Ahz mah

What does gefilte fish have to do with Jewish values?

2011-11-13T22:24:00.000-05:00

Last week, our children discussed the challenges and opportunities new Jewish immigrants faced when it came to their dietary habits. Would they maintain the traditional laws of kashrut? Would they maintain their mothers' time-honored recipes from the old country? Or would the powerful allure of "being American" trump tradition? The children learned how well-meaning Americans (including Jews who had immigrated a generation earlier) sought to influence immigrant eating habits through influencing the children in public school. Social welfare, or coercion -- what do you think?

Oh, and about that gefilte fish... I want to recommend a touching story called The Carp in the Bathtub by Barbara Cohen.

Sukkot and the immigrant experience

2011-10-18T12:35:00.000-04:00

How would you answer this question: What do a sukkah, a turn-of-the-century tenement slum, and a home in the Boston suburbs all have in common?

Recently, our temple children were exploring comparisons between the sukkah mentioned in Torah, immigrant living conditions at the turn of the 20th century, and the children’s own sense of security in their homes. David and I shared with them some ancient rabbinic musings about the sukkah, in which it was suggested that God’s protective presence (symbolized by the “cloud of glory” which accompanied the Israelites in the desert) was the real shelter.

To give a sense of the sort of protective presence being suggested by the rabbis, we posed to the children this question: Do you feel differently being in your home when a parent is home versus when you are home alone? The younger children all spoke of feeling a greater sense of security and safety when there was a parent in the house. Many of the older children expressed a sense of freedom and greater relaxation when alone in their homes!

How do you understand the difference in their responses? What connections would you make between their responses and the symbolism of the sukkah?

D’var acher / another thing: While not all Jewish immigrants started out on the Lower East Side, most did – and they climbed up and out as quickly as they could. Check out this recent book review for a peek at that experience.

Living with uncertainty - part four

2011-10-10T12:51:00.002-04:00

Yom Kippur 5772/2011

On March 11th of this year, Japan was rocked by a massive earthquake followed by a terrifying tsunami. Imagine: One day you are going about your life, with a reasonable sense of certainty about what is happening and what will be happening… and the next day, everything you hold dear is literally swept away.

Everything about life is uncertain, except the certainty of change. Every one of us will be hit by a tsunami or a hurricane or some equally powerful blast in our lifetime. It’s coming – for some of you, it may have already hit....

Click here for complete sermon

Living with uncertainty - part three

2011-10-10T12:46:00.002-04:00

Kol Nidrei 5772/2011

The story is told that when Solomon became king of Israel he had a ring made, upon which he had engraved the words gam zeh ya’avor – This too shall pass.

Gam zeh ya’avor. This too shall pass. An expression of the truth of life that is both saddening and liberating. Or, in the words of Abraham Lincoln when he told a version of this same story: “This too shall pass. How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!”

Gam zeh ya’avor. This too shall pass.

Everything about life is uncertain, except the certainty of change. Everything that we “have” will eventually and inevitably pass away. Slip through our fingers. And tightening our grip doesn’t make any difference; it only gives us rope burn....

Click here for complete sermon

Living with uncertainty - part two

2011-10-07T13:22:00.000-04:00

Rosh Hashanah 5772/2011

Recently, Alan and I had reason to be in Logan Airport. As is our custom, we were there early, and thus had plenty of time to sit in the waiting area at our gate. Our attention was caught by a young woman – a very young woman – sitting alone with no carry-on except for one oversized garment bag with the name of a bridal shop on it. She also was there very early, but she was crying. Weeping, I should say. When we finally boarded the plane, the captain came on the PA system to tell us that there was a special passenger with us today – a “little girl” who had missed her flight earlier in the day and was therefore missing the rehearsal dinner for her own wedding. He asked us to give her a round of applause to show our support....

Click here for complete sermon

Living with uncertainty - part one

2011-10-04T14:27:00.001-04:00

Erev Rosh Hashanah 5772/2011

Here is a story that we Jews have been telling for thousands of years:

Once there was a man named Avram (later Avraham/Abraham), who lived in the region of ancient Mesopotamia. Avram became convinced that there was only one all-powerful God, maker of heaven and earth, and that this one invisible and un-nameable God was calling him to leave his home, move to a promised land he did not yet know, and share his faith with the people he would encounter along the way.

You’re familiar with that story, right?

Here is another story, that you’ve probably never heard:....

Click here for the complete sermon

Do not wrong a stranger

2011-09-27T17:41:00.000-04:00

As our children in Tikvah Learning explore the lives of Jewish children who immigrated to America during the "Great Migration" period of the early 20th century, they are encountering some new vocabulary and concepts. This week, while comparing the biblical story of the Israelites in Egypt with the stories of Jews in Eastern Europe, we discovered that "oppression" is a new word for some of the children.

Do not wrong a stranger, and do not oppress them, because you were strangers in the land of Egypt. How would you explain this fundamental Jewish value to a child (or to anyone)? What illustrations or examples might you choose to make the concept real to them?

Two million Jews came to America during that brief period of the Great Migration; and although the most well-known scenario is the Ellis Island/Lower East Side/sweat shop/poverty scenario, there were many others! Check out, for example, this fascinating article in the Forward about an early Jewish farming community... in Utah!

from our temple newsletter

2011-09-02T11:17:00.001-04:00

From September through December, we will be immersing ourselves and our children in the world of the “Great Migration” of the early 20th century, when millions of Jews left Eastern Europe in search of a better life. The vast majority of those Jews settled in the United States, and Judaism (as a religion and as a culture) underwent a profound and unprecedented transformation as a result. An exploration of this pivotal era in Jewish history will be our springboard into an exploration of several core ethical principles in Judaism. Can you guess what those might be? I hope you will join us often during this “Coming to America” semester, as we explore these ethical principles in discussions of books and films on Shabbat evenings as well as during Tikvah Learning with our children. And watch for details of our community Field Trip in October!

On another note: There is a Jewish custom of visiting the gravesites of our loved ones in the weeks prior to the High Holidays. If you are not able to make the trip, consider finding some other way to symbolically make the “visit.” Set aside some time for reflection and meditation, perhaps give some tsedakah, and/ or do some other act to honor your loved one’s memory. The month of Elul, prior to Rosh Hashanah, is traditionally a time of heightened focus on the need for forgiveness. Might there be ways in which we still need to give and receive forgiveness, even in the absence of the other person?

You may find it helpful to contemplate these words, taken from our Yom Kippur liturgy: “I hereby forgive all who have hurt me, all who have wronged me, whether deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed. May no one be punished on my account. As I forgive and pardon those who have wronged me, may those whom I have harmed forgive and pardon me, whether I acted deliberately or inadvertently, whether by word or by deed.”

Blessings for a sweet new year,
Rabbi Kafka

No Soul Left Behind

2011-03-01T13:32:00.003-05:00

I would like to hang another banner out in front of our temple: No Soul Left Behind.

If you have not yet seen or heard of the film “Race to Nowhere,” especially if you are a parent or grandparent, please check it out (racetonowhere.com). At a recent screening of the film to a capacity crowd in the Sharon High School auditorium, we were confronted with the frightening impact of our “success”-oriented culture on the well-being of our children. I attended in the hope of supporting efforts to bring about systemic change in our community.

I was moved to tears not by the film (which was of course very powerful), but by the many testimonies of Sharon High students who spontaneously went up to the microphone to make their voices heard.

Judaism has historically been a counter-cultural force, pushing back against idolatrous priorities. How can we as a spiritual community become a sanctuary from cultural pressures on our children that have spun out of control?

No Soul Left Behind. I made up that slogan when I got home from the film screening. It’s a good place to start. Let’s make our temple a haven where children and teens can relax, enjoy engaging activities with friends and family, and just be kids. Judaism teaches us many principles which ought to guide our decisions about child-rearing both individually and as a community. Here’s one to start with: Each child is a unique, precious soul created in the divine image.

The roots of hatred

2011-01-24T23:14:00.003-05:00

Recently, a high school student contacted me. He was writing a newspaper article on the phenomenon of "Holocaust denial," and wanted to hear my thoughts on the subject. He provided me with a few questions to choose from, and I picked one. In the end he only used a couple of sentences from my response. Here is my complete answer:

What leads people to become Holocaust deniers? One answer: It is obviously a form of antisemitism. But that simply begs the question: What leads people to be antisemitic? To me, this question leads straight down into the dark, mysterious underside of the human mind. What is it about the human mind that makes it capable of irrationality, hatred, violence?

I think that we tend to forget how young human consciousness is in terms of “geologic” time. Civilization is merely a thin veneer, and scratching the surface may be enough to uncover a fearful, potentially vicious animal response to perceived threat.

Having been trained both as a psychologist and more recently as a rabbi, I tend to think about societal problems in terms of the psychological realm. What was it in this person’s life that led to this warping of their soul? What experiences of cruelty, what absence of loving attention, what bitter life experiences, led them to be the sort of person who is motivated by hatred and fear? What unconscious projections lead to the portrayal of Jews as the reviled Other? (And right now in this country, we see it happening against Muslims too, and also in the fearful projections in both directions of the political “right” versus “left.”) Yet how is it that some people are able to respond more resiliently to painful life experiences and develop instead into caring and compassionate lovers of truth? These are deep mysteries.

Opening to Life's Blessings

2011-01-17T22:22:00.001-05:00

In chapter 19 of the biblical book of Exodus, the Israelite people are preparing for the revelation at Mount Sinai. God is giving Moses instructions about how it’s all going to happen. Here is the first instruction Moses gets:

“Say this to the people: You yourselves saw what I did… and how I carried you on the wings of eagles and I brought you to me. And now, if you will really listen to my voice and keep my covenant, you will become for me a treasure among all the peoples, for all the earth is mine….”

You will become for me a treasure among all the peoples. The standard understanding of this biblical verse is that the Jewish people will be somehow special, or privileged, or “chosen.”

The Chosen People. What does it mean to say that we’re the Chosen People? Oy, Jews (and non-Jews) have been arguing about that for the past two thousand years! So instead of going in that direction, I would like to share another interpretation of this verse – an interpretation which I think is relevant to us regardless of religious identity.

Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner, a chasidic master who lived in Poland in the early 1800s, suggests that the Hebrew word for treasure – segulah – should be understood in the sense of treasure box – a vessel or container capable of receiving and holding treasure. Read the verse this way, he says: If you will really listen to my voice and keep my covenant, I am going to make you like a treasure box, capable of receiving the good things and blessings that I am going to give you.

What can this mean for us? And how can this be relevant to those of us who don’t believe in a God who is a Someone who talks and gives instructions? Here is where I think this interpretation is pointing us:

If we really pay attention to Reality, to everything that IS (which is another way of saying God) – if we strive to be mindful, curious, paying attention to what is really happening around us and inside us, seeing Reality and not just the projections of our own minds… then we indeed become like a treasure box, open to receiving the blessings that life has to offer.

How does trust happen?

2011-01-03T22:52:00.002-05:00

[excerpted from my remarks on the occasion of being installed as Rabbi at Temple Kol Tikvah, 12/5/2010]

Pharaoh has two dreams which he cannot understand – seven fat cows eaten by seven skinny cows, seven fat ears of grain eaten by seven skinny ears of grain – and he is very anxious. Joseph (a young Hebrew slave at this point) is fetched from prison to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. Joseph explains that the dreams are one, that both are prophesying seven years of abundance followed by seven years of famine. Joseph then gives Pharaoh some management advice about how to prepare for the famine, and Pharaoh accepts his advice and puts Joseph in charge of carrying out the plan.

Here is what’s amazing about this story: Pharaoh trusts Joseph. Pharaoh puts his faith in Joseph. Pharaoh hands Joseph the authority to radically restructure Egyptian society. And on what basis? All that Pharaoh knows about Joseph up until this moment is what he heard from his royal butler: that Joseph once successfully interpreted two dreams while he was in prison. Oh yes, and the Torah tells us that Joseph was extremely good looking. But other than that, what does Pharaoh know about Joseph that would give him cause to trust him?

After Joseph presents his dream interpretation and management advice, the Torah tells us: Va-yitav ha-davar b’aynay Faro, u-v’aynay kol avadav. And the thing – or the word – seemed good in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of all his servants.

How does trust happen? Apparently, something about what Joseph says – or perhaps the way he says it – leads Pharaoh to trust him. Pharaoh is convinced that Joseph’s words come from a divine source – which still begs the question of what it was about those words that led Pharaoh to that conclusion.

And we might also assume that there was something about Pharaoh himself that led him to trust Joseph and to recognize the divine spirit moving through him. So we could say that trust happens in the interaction between the minds and hearts of both of the people involved.

How does trust happen? Ultimately, it takes a leap of faith, doesn’t it? It takes a leap of faith to choose to trust someone. Think about it: For the first seven years of Joseph’s master plan, as they are stockpiling grain in anticipation of the famine, the Egyptian people have no way of knowing if there is indeed a famine coming.

It takes a leap of faith to do most things in our lives. How about in your life right now? What leap of faith are you taking?

The power of truth

2010-11-16T23:44:00.003-05:00

The biblical patriarch Jacob is on his way to Haran, to get away from his brother Esau’s murderous anger and to find a wife for himself from among his mother’s kin.

He comes to a well, where the local shepherds get water for their flocks of sheep. There is a large stone covering the well, which normally takes several men to move.

He sees Rachel arriving with her sheep. Here’s how the Torah tells what happens next: “When Jacob saw Rachel the daughter of Lavan his mother’s brother, and the sheep of Lavan his mother’s brother, Jacob went near, and rolled the stone from the well’s mouth, and watered the flock of Lavan his mother’s brother. And Jacob kissed Rachel, and raised his voice and wept.” Jacob tells Rachel who he is, and she runs to tell her father.

It’s a great love story, isn’t it? The power of love is a wondrous thing.

Now here’s another way of understanding the story:

Our ancient sages make a link between scriptural images of water and Torah as the wellspring of wisdom. So in this story, the well represents Torah wisdom – the deep source of our sacred stories and traditions.

The large stone covering the well represents the yetser ha-rah – the inclination to do evil. Think of it as the part of us that is selfish, greedy, spiteful, hurtful. The yetser ha-rah blocks our access to the flow of wisdom.

In the mystical tradition, the patriarch Jacob is the symbol of Truth (emet). Truth has the power to see clearly what is happening, to push aside our inclination to do wrong, and thereby to uncover the wisdom that flows through us.

In this way, we can understand that the story of Jacob and the well is not really – or not entirely – about physical strength. Sure, Jacob has a macho moment in which his love for Rachel empowers him to do what seems impossible. (And I imagine that his body was sorry the next day!) But there is also a spiritual message:

We each have intense inner strength to choose to do what is right in a difficult situation. We can see clearly what is the truth, and with that clarity we can push aside the heavy stone of our desire to do the wrong thing. And when we do that, the healing waters of wisdom can flow freely in our lives.

[Note: According to the Netivot Shalom, Jacob is able to do this because he has completely nullified his Ego in the service of God. In other words, it is from a place of deep humility (ayin v'efes) that one can push away the yetser ha-rah.]

Source text: Netivot Shalom on Vayetse

Walking your own path

2010-10-17T19:48:00.003-04:00

According to Jewish mystical tradition, each of us is born with a unique purpose. There is soul work, an inner transformation, that only we can do. We each have to walk our own path to do this soul work – you can’t walk my path, nor can I walk yours.

Within this perspective, obstacles that we encounter on the path of life may be understood as opportunities for personal development and transformation. How you deal with difficulties is part of what makes you who you are. (The tradition goes even further, suggesting that obstacles are gifts, always meant for your benefit – but I find the notion of “opportunities” less theologically problematic than “gifts.”)

The tradition also suggests that each person is born with unique soul characteristics, a unique combination of attributes and temperament. This too is related to the transformative work we need to do. For example, a person may need to transform the relative weight of anger and patience they were born with.

In this week’s Torah reading in the book of Genesis, God tells Avram “Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” The Hebrew for “go” in the text is lech lecha, a double verb form that makes an imperative emphatic. If lech means go, then lech lecha means GO! And that is how the verse is commonly understood.

Through our psychospiritual lens, the verse can be understood differently – because the Hebrew letters in lecha also have the meaning of “to you” or “for you.” So we can read the beginning of the verse in this way: “Go towards yourself.” In other words, go forward on the path of inner transformation and soul work that you are meant to do in this lifetime.

And why the seemingly redundant mention of “your land,” “your birthplace,” “your father’s house”? Wouldn’t any one of those be sufficient to convey the message to Avram that it is time to leave town?

Symbolically, we can understand these three terms as referring to the surrounding culture (your land), the everyday environment (your birthplace), and the family (your father’s house). We will ultimately have to move away from the negative influences in each of these three circles if we want to grow.

Can you see the practical implications in your own life? Perhaps in your family there has been a multi-generational pattern of harsh criticism, or of self-effacement. Your soul work may be to become conscious of that pattern and cultivate more positive qualities, giving your child a different role model. Or we might say that the surrounding culture is too violent, and so your soul work might involve strengthening the counter-cultural tendency of gentleness in your personality.

God’s instruction to Avram (who went on to become Abraham the patriarch of the Jewish people) is an instruction for us as well. We all need to get moving! It is our destiny to move forward on the path of inner transformation. What will be your next step on the path?

[source text: Netivot Shalom al ha-Torah]

"Sorry, Rabbi. I don't believe in God."

2010-09-19T19:37:00.004-04:00

Yom Kippur sermon 5771/2010

I had a wonderful long talk about God recently with a seven-year-old friend of mine, who gave me permission to mention our conversation today. I had asked her to meet with me over the summer because I needed her help in thinking through how to talk about God.

My little friend told me that sometimes before she falls asleep she wrestles with the question of whether or not God exists. She then articulated for me the logic she was using: Either such-and-such is true, in which case God exists; or such-and-such is true, in which case God does not exist. It sounded like it was only a matter of time before she would come to a logical conclusion.

As I listened, and as I heard the either/or nature of the logic, I tentatively offered her what I had been thinking about, as another way of framing the question of God’s existence. Then together we played around with ways to say it that would be understandable and useful. I hoped that this alternate way of framing the question would perhaps liberate her from the forced choice she was headed towards.

What I would like to offer to all of you today, on this holiest of holy days, is a similar possibility of liberation.

Click here for complete sermon

Generosity as a spiritual practice

2010-08-27T12:27:00.000-04:00

We tend to think of generosity primarily in terms of the willingness to give money or material possessions. But actually, in Jewish tradition, financial giving to support the community as well as those less fortunate is considered an obligation, not an expression of generosity.

Tsedakah, which is often erroneously translated as charity, actually means righteousness. So financial giving is understood to be an expression of justice and covenant, not so much of generosity. Supporting the community as well as those less fortunate is just what we Jews do, regardless of how we feel.

Generosity, on the other hand, is understood in Judaism to be a movement of the heart. There is a quality of openness and giving that arises in the heart and manifests as a sharing of self as well as a sharing of material possessions.

I believe that generosity is both an attitude and an activity. It is a fundamental spiritual practice, closely associated with the practice of gratitude.

Generosity is about acts of kindness, and reaching out beyond the self. It’s about sharing our unique gifts with one another, generating connections and then deepening them.

Last year my husband underwent triple bypass heart surgery. When the cardiologist showed us the results of the angiogram prior to surgery, he pointed out a miraculous thing – in an effort to counter the life-threatening effects of the blocked arteries, the body had spontaneously generated a tiny new blood vessel spanning from a partially blocked but still functioning artery to a blocked one. A new, life-giving connection.

Reaching out in generosity and connecting with one another is life-giving. Not only for us as individuals, but also for the community. When you are generous to someone else, you benefit as well. The life force in you is strengthened as well. In truth we are not the separate, autonomous beings we imagine ourselves to be.

The bigger our sense of Ego with a capital E, the less generous we are able to be. The more there is a Me, there is also a strong sense of what is Mine, and a fear of losing what is Mine, and therefore less of a willingness to share what is Mine.

But of course the paradox is that in giving, we actually grow. Whereas in holding on tightly, we shrink.

Every High Holidays we read: “On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed – who shall live, and who shall die.” How do we understand these words? Here’s one way of understanding what it means, stated simply: We just don’t know. It could be us.

Now given that we just don’t know, we still have the choice of how to think and act in the face of uncertainty. We can become fearful and closed, or we can live however long we are going to live with a generous spirit. We can shrink and harden, or we can expand outward and make new connections.

As we approach Yom Kippur, the day of being forgiven and re-born, may we all strive to become more generous both with ourselves and with others. May we overcome our fears and doubts, and reach out beyond the narrowness of the Ego to connect with someone new.

In so doing we may gain a new heart, as it is prophesied in the book of Ezekiel: “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you.”

We're all on this bus together

2010-08-20T11:45:00.000-04:00

Wavy Gravy was, and continues to be, a serious social activist and philanthropist as well as a very funny clown. In his 70s now, he is perhaps best known for his role as m.c. at Woodstock 40 years ago. Many of his impromptu statements back then became enshrined as 60s slogans.

My favorite: “We’re all bozos on this bus, so we might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Believe it or not, this is one of the deepest messages of the Jewish holy day Yom Kippur: We are stumbling, bumbling, goofy human beings. We keep trying, and we keep falling on our faces, and it’s all okay. We’re doing the best we can. And we’re all on the same bus, together.

But as Elizabeth Lesser writes in her wonderful book “Broken Open,” the source of our suffering is that we keep imagining that there is some other bus on which the passengers are all healthy, happy, gorgeous, and well-dressed! But that’s an illusion, and Yom Kippur is about shattering illusions. We are all just lovable, flawed bozos on this bus called Life, and we all know where the bus is ultimately headed... and it’s all okay.

Acknowledging on Yom Kippur that we are all flawed, we symbolically draw the circle of “we” large enough to include even ourselves in the possibility of forgiveness. No one is to be left out of the circle on this day of wiping the slate clean and uncovering our pure souls.

The Jewish tradition has much to say on the subject of brokenness. For example, in Psalm 34 we hear: “God is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves those who have a crushed spirit.” Being human, we are each of us broken in our own way. Broken, and beautiful.

A friend once taught me about the Japanese artistic style and worldview known as wabi sabi. The term refers to beauty manifest in objects that are imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete... acknowledging three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect.

That’s us! Each of our hearts is wabi sabi. If we could recognize it in one another, as well as in ourselves, perhaps we could all lighten up a bit and enjoy our ride together on this bus of life marked BOZOS.

Finding Our Balance

2010-08-13T11:47:00.001-04:00

In the Jewish mystical understanding of human nature (humans being a microcosm of the cosmos as a whole), there is a dynamic tension between the forces of lovingkindness and strict judgment. Chesed is the Hebrew word for lovingkindness. Gevurah is strict judgment.

Too much of one at the expense of the other, and life is intolerable. Both in our emotional life, and in our interactions with others, the healthy goal is balance.

What some people call the Inner Judge is a manifestation of too much Gevurah, strict judgment insufficiently balanced by lovingkindness. I know from personal experience, this voice of judgment can be merciless. Unrelenting. Taking it a step further, the mystics boldly assert that Gevurah untempered by Chesed is the source of evil in the world.

Rosh Hashanah teters on this balance between Gevurah and Chesed.

Our high holiday liturgy is filled with expressions of the cosmic quality of judgment. It’s hard to miss. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were designed by the ancient rabbis to evoke in us the sense of trembling before God the King, awaiting judgment.

On the Chesed side are all the references to God our Father, Avinu. These ancient prayers envision a loving father who, although stern when necessary, will ultimately act out of love and caring.

Out of this dynamic balance, according to the mystics, flows Rachamim, compassion – from the Hebrew root word rechem/womb.

How to understand that the balancing of Chesed and Gevurah leads to the flow of Rachamim? Let’s take a concrete example. Someone says or does something, and your feelings are hurt. The Gevurah is the clear-seeing of what is right and wrong, the judging of the person’s actions as being hurtful, the clear naming of the offense.

Now, it is possible to do this judging with a sledge-hammer – which would be pure Gevurah – and it is possible to do this judging with an awareness of and appreciation for the inherent goodness of the person who offended you. This is lovingkindness in the sense of accepting the essential humanness of the person. Hating the deed, but not the person, you might say. Recognizing that at any given moment, people are – by definition – doing the best they can.

When we balance clear judgment of the deed with awareness of the pure soul of the do-er, what can arise is a sense of compassion. Rachamim – the womb-like sensitivity to the pain inherent in the human condition. A felt understanding that the hurtful action (which we are right to judge) arose out of pain in the other person. Ah, pain – we all know what pain feels like. We all experience it. So we can get it that wrong action arises out of pain. Rachamim is the place of feeling – at a gut level – that we are all on this human trip together. Knowing that on a deeper level, pain is pain – it is not “my” pain or “your” pain, and no one’s pain is of greater or lesser value than anyone else’s.

Okay, so here’s the part that’s hard for me, and perhaps for you as well. All of what I have just said is equally true when the person we are judging is ourselves. Do we judge ourselves with the sledgehammer of total Gevurah? (And, similarly, do we accept the sledge hammer with which some people criticize us, projecting their “stuff” onto us?) Or are we able to balance that Gevurah with a sense of kindliness towards our precious, oh-so-imperfect selves? Where is the Chesed for ourselves? Where is our recollection of our inherent goodness, of that spark of the divine that our tradition tells us is twinkling in every human being? What leads us to be so harsh in judging ourselves?

In the kabbalistic tree of life which maps out these various attributes or qualities as sefirot, the sefira of Rachamim is also known as Tiferet, or beauty. It is also called Emet – truth. A Gevurah perspective alone, or a Chesed perspective alone, is not the truth. The word Emet is itself symbolic – the letters aleph, mem, and tet are the first, middle, and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet. So Emet – Truth – is the Big Picture.

New Year's Revolutions

2010-08-08T15:35:00.001-04:00

It's a sad-and-funny thing that something like 97% of new year's resolutions evaporate within months, sometimes within weeks or even days - and then they are solemnly resolved again the following January.

Are we kidding ourselves year after year? What's going on here? And if Rosh Hashanah the Jewish New Year is analogous to January 1st, then are all our words of prayer hypocritical?

Rosh Hashanah is all about teshuvah - turning around, turning back, returning... in other words, about re-volutions. Classically, teshuvah refers to the process of regretting an action, saying you're sorry, and intending not to do that regretful action again in the future.

Another way to think about the process is as an inward spiral: Teshuvah is about coming back again and again to who we really are, who we are meant to be. This true self has nothing to do with how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved (the focus of typical American New Year's resolutions). The process of teshuvah is not about "self improvement" in the pop culture sense. It's more about polishing off your beautiful soul that has been encrusted with a lifetime of less-than-perfect words, thoughts and deeds. It's not a one-time thing; it's a lifelong process.

Here's a familiar story: Moses goes up Mount Sinai to receive from God two stone tablets upon which are engraved the ten "utterances" - commonly known as the ten commandments - central to the longer list of instructions that Moses received while on the mountain. Rabbinic tradition claims that this receiving of divine word happened on the festival of Shavuot, in the spring. The tablets and the words written on them were entirely of God's making.

Moses comes down the mountain and discovers the people at the base of the mountain in the process of worshipping a golden cow that they had created in his absence. Enraged, he shatters the two tablets.

When Moses returns to the top of Mount Sinai to plead on behalf of the people after this tragic communal sin, he receives a second set of tablets. But this time, there is a subtle yet profound shift in the instructions. God has learned a lesson. This time, God says to Moses - YOU carve the tablets out of stone, and I will write on them.

In other words, this time it is a mutual endeavor, a partnership. And so this time it is something that humans can handle. Rabbinic tradition claims that this second tablet-making episode occurred on Yom Kippur.

What does this ancient story have to do with us, and with new year's resolutions?

In the words of my teacher Rabbi Art Green: "This is the season when each of us renegotiates our covenant with God. We carve our second tablets, remaking the infinite divine demand into one with which we are prepared to live. This is the time when we decide what we will keep of the tradition and what we will set aside for the while..., what major charitable gifts we will give and which we will put off, what mitzvot we will do in the human realm, and whom we are ready to forgive of those who have done us wrong. It is not only God who makes major decisions in this season of the year. God may decide whether we will live, but we have to decide how we will live the life we are given."

So if we are to make Jewish new year's resolutions, they ought to be of this sort. In conversation and partnership with the deepest and truest aspect of our selves (that some call God), we have the opportunity to refashion our covenant. How shall we live the life we are given?

There is a breathtaking poem by Mary Oliver, called "The Summer Day," which ends with this line: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

As we approach the High Holidays, it is again time to ponder this question. Let it rumble around inside you, and see if an answer arises from somewhere within. It's not a question about self improvement. It's not about how much we weigh, or how much we exercise, or how much money we have saved. Mary Oliver's question points us back to our souls, to our innermost sense of what we are called to do and be in our all-too-brief time on earth. This is the essential question of Rosh Hashanah.

Yes, teshuvah is about regretting past actions and saying we're sorry... and it's also about spiraling inwards to uncover the light of our soul and what it longs to do with its one wild and precious life.

Keeping an Open Mind

2010-07-05T13:19:00.002-04:00

What does it mean to go into a situation with an "open mind"? Is it possible, or do we always enter a situation with some idea of how we imagine things ought to turn out and how we will benefit?

In the biblical book of Numbers, there is a famous story of the prophet Bilaam. Balak king of Moav sends persuasive messengers to Bilaam, requesting that he come and curse the Israelite tribe that is camped nearby. Balak is fearful of the power of these Israelites, and hoping for some supernatural assistance in getting rid of them.

You may be familiar with the comic scene in which Bilaam's donkey three times attempts to save her master from a sword-wielding angel to which he is somehow oblivious. Three times Bilaam punishes her for straying off the path, and finally God opens the donkey's mouth and she expresses her frustration at being maltreated. They quarrel briefly, until suddenly God uncovers Bilaam's eyes, and he sees the terrifying vision of the angel right in front of him.

The scene leading up to the donkey story has for centuries puzzled readers and commentators. When the messengers first come to hire Bilaam for the hexing job, he sends them away because God has told him not to curse the Israelites. When the messengers return to try again, Bilaam has a night vision in which God tells him he can go this time as long as he does only what God will tell him to do. But when Bilaam sets out with the messengers, God becomes angry - hence the terrifying angelic road block.

If God said it was okay for Bilaam to go, why did God get angry when Bilaam went? Isn't that unfair, capricious, abusive? Maybe. There certainly are other instances in the biblical narrative where God seems to change God's mind.

But here is another possible way of understanding the apparent unfairness. It has been suggested that what leads to God's anger is Bilaam's state of mind (which is visible to God if not to the reader). It would have been okay to go with the messengers if Bilaam was keeping God's instruction in mind; but God senses that Bilaam's mind has shifted to sharing the goal of the messengers - i.e. cursing the Israelites.

With his mind focused on his own potential power and fame, Bilaam loses his vision as well. His donkey sees reality more clearly than he does. And when he finally beholds the Israelite encampment, he is moved to bless them. In the moment, his true role in the situation becomes clear.

What is the message for us? You cannot know in advance how any situation is going to turn out. Reality is bigger than you. Don't go with your mind made up about what you will say and do. Keep your mind open. Keep your eyes open. And when the time arises for action, let your mouth be moved to speak words of blessing.

Reminders of what matters

2010-06-09T21:59:00.001-04:00

One of my projects right now is making a new prayer shawl for the warmer weather. The prayer shawl that we wear, called a tallit, is distinguished by its elaborately tied fringes on the four corners.

It happens that the biblical instruction from which we derive this custom appears at the end of last week's Torah reading: "God spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves tsitsit (fringes) on the edges of their garments.... Look at it, and recall all the commandments of God, and observe them, so that you do not follow after the desires of your heart and your eyes."

So originally the instruction was to wear these tsitsit all the time, on one's garment where they could be looked at. Nowadays, you may have seen Orthodox men with tsitsit visible. (Others keep them tucked in.) I also know some non-Orthodox men, and even a few women, who wear them every day too, because of this ancient commandment.

All of this reminds me of the other meaning of "fringe." Our children are growing up at a time when Jews in the United States don't live on the fringe at all - especially here in the Northeast. The integration of Jews into the life and culture of the United States is an awesome wonder which our ancestors could not have imagined even just a couple of generations back. It is an awesome wonder which our children largely take for granted.

But there is still a way in which we Jews are called upon to stay on the fringe of society, to stay counter-culture and to share our counter-culture message with others. Listen again to the biblical instructions about tsitsit: "Look at it, and recall all the commandments of God, and observe them, so that you do not follow after the desires of your heart and your eyes."

This great culture in which we live in the United States is too much about desire and the manipulation of desire. It is about wanting, and getting, and buying buying buying, and seeking power and control over things and over other people.

But Jewish tradition suggests another path, a path of wisdom - and the tsitsit are symbolic of the need to remind ourselves over and over again of that path of wisdom.

Most of us don't wear tsitsit every day - so what other physical signs do we have in our homes that could provide us with the daily reminders to stay consciously on the fringe of the dominant culture, and to remember what really matters in life?

For the good of our children, for the good of the world, we all need these reminders.

A thank-you, from the May newsletter

2010-05-31T12:59:00.001-04:00

To raise a child in America today is a daunting task. To raise a child with a deep, positive sense of Jewish identity is even more daunting. It is for this reason that I want to honor a group of people in our community who play a crucial role in this process, and yet who are least often thanked - and they are the non-Jewish parents who are supportive of their children being raised Jewish. You encourage and support your children's participation in the life of the Jewish community through attending Community Learning, Shabbat and holiday services, and other temple activities. By your actions you are teaching your children the value of being raised in a faith tradition; I also imagine that at home they are learning respect for the tradition in which you were raised, and in which your extended family lives. Please know that your loving support and trust are deeply appreciated by the Jewish community, and that you are giving a precious gift to your children and to the world.

Receiving our instructions

2010-05-14T14:22:00.001-04:00

Spring is a favorite time for weddings. In the Jewish tradition, the ultimate wedding celebration happens in springtime. On the festival of Shavuot - May 19-20 this year - we celebrate the anniversary of the "marriage" of the Jewish people with God. The ketubah/marriage contract is the Torah.

Like many Jewish holidays, Shavuot has multiple meanings. It is first mentioned in the ancient biblical text as a harvest festival. After the destruction of the ancient Temple made the bringing of agriculture offerings impossible, the early rabbis linked the festival to the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. The days from Passover until Shavuot are counted down to parallel the Israelites' journey out of slavery and into the wilderness to receive the Torah.

What happened at Mount Sinai? We will never know. But we don't need to know in order to benefit from the deep teachings our tradition has developed around this holiday.
Shavuot is known as "Z'man matan Torateinu," the time of the giving of our Torah. For us, it can be a time to renew our connection to Torah, to Jewish learning and spiritual development. The Torah is given to us, but it is up to us to receive it.

As with a marriage, it is helpful to periodically revisit the original terms of the contract. Shavuot provides us with the opportunity to reflect on our relationship with our tradition, and with the divine as we understand it. It has evolved in modern times into a celebration of our children's learning, but it would be a shame to lose sight of its deeper meaning.

It is ironic, in fact, that many modern congregations have linked Shavuot with the end of the school year. In doing so, we are unwittingly conveying the message that Jewish learning is something that ends with a "graduation" of some sort. This is the furthest thing from the truth!

The deep message of Shavuot is that revelation - the Sinai experience - is ongoing. We don't believe that Torah was given at one moment in historic time, end of story. Rather, we believe that Torah is being given in every moment. It is for us to receive it, fresh and relevant, throughout our own lives.

What does this mean practically? For a start, think about the core of the Torah, the ten commandments. Relevant in your life? Why or why not? (If you can't list all ten, that's a message right there!)

Another source for reflection: The Book of Ruth, which is traditionally read on Shavuot. What's the connection? First, the story takes place during the spring harvest season. And second, it is the story of a woman who chooses to link her destiny with that of the Jewish people. (It's also a great love story.)

It happens that every year, the weekly Torah reading prior to Shavuot is the opening chapters of the book of Numbers. The Hebrew name for this biblical book is Bamidbar/in the wilderness. The question is asked, why is Bamidbar linked with Shavuot? Here is one answer among many:

This linking provides a hint that in order to prepare ourselves to receive the Torah - literally, the "instruction" - we need to become like the wilderness. We need to strip down to our essential nature, drop the defensive Ego, know that we know nothing. Standing in humility before the Mystery of life, we can open to hearing Torateinu - our Torah, the instruction that is meant for us in this moment.

And in receiving our instructions, the Torah that we need to be receiving right now, we once again renew our "wedding vows." Now this is a message worth conveying to our children.

It's all about balance

2010-04-19T17:42:00.001-04:00

The Torah is full of sibling stories. Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and his brothers and sister, just to name a few. Plenty of tension and jealousy, and occasionally reconciliation and respect and even love. Just like in real families.

Precisely at the half-way point in the Torah stands a powerful story of two brothers that is much less well known.

In our cycle of annual Torah readings, we are in the middle of the book of Leviticus, the central of the five books of Moses. The ultimate goal of the Levitical system has been achieved: The sacrificial system is up and running, and the glory of God's presence descends to dwell among the Israelite people.

However, in the process of making that happen there has been a human tragedy - two of Aaron's sons, Nadav and Avihu, bring "alien fire" into the holiest part of the sanctuary without being instructed to do so, and a fire blazes up and consumes them. At the moment of their death, Moses - brother of Aaron - makes a speech to the community, but the Torah says: "Aaron was silent."

That is usually considered the end of the story, but there's more. A little later - and here we come to the central point in the Torah in terms of word count! - Moses goes out to investigate how Aaron and his priestly family are fulfilling all the sacrificial obligations. Are they continuing to following all the rules?

Upon discovering that Aaron and his family have not done a certain sacrifice at the right time and place, Moses gets angry and chastises his brother. Imagine the scene: The family has just suffered an unbearable loss, and here comes Moses to point out that they did something wrong in the workplace.

Aaron responds (I am paraphrasing slightly here): "After what I have just been through, losing two of my sons, does God really want this particular rule followed right now?"

Moses hears his brothers pain, and understands, and this time it is Moses who is silent.

Why is this story positioned in the very center of Torah? Perhaps to teach us that there is a time for striving for perfection in life, AND there is a time for compassionate acceptance. In a relationship between mature siblings, there is the possibility of balance between the two.

Yes, you have high expectations of one another's behavior; AND sometimes you will need to set aside your expectations and simply be there for one another with an open heart.

By balancing these two values literally at its center, the Torah suggests that these are core principles - not only for siblings, but for all of us. At a pivotal central point, balance is possible.

Sharing the Bounty

2010-03-08T13:09:00.000-05:00

What does it mean to be generous? We find a subtle teaching about generosity hidden in an unlikely spot in the Torah.

Near the end of the biblical book of Exodus, there are a series of detailed instructions for the creation of the portable sanctuary - the mishkan - that the Israelites will carry with them in the wilderness. Many readers skim over this section because it looks like an artisan's technical manual rather than the dramatic stories we are accustomed to reading in the Torah thus far. But look more closely....

The very first instruction for the sanctuary: "God spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the children of Israel, that they may take me a gift; from every person whose heart moves them, you are to take my gift. And these are the gifts: gold, silver, copper, different color yarns, linen, goats hair, animal skins, wood, oil, incense.... And let them make me a holy sanctuary and I will dwell among them."

Two surprises in the language: First, notice that the original Hebrew text of the Torah doesn't say "Speak to the children of Israel, that they may BRING me a gift" - it says "Speak to the children of Israel, that they may TAKE me a gift." Why the odd language?

Here's one interpretation. This language reminds us that all these things already "belong" to God! The Israelites are taking to God that which is already God's. In other words, human ownership is ultimately illusory.

Our sages therefore suggest that what the people are really bringing is not the material goods themselves, but rather their hearts - their generosity, their willingness to work for a common cause.

The Torah wants us to get it that we are the vessels or conduits through which the bounty of the world gets shared. When we are generous, when we give something towards a common purpose, ideally it's not about us - the Ego - but it's actually about letting go of the Ego. The things we tend to think of as "ours" are ultimately just on loan to us.

Second surprise in the language: The Torah doesn't say that the goal of building the sanctuary is so that God will then dwell in the sanctuary, but it says "let them make me a holy sanctuary and I will dwell AMONG THEM." Why the odd language? God doesn't need a house to sit in! The point of having the holy sanctuary is not for God to be in the sanctuary, but rather for God to be among the people.

When we are generous in building community, we are connecting to other people and to something bigger than ourselves, and it is in this sense of connection that God's presence may be felt. In acting generously - acting as conduits - we benefit both in the "taking" and in the "bringing."

Mitzrayim

2010-03-04T21:40:00.000-05:00

In the Passover haggadah we read: “In every generation a person is obligated to see themselves as if they went out from Egypt.” In other words, we are instructed by the ancient rabbis to relate to the Exodus story as if it were our own personal story.

Now the biblical word used to refer to Egypt is mitzrayim, which can be translated as “narrow places.” So you could understand the haggadah’s instruction in this way: We are each obligated to consider our own lives as a journey out of the narrow places.

Every year, my preparation for Passover (besides house cleaning!) includes some pondering about what my own particular mitzrayim is right now. I invite you to experiment with this practice, too. Where are you feeling stuck? What experience(s) are feeling difficult and perhaps painful, but which you also sense are propelling you towards freedom?

It is no coincidence that Passover occurs in the spring. Spring is a time of birthing, of blossoming, of hope and new possibilities. There are many symbolic parallels between the biblical Exodus story and the experience of childbirth. Think about it.

May your Pesach experience this year be one of liberation from mitzrayim.

Uprooting Hatred and Cowardice

2010-03-02T16:51:00.000-05:00

Has anyone ever been mean to you?

This week we celebrate a special Shabbat called Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath of Remembering. On this Shabbat we are required to remember the biggest bully in the Torah.

In the lengthy list of instructions to the Israelite people towards the end of the Torah, it says: "Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt - how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in the rear. Therefore... you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!"

It's a strange, paradoxical instruction - blot out the memory of Amalek, AND do not forget. You would think that if you could blot out a memory, you would no longer need to (or want to) remember. But the Israelites are instructed to somehow do both, and every year we are invited to ponder what this might mean to us.

We are reminded about Amalek on this Shabbat before the holiday of Purim, because the wicked Haman in the Purim story is supposedly a distant descendant of Amalek. For some Jews, Amalek thus became symbolic of all haters of Jews throughout our history.

But it is important to go back to the text of the Torah and notice what it is in particular that is so despicable about Amalek: He and his army are not just nasty, they are cowardly. They come up from behind and attack the Israelites who are unarmed and helpless - the women and children and old people in the back. The Torah considers this behavior much worse than, for example, how the Egyptians treated the Israelites in all their years in slavery.

So we are commanded in the Torah to blot out the memory of Amalek, and to not forget. Here is a powerful, psychological interpretation of this puzzling instruction:

Rabbi Simcha Bunim, a 19th century Chasidic master, points out that in the Hebrew text of the Torah, the instruction to blot out the memory of Amalek is written in the singular, not the plural. Simcha Bunim says, it is thus not a command to the Israelites to destroy the Amalekites, but rather a command to each individual to search out and destroy the Amalek tendencies within themselves.

This makes sense of the paradoxical instruction to blot out the memory and also to not forget - because the inner work of uprooting hatred and cowardice from our own hearts is an on-going effort. We need to return to it over and over every year, for our whole lives.

There will always be real bullies, in our personal lives and in the world at large. We will always need to protect ourselves and those we love, AND, as Simcha Bunim teaches us, there is always spiritual work to be done to look inside ourselves - to blot out the tendencies within our own hearts and minds to be cowardly, mean, and cruel. This kind of inner work can - and does - change the world.

What's your purpose in life?

2010-01-20T13:25:00.000-05:00

I have recently been having an extended conversation with some of my friends, both in-person and via email, on the subject of having a purpose in life. As in all truly Jewish conversations, we are ending up with more questions than when we began!

I invite you to join the conversation, or start your own.

The initial question I raised went something like this: Do you think you could articulate your purpose in life? Do you think there is any benefit in trying to articulate your purpose in life? Do you even believe that there is such a thing as having a purpose in life? In what way(s) is it different from your goals in life?

So ask your family members, ask your friends. It’s a good stuck-in-the-house-in-the-winter sort of conversation starter. (I first thought of it the day of the big snow storm in December!) Because there is no one “right” answer, and certainly no one right Jewish answer, it’s great for people of all ages and interests. And like all good Jewish questions, it will hopefully lead you to want to read what other people in other times and places have written on the subject.

Blessings to everyone for a month in which the warmth of human connection is stronger than the cold of winter.

Joseph & Mrs. Potifar: A Lesson in Equanimity

2009-12-19T19:17:00.001-05:00

When I was a teenager I was chronically dissatisfied. I spent most of my after-school hours at my best friend's house, wishing that I had her family (including her dog). I longed for adventure and romance, but pretty much experienced neither. (Or so it seemed to me.)

I couldn't wait to grow up and have a life that was other than what it was.

These days, although I am older and hopefully wiser, I am still aware of that inner voice which is quick to judge the present moment, longing for it to be other than what it is.

In the biblical tale of Joseph which we are currently reading in the annual Torah cycle, Potifar's wife is the embodiment of dissatisfaction. Joseph has been sold by his brothers into slavery, and comes to work in the home of Potifar, a wealthy Egyptian. Potifar's wife is smitten by this handsome young man, and attempts to seduce him. When Joseph rejects her repeated advances and finally flees from her, she howls in outrage and seeks revenge.

Thankfully, there is an alternative to being chronically dissatisfied - an alternative embodied in the character of Joseph himself. Although it is easy to read the Joseph story and conclude that in his youth he was a spoiled brat, here we catch a glimpse of another side to his personality.

Listen to how Joseph is portrayed in this episode: His father calls for him to go off in search of his brothers who hate him, and Joseph says simply "Here I am." His brothers throw him into a pit, and Joseph says - nothing. His brothers haul him out of the pit and sell him into slavery, and Joseph says - nothing. He goes to work in Potifar's home, and when Mrs. Potifar harasses him Joseph speaks only of his loyalty to Potifar and to God. When Potifar has him thrown into a dungeon for allegedly attacking Mrs. Potifar, Joseph says - nothing.

It is not until the conclusion of the episode that we hear Joseph mention his situation at all, and even then it is a very simple statement of fact. Joseph seems to accept with equanimity everything that happens to him. Things that seem to be fortune, Joseph (and the narrator) attribute to God rather than to Joseph's own actions. Things that seem to be misfortune, Joseph accepts without comment or describes matter-of-factly.

We hear no anguished, angry cry of "Why Me?" Neither do we see Joseph lapse into fatalism. Instead, Joseph thinks creatively of ways to change his situation for the better while still accepting that in this moment, this is his God-given life.

This story of Joseph's young adulthood offers us a model for responding to life's stresses. We can hear that inner voice which is constantly dissatisfied with the present moment, and we can choose not to give it the last word on reality. We can choose to believe, as Joseph ultimately does, that everything that happens to us can be seen in retrospect to have been part of a larger picture - leading us to be who we are in this moment.

Oy Chanukah

2009-12-06T22:26:00.000-05:00

Chanukah is a funny holiday. The more you investigate it, the stranger it gets. Most of us know the basic story that we learned as children, about brave Judah and the Maccabees versus the evil Greek empire. But it turns out that there are several tellings of the story; and the more you investigate, the less clear it is who were the “good guys” and who were the “bad guys.” Add to that the historical fact that the Maccabee (Hasmonean) dynasty became corrupt within about a century of their victory, and were political opponents of the early rabbis, and the story gets even stranger!

In the United States, the proximity of Chanukah to Christmas eventually led to an emphasis on the giving of gifts on Chanukah. It has also led to the perception among Christians (and many Jews) that Chanukah is a major Jewish holiday – which it never was, likely because the rabbis who created what we know of as Judaism had reason to be wary of those corrupt Hasmoneans and what they stood for.

Meanwhile, we instinctively know what the ancients of all faiths also knew – that when it is cold and dark, it is good to gather together, light candles, eat food, sing songs, and acknowledge the blessings of freedom. May your experience of this year’s Festival of Lights be a joyous one.

What is a Face?

2009-11-20T14:11:00.001-05:00

I love faces. Wherever I am, I love looking at people's faces. It's one of my favorite things to do.

Abraham Joshua Heschel writes: "A face is a message, a face speaks, often unbeknown to the person. Is not the human face a living mixture of mystery and meaning? We are all able to see it, and are all unable to describe it. Is it not a strange marvel that among so many hundreds of millions of faces, no two faces are alike? And that no face remains quite the same for more than one instant?"

In the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, it is written: "And God said, let us make a human in our image and our likeness." Have you ever wondered what the ancient Israelites meant by that? Did they really believe that we physically resemble God, or that God physically resembles us? Or were they trying to say something else?

I believe that this mythic story was worded purposefully, in order to point towards the wondrousness of our essential nature and the inherent worth of every individual. Whether or not our understanding of God matches God's portrayal in the bible, we Jews tell this creation story in order to express a fundamental value - the preciousness of each and every human being. This value was radical and counter-cultural then, and still is today.

Some people believe that it is our soul or "spirit" that is in the image and likeness of God. According to this common view - which has its roots in the ancient Gnostic duality between the "material" realm and the "spiritual" realm - the physical body is a sort of necessary evil, a vessel to be endured and ultimately transcended by the pure soul.

Nowadays we wouldn't necessarily say that the body is evil - we are more likely to say something lovely like "the body is the temple of the soul." But we are still expressing this ancient dualism! How many of us, especially as we get older, experience the body as Other?

A quick experiment: Close your eyes, and ask yourself "Where am I?" Where do you locate your Self? Very often, we locate our selves behind our faces somewhere, or perhaps in our heart area. But there is still a largely unconscious assumption that "we" are something other than our bodies.

Another perspective, found in the Jewish tradition, is that body and soul are inseparable, and that what is in the "image and likeness of God" is the one unified human body/soul. Not a divine soul trapped temporarily inside a gross body, but rather one unified being.

In the end, you can choose to understand "the image and likeness of God" in different ways, but the underlying message is that every person is precious. Jewish tradition teaches that our physical appearance - in particular, our wondrous faces - can be a reminder, a wake-up call, to the truth of our inherent worth.

Rather than responding as we are conditioned to do - with either attraction or aversion, instantaneously judging ourselves and others as being "good" looking or "bad" looking - we can cultivate an awareness of how precious everyone is - one face at a time.

And maybe then we would be more likely to act towards ourselves and towards one another with kindness and compassion.

Thanks-giving

2009-11-03T22:55:00.001-05:00

We are currently in the month of Cheshvan, which is also called in Hebrew “mar (bitter) Cheshvan.” Although no one knows why for sure, some say that this name refers to the fact that Cheshvan is the only Jewish month with no holidays. (Although from a rabbi’s point of view, after the holiday-packed month that precedes it Cheshvan can feel like a welcome relief!)
But of course in America this month, we do have a holiday. When I was younger my mother used to remind me that our rabbi (who immigrated to this country as a child from Germany) always praised the American holiday of Thanksgiving. I agree with him – Thanksgiving is a very Jewish holiday (not just because it was modeled after Sukkot!), and a wonderful time to express our gratitude for this great country and its values.
It is also a fine time to express our gratitude for all that is good in our lives. As I know I have mentioned before, the Jewish practice of saying 100 brachot/blessings each day points us toward the value of expressing gratitude. I hope you will join with me in taking on this practice. Happy thanks-giving!

In honor of Jacob's 20th birthday

2009-10-23T13:25:00.000-04:00

When my son Jacob was a very little boy, I shared with him a practice for helping us ease our way out of agitating, seemingly insolvable dilemmas. The practice was to sit very quietly, with our eyes closed, and simply breathe, and wait, and trust that an idea would "bubble up." It always worked. For me, it still does.

In Genesis chapter two, we read that God ceased on the seventh day after all the work of creation. The verb is often translated as "rested," but the plain sense of the root sh-v-t is to cease. This is the root from which we get the name sabbath, or Shabbat in Hebrew.

A few verses later, in the account of the creation of humans, the Torah tells us that God formed the human from the dust of the earth. God blew into its nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a nefesh chayah - a living being. The root n-f-sh in biblical Hebrew signifies a person, but could also be translated as soul.

These two root words - sh-v-t/to cease, and n-f-sh/soul - come together in a passage in Exodus which we sing every Friday evening: "The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time. It shall be a sign for all time between me and the people of Israel. For in six days God made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day shavat va-yinafash - God ceased and was refreshed."

The essence of Shabbat is not about resting in the sense of getting more sleep (although that helps!). Shabbat is meant to be a weekly experience of ceasing from our striving to be productive and in control of the natural world. In other words, to cease from playing God.

On Shabbat we are called upon to let go of that striving - to cease - and in the quiet space that opens up when we cease striving, our soul is refreshed. The Hebrew word for refreshed can actually be translated "re-souled." Just as God in the biblical story ceased and was re-souled, so too are we re-souled every time we put down the heavy work of acting like we're in control of the universe.

When I read these verses, I remember those moments with Jacob when we would cease trying to fix what couldn't be fixed. The ceasing in and of itself was refreshing, and inevitably led to some bubbling up of creative thoughts and ideas.

Shabbat comes once a week; it also comes in those moments - any moments - when we close our eyes, and breathe, and wait, and trust.

Do we have control, or don't we?

2009-09-12T22:31:00.000-04:00

Life is messy and fundamentally out of our control. Over and over, we learn the lesson - I certainly do, pretty much on a daily basis - that efforts to control situations and other people are largely efforts in futility. The mind continually generates images of how things ought to turn out, and life continually turns out differently. Other people (and nature) stubbornly do what they feel is best, rather than what we are certain that they ought to do.

How much energy do we expend each day - physical and emotional energy - on attempting to have life turn out the way we think it ought to - only to receive the humbling lesson that Life had other plans for us? The words of our prayerbook on the High Holidays, and on Shabbat as well, point to this truth - there is a bigger picture within which we live, which is beyond our control.

And the liberating message is: that's okay - it doesn't have to be a problem. We can loosen our grip a little.

Now paradoxically - and the rabbinic tradition is wonderfully paradoxical - it is also a fundamental teaching in Judaism that in every moment we have freedom of choice! So saying that life is messy and out of our control is not a license to throw up our hands and be fatalistic and passive.

Do we have control or don't we? Yes, and yes. (A classic Jewish answer!) Our ancient sages expressed the paradox this way: "Everything is foreseen, and freedom of choice is given."

There is a ripple effect out into the world of every choice we make. From the atomic level to the cosmic level, our lives are interconnected in ways that we cannot even begin to fathom.

And there is the possibility at every moment to "choose life" - to choose to do something that will have a positive impact on the world. Although of course, paradoxically, we never know what that impact will be, and it isn't really in our control. Here again, it becomes a matter of faith - stepping out into the unknown again and again.

Life is messy and fundamentally out of our control, and yet we are called upon to keep trying to act rightly. Our actions (including our misguided efforts to be controlling) have consequences beyond what we can foresee. And, in the midst of our misguided efforts to control what cannot be controlled, love and joy are possible.

May each of us be blessed in the coming year with love and joy, and a willingness to loosen our grip a little and choose life.

The Possibility of Transformation

2009-08-29T22:41:00.000-04:00

Sometimes we meet someone, or learn something, and in the process we are changed. We are not the same person as we were before this encounter. The trajectory of our life has shifted - sometimes subtly, sometimes profoundly.

When someone or something opens our eyes to a reality that has been there all along, thereby providing us with the opportunity to act in response to a human need, some say this is God acting in the world. Whatever our understanding of God might be, we are transformed by such encounters.

Rosh Hashannah is about transformation. It is not just about saying "I'm sorry" and promising to do better (although that's an important start). It's about believing in the possibility of being re-created. The prayer book reminds us, today is the birthday of the world! We are each of us being re-born. We have the potential to change in ways we cannot even imagine. We have the potential to encounter someone or something that blows our mind, that cracks our heart open with wonder or outrage, that makes us a different person than we were before.

In one of the Torah readings traditionally read on Rosh Hashanah, the story is told of Hagar and Ishmael being sent off into the wilderness by Sara and Avraham. Just when Hagar is certain that Ishmael will die, she has an encounter that changes everything. An angel speaks to her, telling her not to be afraid, and to lift up Ishmael and hold him by the hand. And then God opens Hagar's eyes and she sees a well of water.

God does not create a supernatural miracle to save the day - God opens Hagar's eyes to see a well that was there all along. At that point, Hagar is able to take action - she goes and fills the skin with water and gives the water to Ishmael. Human action, responding to human need.

Whether our eyes are opened by an encounter is, paradoxically, something we can develop through practice. As Louis Pasteur is quoted to have said, "Chance favors the prepared mind." We can increase the likelihood of having such encounters if we practice opening our eyes. For me, it is often as simple as scanning the "new books" section of the public library, or listening to younger people talk about a topic I know nothing about.

What might there be, right there in front of you, that you could open your eyes to with a bit of wonder? What will you learn this coming year that might transform you?

One of my teachers used to say, "the world is in desperate need of repair and healing." Our response to that desperate need begins with opening our eyes. It also begins with opening our ears.

Right before God opens Hagar's eyes, the angel says to Hagar: "Fear not, for God has heard the cry of the youth where he is." Rabbinic commentators puzzle over this seemingly redundant phrase, "where he is." It could easily have said simply, "God has heard the cry of the youth." What does it mean that "God has heard the cry of the youth where he is"?

Here is one possibility: Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their story with empathy, not with moralistic judgment. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their pain with compassion, not with criticism. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means opening our minds and hearts to a reality other than our own, without needing to assert that our reality is morally superior.

Listening to someone where they are requires a willingness to enter the unknown, and we don't know how we may be affected.

May we all open our eyes to encounters with the unknown in the coming year, thus increasing the likelihood that we will hear the cries of others where they are, and be moved to respond.

Spiritual Housecleaning

2009-08-16T16:14:00.001-04:00

In a way, the Jewish High Holidays are about spiritual housecleaning.

Think about it. Much of the focus of the liturgy as well as the many commentaries written to accompany us during the holiday season are about taking stock of who we are and how we behave, and doing an honest self-appraisal of what we need to throw away.

The "tashlich" ceremony of throwing crumbs or pebbles into the water on Rosh Hashanah is a perfect example.

As far as anyone knows tashlich was not instituted by rabbis. Tashlich was something that ordinary people developed hundreds of years ago as a very physical way of showing our intention to throw away those aspects of our behavior and our personality that are no longer serving us well.

Whether you use the term "sin" or not, the concept is the same as it has been for hundreds if not thousands of years.

So we could say that the High Holidays are about spiritual housecleaning. What we experience on the material plane, we can experience on the spiritual plane as well. Just as we can let go of material possessions that are no longer meaningful or valuable to us, so too we can let go of old beliefs and opinions that keep us from seeing reality, that keep us from seeing ourselves and the people around us as we really are.

And of course it's also about letting go of behaviors - behaviors that have become habits, that may no longer be serving our highest visions of who we are and what we are here to do. This letting go necessarily involves a stepping out into the unknown - which means ultimately it's about trust.

In the traditional study of Hebrew scripture, we pay careful attention to the use of language. There is an unusual expression which appears only twice in the entire Torah - both times in the book of Genesis. The expression is "lech lecha," which is usually translated as an emphatic "GO!" - but can also mean "go towards yourself."

The first use of the expression is in our mythic tale of the birth of monotheism, when God says to Abraham: Lech lecha - go out and leave the land of your father and go to a place that I will show you. The only other use of the expression lech lecha in the whole Torah is in one of the readings chanted on Rosh Hashanah, in which once again Abraham is called by God to go out somewhere to a place that God will show him, to a place that he does not yet know.

In both cases the experience is one of being called to MOVE - to move out into the world without knowing one's destination. To do this requires trust. Trust that there is value and ultimate meaning in our striving to evolve spiritually. And trust that this moving outward is simultaneously a movement closer to who we really are.

May the approaching New Year provide us all with renewed energy to hear the call of lech lecha - to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep moving closer to being who we are really meant to be.

Missing the Mark

2009-07-30T23:27:00.000-04:00

This past year I unearthed a large stack of old letters from my best friend.

She and I have been friends since we were about twelve years old! These letters date back to when we were teenagers in high school and college, in the 1970s.

Re-reading these letters has been a remarkable experience. Not only is it a relief to find that the various exploits which once brought us so much angst no longer hold any emotional juice - but even more gratifying is the joy I experience, feeling the depth of my friend's love for me. All these decades later that voice of love comes through in these letters loud and clear.

There is one letter in particular which moved me to tears. Apparently responding to something I had complained of in my previous letter, my friend wrote an intense apology and pledge to change her behavior - because, she said, she valued my friendship so highly.

Teshuvah - which literally means returning, or turning back - involves the honest admission that we've done something regrettable. We feel moved to apologize for the hurt we may have caused, and express our sincere intention to behave differently in the future. There is an ancient midrash, a teaching of the early rabbis from the first century of the common era, which tells us that teshuvah was one of the seven things that were created before the creation of the world.

What the rabbis were trying to say, I think, is that the process of teshuvah is woven into the essence of reality. We cannot help but make mistakes - and we are hardwired, if you will, to learn from those mistakes and to try again and again and again. This is, among other things, what it means to be human.

The challenge, as I see it, is to do this endless self-correction with compassion. To say that teshuvah has existed from before the beginning, is to say that the process of teshuvah is natural and unavoidable and doesn't have to be a problem. The suffering we experience when we berate ourselves for our lack of perfection - that suffering is self-inflicted and unnecessary. This is what Buddhist teachers mean when they say "suffering is optional."

Hebrew scholars have pointed out that the ancient Hebrew word that we translate as "sin" - chet - actually comes from a term in archery for "missing the mark." The pain of missing the mark is real - when we make mistakes, we sometimes hurt others and ourselves. In doing teshuvah, the challenge is to have compassion both for others and for ourselves, and to remember that in any given moment we are doing the best we can. How could it be otherwise? And at the same time, paradoxically, the possibility for change is always present.

The High Holidays are approaching. It's not too early to start thinking about how we've missed the mark this past year.

God is in the Obstacles

2009-07-23T23:59:00.001-04:00

The people stood at a distance, and Moses approached the thick cloud where God was. - Exodus 20:18

Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav's spin on the Torah verse (my translation): "When you have been going through your whole life in the material world, and you get inspired and want to be on God's path - God's judgmental side puts obstacles in your way. But God's loving side hides in the obstacles! If you are knowing, you will look into the obstacle and find God within it. But if you are not knowing, you will simply see an obstacle and will immediately turn around and go back.... And this is how to understand the Torah verse: The people saw only the thick darkness of the cloud, and turned away; but Moses knew to seek God within the thick darkness."

Okay, so name one thing in your life that you are experiencing as an obstacle, or that you are witnessing is an obstacle for someone you know.

What might it mean for you that God is within the obstacle?

The Only Blessing We Need?

2009-06-30T21:29:00.000-04:00

When I did my chaplaincy training years ago, one of the most striking differences I encountered between myself and my Christian colleagues was the ease and frequency with which they uttered "spontaneous" prayers and blessings.

My sense is that as more rabbis go through chaplaincy training, this skill is gaining in popularity. In my own work, I have found that there are situations where it is both appropriate and powerful.

Still, I continue to ponder the relative merits of spontaneous versus established blessings.

In the biblical Book of Numbers, set in the wilderness, we encounter instructions for the Israelite priests on what to say when blessing the people. The words of this brief blessing, considered by scholars to be extremely ancient, are beloved in both Jewish and Christian contexts to this day:

May God bless you and guard you.
May God shine God's face upon you and be gracious to you.
May God lift up God's face toward you and grant you peace.

Rabbinic commentators teach that this "priestly blessing" must be recited slowly and carefully, whole-heartedly and with intention. It is also necessary that the people being blessed actually hear the words.

Barech/bless has three basic meanings in Torah: 1) fruitfulness, material abundance; 2) to greet, welcome, acknowledge; and 3) bestowed privilege from a father (in which one offspring receives more). Most commentaries assume that the first line of the priestly blessing can be understood to mean something like: "May God bless you with abundance (of possessions, family, etc.), and guard you from the challenges that having those possessions will create in your life (theft, envy, greed, pride, etc.)."

The next two verses of the blessing refer to God's face. A "shining" or "illuminated" face suggests smiling, even laughing, or beaming. The sense of the expression is clearly a positive one. Here we see the second meaning of barech - the sense of God acknowledging you, smiling at you - thus responding to the deep (I would say the deepest) human need to be known.

As distinct from prayer, only in blessing are two people explicitly in relation to one another. To speak in modern terms, one could say that this blessing "works" interpersonally, regardless of the individuals' perceptions of God's role in the interaction. From this perspective, it may be the whole-heartedness and intention that are the essence of the encounter.

So yes, there is a place in our lives for spontaneous blessings. Yet sometimes I wonder if it is presumptuous of me to imagine that I can do better than a blessing with 3000 years of staying power and accumulated layers of meaning and emotional resonance.

The Consequences of Envy

2009-06-10T21:54:00.000-04:00

When I was about eight or nine years old, I wrote a letter to the President of the United States. My older brother was not keeping his fish tank clean, I told the president, and I was distraught at the possibility that the fish might die.

My mother apparently intercepted that letter before it reached the mailbox. I don't remember any other details of the incident, but I do have a pretty good sense of how I felt... because it is a familiar feeling even decades later.

What was I feeling? Outrage, righteous indignation - and a sense of unfairness - because he got the fish tank when I was the one who wanted it (and was, of course, the one more worthy of having it). My concern for the fish may have been genuine, but I imagine that my distress was primarily due to my sibling envy and sense of unfairness.

The Torah is full of expressions of envy, particularly (although not always) between siblings. In the book of Genesis alone, there are many famous examples: Cain and Abel, Sarah and Hagar, Jacob and Esau. This week's Torah reading comes from the book of Numbers, much later in the Torah, and here the sibling situation is more mature and complex.

The scene is in the wilderness, after the Exodus from Egypt. Moses is busy dealing with some serious kvetching from the people, when his sister Miriam and brother Aaron suddenly do a bit of their own kvetching. Here is what the Torah tells us (in Numbers 12): "Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses because of the Cushite woman he had married, saying 'He married a Cushite woman!' And they said, "Has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has he not spoken through us as well?' And the Lord heard it."

Can you picture the situation? Here is Moses getting all the attention as the miracle-working leader of an entire nation. His siblings, perhaps only whispering to one another, say "What makes him so great? He's hardly Mr. Perfect. For God's sake, look at his marriage! It's not fair that he gets all the glory."

God responds, calling Miriam and Aaron out and angrily reminding them who's Boss. Miriam is then stricken with a skin disease, and is shut out of the camp for seven days. (Why just Miriam and not Aaron? Story for another day....)

The traditional way of understanding this story in the Torah is to say that Miriam is punished for gossiping about Moses. I prefer to read Torah differently. To me, a story like this is about consequences. Do this, and this happens. When we get righteously indignant about someone else having what we want... we suffer. We're the ones who get a headache, or a stomach ache, or whatever. And if in our indignation we speak negatively of that person to someone else, then we really suffer - creating distance between ourselves and other people, symbolized by the way Miriam ends up outside the camp for seven days.

So that's what happens when we act on an internal sense of unfairness or wanting. And what happens when we are the object of someone else's feeling of unfairness? That's the other teaching in this story. Going back to the passage I quoted, listen to the very next line: "Now Moses was a very humble man, more so than any other man on earth."

The Torah goes on to tell us that God responds to Miriam and Aaron with anger - but Moses in his humility doesn't respond at all! The God portrayed in the Torah often seems to have what nowadays we would call an "anger management issue," but Moses - at least in this situation - does not. What does Moses do? At first nothing; but then he does something very striking - he prays for Miriam's healing. A beautiful prayer - the shortest prayer recorded in the Torah - "God, please, heal her please." He's not gloating, he's not arrogantly saying "you see, God is on my side." He's simply expressing his compassionate wish for Miriam's well-being in that moment.

In those inevitable moments in our own lives when feelings of envy and dissatisfaction arise, may we choose to respond to those feelings with compassion - both for ourselves and for others.

Stepping into the Unknown

2009-06-03T13:07:00.001-04:00

One summer evening, my friend Leah and her daughter took me and Alan and Jacob away from the bustling, tourist-filled streets of Bar Harbor Village to the end of a side street. It was low tide, and a sand bar leading to a nearby island had emerged. It was dark, about 9:00pm, and a fog hung over the water. With only the faint glow from distant lights, we set out to cross the sand bar.

No one spoke. We were all concentrating on feeling our way forward in the dark. The salty air was so moist that our hair was wet.

As I took one step at a time, unable to see my feet, I had an "aha" moment. Here was a window into the mythic experience of the Israelites crossing the Sea of Reeds out of slavery! The water is "parted" - temporarily - and passage across the sand bar is possible. But for how long? And how far is it, and how long will it take us? Who can see where we're headed? How do we move forward when we can't even see two steps in front of us? How to trust that this will be for the good?

Stepping into the unknown is scary. It is easier to stay in the world we know, even if we are enslaved by it.

Our ancient ancestors bequeathed to us a story of faith and trust in the midst of oppressive fear. How does an Exodus happen? One step at a time.

May this summer bring you the opportunity to take at least a few steps out into the unknown - and may you be transformed by the experience and come back to tell us all the story!

May 2009 - Every Person Counts

2009-06-03T12:57:00.001-04:00

How many times have we heard the expression, or said it ourselves: "I don't just want to be a number"?

Jews traditionally have a complex attitude regarding the notion of counting people. In fact, we have a very ancient tradition of avoiding counting people directly. With roots tracing back to the Bible itself (and likely earlier), counting people directly has been considered taboo.

When counting was necessary, as for a military census, it was supposed to be done indirectly - for example by having all the eligible men contribute a half-shekel coin and then counting the coins instead of the men.

When we need to know if there are ten Jews present to make a minyan, a quorum for public prayer, it is traditionally forbidden to simply count - rather we are taught to count indirectly by reciting a biblical verse (such as from Psalms) containing exactly ten words.

Is all of this merely superstition?

In this week's Torah reading from the beginning of the Book of Numbers, the Israelites are in the wilderness and God instructs Moses to take a head count: "Take a census of the whole Israelite community by the clans of its ancestral houses, listing the names, every male, head by head..."

The medieval rabbinic commentator Rashi tells us that God's desire to count the Israelites was an expression of love. The people were dear to God, not only as a nation but also as individuals.

But wait - We're taught that counting people is forbidden. So how could this counting be an expression of God's love?

Perhaps the answer lies in the detail that Moses is instructed to list the names of each person, not merely to count them. Each person is more than just a number.

Every person is of value, no matter how large the group. We are each of us more than just a number. Every person counts.

So our traditional avoidance of counting people may not be about superstitiously avoiding the "evil eye" - instead, we could say that it is about being aware of and honoring the preciousness of each and every human being.

May we all be awake to the uniqueness and value of each person who we encounter in our lives.

May 2009 - Creating Holy Space

2009-06-03T12:55:00.000-04:00

The ancient impulse to hold back chaos is something we can relate to. The world feels very chaotic and frightening sometimes (perhaps often). Disasters strike. Innocent people suffer. It could happen to us - it does happen to us. So it becomes a very real question - How do we create space in our physical world that will provide some spiritual structure for holding back chaos?

In the ancient realm of the book of Genesis, holy space is found - it is encountered. For example, when Jacob dreams of a stairway/ladder with angelic messengers ascending and descending, he wakes up and expresses awe at having happened upon a holy place.

By contrast, in the equally valid worldview of the book of Leviticus, holy space is created. You want God's presence in your life? In the life of your community? It's up to you to create the space, to set up boundaries to hold back the chaos of the world.

So what is this book of Leviticus? If you think of the Torah - the Five Books of Moses - as a story with a plot, then the book of Leviticus is a big problem.

Right in the middle of the yearly cycle of weekly Torah readings (where we are right now), we suddenly stop the story - for many weeks - to recite the details of the sacrificial system of the ancient Israelites. Except for chapter 19 - a stunning list of profound ethical instructions sometimes known as the "Holiness code" - the rest of Leviticus can feel like a huge, dense roadblock in the otherwise grand sweep of the Torah's narrative.

To the kohanim, the ancient Israelite priestly class, the temple's sacrificial system was literally the center of the universe, so it makes sense that they would place Leviticus as the jewel in the center of the Torah.

But does that mean anything to us? Can we find some meaning, some relevance, in the book of Leviticus?

My teacher Rabbi Nehemia Polen taught me to understand Leviticus as analogous to an engineer's technical manual for an airplane. If you get lost in the manual, you forget that the purpose of the airplane is to take you to Hawaii!

In other words, there is a delicious goal - and the words in the manual are just the technical instructions for getting the machine to work in order to get you to your goal.

So what is the goal of the Leviticus "machine"? Creating holy space in the midst of chaos in order to experience God's presence.

Ah, now that is something we can relate to.

May 2009 - Generosity

2009-06-03T12:54:00.001-04:00

Remember when I wrote back in September about re-learning how to swim? Well, I'm still at it! Turns out that there are several distinct pieces of the process that I am having to unlearn and re-learn - and that takes time. I haven't yet gotten to the point of being ready to put all the pieces together. So in addition to practicing breathing, stroking, kicking, etc, I find that I am practicing patience.

Turns out that change at Temple Israel is kind of like that, too. We are moving forward in a variety of ways, and putting all the pieces together is going to take patience.

Along the way, I would like to urge everyone to practice not only patience but also generosity. There are many ways to practice generosity, right? - giving of your time, energy, patience, creativity, attention, talent, and yes - your money, too. The more you give of yourself, the better you feel and the deeper the connections you create in the community. Remember what Mother Teresa said: "In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love."

Here is one way that we can develop a culture of generosity among ourselves and our wider circle of family and friends: We now have a DONATE button on the temple website, through which donations of any amount can be made easily with a credit card or PayPal account. I encourage you to remember - and point other people towards - that button whenever there is a simchah/joyous occasion. Birthdays, going from a tricycle to a bicycle, good report cards, b'nai mitzvahs, graduations, new jobs, anniversaries, other milestones - these are all times when people's hearts move them to share the joy, and a tax-deductible donation to the temple is a time-honored way to do that. Let's get everyone in the habit - it's a common practice in many, many congregations, and yet another way to do small things with great love.

April 2009 - Thinking Outside-of-the-Box About Religious Education

2009-06-03T12:51:00.001-04:00

Religious education is a puzzle and a challenge. Jewish religious education is perhaps even more of a puzzle and a challenge, because Judaism is a culture overlapping with a religion. How are cultural and religious values best transmitted from one generation to the next?

Rivers of ink have been spilled about the merits and pitfalls of various types of Jewish education, and about the "watering-down" of Jewish knowledge with each generation, etc; I can't begin to address all of that here. I just want to speak from the heart:

We need to have the courage to leave behind the post-WWII model of religious education that no longer serves our purposes today. In fact, it hasn't served our purposes for several decades! - but somehow we keep re-creating it, perhaps simply because it feels familiar.

But the lesson of the past several decades is clear: Sending the children off to religious school and hoping in some vague way that someone else will "make them Jewish" - when Jewish activity in the home is minimal or non-existent - just doesn't work. Critics have dubbed this old model "pediatric Judaism" - and its weaknesses are manifold. Yet somehow the ghost of this approach is still alive several generations later.

We care about our children and want them to be engaged in Jewish education. So how do children in the 21st century learn to love Judaism (when parents may not feel like they know enough to spark that love)? How do children learn to feel good about their identity as Jews (when parents might feel conflicted)? There is one finding from researchers over the past several decades which I find incredibly inspiring: Our children develop positive identities as Jews to the extent that they witness their parents and other adults exploring and enjoying Judaism themselves.

Notice that I said "exploring and enjoying" - that's not the same thing as "knowing a lot." You can transmit a love of Judaism to your children by modeling that it is something to be explored and enjoyed for a lifetime, even if you yourself don't know much about it. (You may even be the non-Jewish parent!)

This simple yet profound finding provides the underlying principle for the Community Learning program we are creating at Temple Israel in Easton. "Community" means everyone -- parents and non-parents, Jews and non-Jews, children and teens. Community Learning sessions are theme-based, with some themes extending over more than one week. We talk, we sing, we do artwork, acting, etc. It's about being engaged - together - in an exploration of the richness of Judaism.

Life-long learning is a fundamental Jewish value. Make it happen in your life, and watch the influence it will have on the children.

April 2009 - A Passover Teaching on Humility

2009-06-03T12:49:00.001-04:00

In the Torah scroll, there are a handful of scribal oddities - letters that are too big or too small, or upside down or backwards, or with dots over them - and for whatever reason they were originally written that way, the tradition demands that those oddities be preserved. As a result, a rich tradition of interpretation has developed to find meaning in these oddities, because it is believed that every aspect of the Torah is precious and has something to teach us.

One of those scribal oddities appears at the beginning of the book of Leviticus. The first word of the first chapter of the book of Leviticus is va-yikra. The first verse says: Va-yikra el Moshe/God called to Moses. In the word va-yikra, the final letter - the letter aleph - is smaller than the rest of the letters. So what meaning could there be in one tiny letter?

There is a Hasidic teaching that this tiny aleph is a symbolic hint of the humility of Moses, who is traditionally said to have been the most humble man in history.

With that teaching in mind, we can hear the verse this way: When God called to Moses - the tiny aleph, that makes no sound of its own - there was no Ego in Moses standing in the way of God's message. God called and spoke and the message went right through Moses to the people.

There's another mystical interpretation that I love. For this one, you need to know two things: First, according to the kabbalists, creation happened when God contracted God's self to make room for the material world, and in the process God-stuff (for lack of a better term) got sprinkled everywhere and is flickering within and animating everything.

And second, you need to know that the Hebrew word aleph has the same root as the word aluf, which means Lord and chief, as well as intimate companion. So - in this interpretation, the tiny aleph represents the tiny spark of God the intimate companion within every person. Now we hear the verse in another way: God called to Moses from the tiny aleph God-spark within Moses, or even better: the God-spark within Moses called to him from within himself.

Two creative teachings based on one little letter, both pointing us toward a sense of humility - towards seeing through the Ego which imagines that it is running the show of our lives.

Before the holiday of Passover we make a point of cleaning out all leavened foods from our home. There is a tradition of understanding this process as a sweeping out of whatever thoughts and ideas are puffing us up with pride and arrogance.

May we use these days of Passover - and Easter as well - to take a look inside at what might be puffing us up a bit too much, and to sweep it out - to make space for that tiny aleph, that tiny God-spark that is calling each of us into a direct encounter with the Reality of our lives.

March 2009 - Purim

2009-06-03T12:46:00.000-04:00

How often do we reveal our "alter-ego" publicly? Jewish tradition provides a safe space for doing precisely that once a year - on Purim, the topsy-turvy holiday in which nothing is quite what it appears to be, when silliness and irreverence are commanded, and our usual attempts at being "proper" and "mature" are turned on their heads. [Speaking of which: The Dean of my rabbinical school has a custom of doing headstands daily, in public, during the weeks leading up to Purim!] So don't be fooled into thinking that Purim is a holiday for children - it is much more than merely an opportunity for kids to dress in costumes and make noise in the sanctuary. (And by the way, if you read the text carefully, you'll discover that the Book of Esther is definitely R-rated.)

The holiday of Purim is about hiding and revealing, on many levels. For example:
* Esther hides her Jewish identity from the king until she chooses to reveal it in order to save herself and her people.
* Our sages teach that God is hiding in the Purim story. (Did you know that there is no mention of God in the entire megillah?!) The very name Esther in Hebrew can be read as "I will be hidden," which the ancient rabbis saw as a hint of God's presence "behind the scenes."
* We dress in costumes and masks that both hide our identity and at times reveal some hidden aspect of ourselves.

It is said that "when the month of Adar arrives, joy increases." This is primarily because of the celebration of Purim, which occurs on the 14th of Adar; but there are other reasons to be joyous this month - please invite a friend and plan to join us for the various celebrations happening in the coming weeks.

February 2009 - Inspired by Obama

2009-06-03T12:43:00.000-04:00

Mother Teresa once said, "In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love." I believe that implicit in her message is that together, combining our "small things" over time, we can indeed do great things. I believe that this is the message of Yes we can.

In his inauguration speech, President Obama said: "What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition on the part of every American that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world; duties that we do not grudgingly accept, but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character than giving our all to a difficult task."

I am inspired by our new president in a way I have not been inspired by a political leader in my adult life - inspired to renew my intention to do "small things with great love," and to see those small things as part of a greater whole.

I am also inspired to take seriously this notion of responsibility at the local level, and use it to transform and grow this congregation. With all that needs fixing in this broken world, I believe that we have a real opportunity to create something unique and powerful right here. Why? Because this congregation can be a focal point for doing small things with great love. Because more than ever we need one another. Because more than ever in this society there is a need for meaningful connection and spiritual support. And because Jews have an obligation to keep learning and growing their whole lives, in community.

Obama is right-on when he says "there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character than giving our all to a difficult task." There is much work to be done to transform this congregation, and I have faith that we are up to the task, and that the task will transform us in the process in ways that we cannot imagine. Yes we can. Kein y'hi ratson, so may it be.

December 2008 - Brachot

2009-06-03T12:37:00.000-04:00

There is a traditional Jewish practice of saying 100 brachot/blessings each day. Not long ago, two teams of students on Sunday morning came up with lists of things in their lives for which they would say a bracha/blessing. Between the two teams they came up with a long list. I would like to share a sampling from this list with everyone, because it is good to be reminded often of all the blessings in our lives: Waking up, brushing teeth, getting dressed, school, shelter, food, life, physical ability, brain, birds, hearing, talking, feeling, beauty, our heritage, democracy, freedom, stuffed animals, companions, technology, clothes, health, cars, plants, friends, parents, Shabbat, money, guidance from God, Torah, tools, doctors and dentists, hospitals, Jewish holidays, warmth, family, education, love, teachers, peace, trust, weather, the Jewish people, comfort, Israel, beautiful things, ugly things, water, toys, books, nature, pets, the Earth. Truly we all have much to be grateful for every day.

December 2008 - The Paradox of Winter

2009-06-03T12:36:00.000-04:00

This is the time of year when I begin to think that hibernating animals have the right idea! We plan so many events in winter here in New England, only to have them canceled at the last minute due to weather. Perhaps it would be wiser to admit that we have no control, loosen up on the planning, and slow our pace down.

That said, it is also true that one thing that we humans can do that hibernating animals probably cannot do is imagine a different reality. Our Jewish tradition is all about living within that paradox: on the one hand, accepting reality however it presents itself in each moment; and on the other hand, imagining a better world and working to bring it into being. Of course, there is a third option, manifested by our fortunate Snow Birds - denying reality and temporarily moving to Florida!

And then there is a fourth option, which I would encourage for our community: gathering together as often as possible to share in the warmth of fellowship. Wherever you are this month, may you be blessed with love and friendship. And I hope to see many of you at our Beach Party Shabbat on January 9th at 7:00pm - weather permitting! - when we will gather to celebrate the paradox of acceptance and imagination.

September 2008 - Learning to Swim

2009-06-03T12:26:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about swimming lately. Not because of the Olympics, but because a friend of mine is teaching me to swim all over again from the beginning! She is trained in Total Immersion swimming, which is light-years from the swim instruction I suffered through as a child.

You may be surprised to hear that our ancient sages thought about swimming, too. The Talmud - an amazing repository of teachings, stories, and folk wisdom - tells us: The rabbis used to say that it is every parent's obligation to teach their children Torah, a trade, and some say how to swim too.

I am curious what you think of this list. Of all the possible things in life that could have been included, how is it that these three things are the ones mentioned?

Here is what I think: By saying "Torah," the ancient rabbis meant that if you learn how to access the wisdom of Torah, you will be able to handle whatever comes your way in life. (I believe this.) Then the rabbis said "a trade" to emphasize their down-to-earth, practical perspective as well. There are numerous teachings in our tradition about the importance of earning a livelihood. (I believe this too.)

And then there is swimming. At the peshat (basic) level, the sages were probably advocating physical preparedness for life's dangers. But here is what I have learned so far from my friend: Swimming can be about relaxing, breathing deeply, keeping your eyes open, being mindful, trusting, and letting go.

As we enter this holiday season of introspection, learning to swim could be a useful metaphor for the spiritual work we need to do. May we all learn to float a bit more gracefully through life in the coming year. Blessings to you all for a joyful New Year. L'Shanah tovah.