaps you have already paid for this help in advance – by volunteering at the Temple, making a meal for a family in need, or even just helping out at services. If not, get what you need now and pay back in the future – comfort a family in shivah, help set up for a Shabbat dinner, deliver shalach manot to a homebound family.

Al tifros min ha-tzibur – do not turn away from your community – not when our hands are reaching out to help.