Ahz mah (So what)

Sometimes I like to hang out with trees. It’s apparently a trendy “thing” now, to hang out with trees. But many of us have been doing it for our whole lives without knowing it’s a “thing.” I like to hang out with trees because it feels good, and because sometimes it helps me to listen with more than just my ears. Once, years ago, while I sat quietly in a forest in Central Massachusetts, a thought came to me so clearly it was as if I heard it said out loud: Love everyone, yourself included. That is work enough for a lifetime. At the time, I think I most needed to hear the “yourself included” part. Lately, though, I find that the “love everyone” message is more compelling. For several years now, as I do my annual reflection in preparation for the high holidays, I have found myself circling back in one way or another to the question: What can one person do? So much is happening in the world that threatens our values and in some cases our lives and the lives of those we care abou

Permit me to rant for a few minutes. I so rarely do.  One of the most hypocritical, destructive lies ever perpetuated in human history is the lie that Christianity is the religion of love, in contrast to Judaism which is supposedly a religion of dry “legalism.” From the fourth century, when Roman emperor Constantine converted to Christianity and turned it into a lethal weapon -- from then until the present day, the Christian Empire has wrought horrific destruction and suffering throughout the world. That this arrogant, power-driven empire has had the chutzpah to claim love as its banner would be laughable if it weren’t so frightening. We Jews have known only too well what it means to be in the path of the destructive force of the Christian Empire, a power structure which at its core, by definition, is anti-Jewish. Christianity has masqueraded as the religion of love, while systematically seeking power and control over non-Christians worldwide. Why am I ranting about this n

I remember a bedtime ritual I tried to adopt when our son Jacob was very young. It was a short-lived bedtime ritual. I would list all the people who loved him, in ever widening circles -- Mommy loves you, and Daddy loves you, and Grandma and Grandpa love you, and your friends love you… -- on and on, everyone I could think of… and then, when he seemed just about to drift off to sleep, I would whisper -- “and God loves you.” It was a short-lived bedtime ritual because I felt a vague uneasiness that if Jacob had opened his eyes and asked me, I wouldn’t honestly have been able say what I meant by “God loves you.” So I stopped saying it. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always avoided the whole “God loves you” thing. It always sounded so... Christian. No one ever mentioned it in my Hebrew School. Certainly it was not something my parents ever whispered to me as I fell asleep. It was just not a part of my experience, and I know I am not the only Jewish post-World War II ba

Once a month, I visit a group of elders at a nursing home. We sing some Shabbat songs (whether they’re Jewish or not, they all love it), catch up with one another, and then I usually raise a question for discussion. This summer, I asked them the question I was asking myself: What is love? Before I tell you their answers, let me ask you. Think for a moment, and fill in the blank: What is love? Love is… Here is what my elder friends at Wingate told me: Love is… ...putting up with a lot ...caring ...helping ...allowing each other to be your own person ...when everything you do is for the other person ...accepting everything. There is much wisdom in these few words. And notice that their answers are remarkably devoid of any notions of “romantic” love. The challenge underlying all my holiday sermons this year is to “Love More.” Hard to argue with that, right? Who doesn’t want to love more? But we don’t even necessarily agree about what love is. Part of the difficu