An Israeli Platform for Peace: A Foundation for Unity
Shalom Hartman Institute - Jewish Scholarship, Education, Leadership for Israel, Diaspora
My teacher, Rabbi Donniel Hartman offers here a platform for peace. He argues that Israelis are so divided that they need to agree on basic principles, rather than trivial policies. He writes:
My teacher, Rabbi Donniel Hartman offers here a platform for peace. He argues that Israelis are so divided that they need to agree on basic principles, rather than trivial policies. He writes:
He suggests a number of principles that would form the basis of a peace platform. Among his ten principles are the following:Independent of what the Palestinians want or will accept we cannot afford to perpetuate the current void of conversation with regards to the key elements which must serve as the foundation of Israel's peace platform. Such a platform will never be the subject of a total consensus. It can, however, unite the vast majority of Israelis and create both the political backing for serious peace negotiations, as well as foundations for unity in the midst of vociferous political debate.
2. The Jewishness of the State of Israel will be determined by the identity of the majority of its population, the quality of its policies, and the nature of its public culture, and not by the quantity of land that it holds.
5. Occupation of another nation is an evil which must be brought to an end in accordance with our legitimate security needs and concerns. Until this occurs, avoiding any non-security-motivated actions which perpetuate the occupation and fulfilling the highest standards of moral sensitivity and commitment to basic human rights must be our goal.
6. The State of Israel is the homeland of the Jewish people, and all final status arrangements must bring to an end Palestinians' aspirations to express their national identity within the borders of the State of Israel.
9. Israel is a democracy and must live up to its highest standards. No Arab citizen of Israel can be stripped of his Israeli identity unilaterally, and every effort must be made to minimize the hardship and maximize the support for any Jewish citizen negatively affected by the outcome of territorial compromise.The articles and debates about for example the settlement freeze are not the core issues. They obscure the pressing issues and the more difficult discussions that are required.
Simhat Torah Message
As we near the conclusion of our Fall holidays I have been reflecting on the meaning of these days. Yom Kippur still lingers in my thoughts. But after enjoying meals in my sukkah and looking forward to dancing with the Torah scrolls, Yom Kippur appears to stand in stark contrast to these other days and for that matter, all Jewish holidays.
Do you remember the 7 Up commercials? “It’s 7 Up. It’s the Uncola.”
I have been thinking about these commercials as I reflect on the meaning of Yom Kippur. In truth, it is the un-Jewish Jewish holiday. Think about it. There is no food. There is no kiddush blessing over the wine. You can’t drink. You can’t eat. You beat yourself on the chest. Granted, honest self-reflection is a good thing. It does indeed make us better, but only if we do the hard work of correcting our failings. Nonetheless the day seems so un-Jewish.
Perhaps some might think it blasphemous for a rabbi to say such things about the Sabbath of Sabbaths and the holiest day of our Jewish year, but such are my feelings as we approach our rejoicing with the Torah. Simhat Torah is the quintessential Jewish holiday. It is pure unadulterated joy. It is about a book. It is about rejoicing. Dancing and singing, reading and studying these are the highest Jewish virtues, not fasting and lamenting. In our tradition joy is obligated. Our tradition chooses kiddush over kaddish.
All feel the obligation to mourn and recite kaddish. Few understand and appreciate that it is an equal obligation to dance and rejoice. The great code of Jewish law, the Shulchan Arukh, asks the following question. Given that a person is obligated to both comfort mourners and dance with the bride and groom, what happens if he is standing on a street corner and a funeral procession and wedding procession pass by at the same time? Which procession does he follow?
The answer: the wedding procession. In our tradition joy supersedes mourning. This philosophical statement is made even more powerful when you take into account the fact that this idea was discussed and codified during dark times when Jews were still grappling with the destruction of Jerusalem’s Temple and too often experiencing persecution. The rabbis decided: we celebrate at every opportunity, even and perhaps especially because we also know that mourning comes too easily and too frequently.
This is why the observance of shiva ends when it draws near a holiday. Even if one has not reached the allotted seven days, shiva ends, even if one has only observed one day, shiva ends. The joy of a holiday supersedes mourning. Communal joy takes precedence over personal grief. Rejoicing overrides mourning.
That in a nutshell is Judaism. And that is why Simhat Torah is, in my estimation, the holiday of holidays. What a remarkable day this holiday is. What a wonderful privilege to sing and dance with a book in hand.
Simhat Torah. It’s the real thing! (Sorry I couldn’t resist.) Chag Samayach!
Do you remember the 7 Up commercials? “It’s 7 Up. It’s the Uncola.”
I have been thinking about these commercials as I reflect on the meaning of Yom Kippur. In truth, it is the un-Jewish Jewish holiday. Think about it. There is no food. There is no kiddush blessing over the wine. You can’t drink. You can’t eat. You beat yourself on the chest. Granted, honest self-reflection is a good thing. It does indeed make us better, but only if we do the hard work of correcting our failings. Nonetheless the day seems so un-Jewish.
Perhaps some might think it blasphemous for a rabbi to say such things about the Sabbath of Sabbaths and the holiest day of our Jewish year, but such are my feelings as we approach our rejoicing with the Torah. Simhat Torah is the quintessential Jewish holiday. It is pure unadulterated joy. It is about a book. It is about rejoicing. Dancing and singing, reading and studying these are the highest Jewish virtues, not fasting and lamenting. In our tradition joy is obligated. Our tradition chooses kiddush over kaddish.
All feel the obligation to mourn and recite kaddish. Few understand and appreciate that it is an equal obligation to dance and rejoice. The great code of Jewish law, the Shulchan Arukh, asks the following question. Given that a person is obligated to both comfort mourners and dance with the bride and groom, what happens if he is standing on a street corner and a funeral procession and wedding procession pass by at the same time? Which procession does he follow?
The answer: the wedding procession. In our tradition joy supersedes mourning. This philosophical statement is made even more powerful when you take into account the fact that this idea was discussed and codified during dark times when Jews were still grappling with the destruction of Jerusalem’s Temple and too often experiencing persecution. The rabbis decided: we celebrate at every opportunity, even and perhaps especially because we also know that mourning comes too easily and too frequently.
This is why the observance of shiva ends when it draws near a holiday. Even if one has not reached the allotted seven days, shiva ends, even if one has only observed one day, shiva ends. The joy of a holiday supersedes mourning. Communal joy takes precedence over personal grief. Rejoicing overrides mourning.
That in a nutshell is Judaism. And that is why Simhat Torah is, in my estimation, the holiday of holidays. What a remarkable day this holiday is. What a wonderful privilege to sing and dance with a book in hand.
Simhat Torah. It’s the real thing! (Sorry I couldn’t resist.) Chag Samayach!
Bereshit
Bereshit
The following is my submission for Mekor Chaim: Bereshit and was published by the Jewish Federations of North America Rabbinic Cabinet.
I am not sure if rabbis are supposed to have favorite rituals. We are, I am told, supposed to promote all. Nonetheless mine is havdalah. It is beautiful in its simplicity. It touches all the senses. There is the taste of sweet wine, the smell of fragrant spices and the light of the braided candle.
It is also because of its meaning, encapsulated in its closing blessing, that I adore this ritual. “Blessed are You Adonai our God who separates sacred from ordinary, light from darkness…” Its meaning echoes this week’s creation story. “God separated the light from the darkness…” In Genesis 1 God not only creates by word, “And God said, ‘Let there be…’” but also by separating, by the act of havdalah.
By making distinctions we imitate God and create. It is by this act that we create Shabbat holiness. Some argue that Shabbat exists whether we recognize it or not. I believe however that it is in our hands to create this day and mark it as holy. While other holidays are dependent on the seasons and the moon, the seventh day is dependent on our counting. We number the days: first day, second, third… and then name the seventh, Shabbat.
What differentiates humans from animals is our ability to draw these distinctions and to each and every day make havdalah. This act of havdalah is the defining characteristic of humanity. This is mine. That is yours. This is my home. That is your house. This is my land. That is your state.
Havdalah exists in the moral realm as well. It is in our hands to distinguish between right and wrong, good and evil, friend and foe. This of course is the monumental task of living our lives and much more challenging than carving out a seventh day of rest. Each and every day we are confronted with difficult moral choices.
Often we cannot run to parents, friends and even rabbis. We must decide ourselves. We must choose. Will we cut legal corners in our businesses so that we might increase profit during these trying economic times? Will we speak hurtful words so soon after renouncing them on Yom Kippur? Will we shut our hands to the poor and hungry when there are so many in this great land who stand in need?
Yet we are not entirely alone in making our choices. We are aided by our tradition. We are guided by our Torah. Its wisdom helps us to differentiate right from wrong, good and evil. We must not be afraid from drawing such distinctions. We must adhere to the law even when we find it flawed, reducing our income. We must do our utmost to avoid even listening to gossip. We must not favor our vacations and retirements over the needs of the hungry who stand before our eyes.
It is by separating right from wrong that we imitate God. It is by doing so that we carve out the path of the righteous. This is our daily task.
As we smell the spices, reach out towards the flame and taste the wine let us recall that making havdalah each and every day is what makes us human and what allows us to live in the image of God.
The following is my submission for Mekor Chaim: Bereshit and was published by the Jewish Federations of North America Rabbinic Cabinet.
I am not sure if rabbis are supposed to have favorite rituals. We are, I am told, supposed to promote all. Nonetheless mine is havdalah. It is beautiful in its simplicity. It touches all the senses. There is the taste of sweet wine, the smell of fragrant spices and the light of the braided candle.
It is also because of its meaning, encapsulated in its closing blessing, that I adore this ritual. “Blessed are You Adonai our God who separates sacred from ordinary, light from darkness…” Its meaning echoes this week’s creation story. “God separated the light from the darkness…” In Genesis 1 God not only creates by word, “And God said, ‘Let there be…’” but also by separating, by the act of havdalah.
By making distinctions we imitate God and create. It is by this act that we create Shabbat holiness. Some argue that Shabbat exists whether we recognize it or not. I believe however that it is in our hands to create this day and mark it as holy. While other holidays are dependent on the seasons and the moon, the seventh day is dependent on our counting. We number the days: first day, second, third… and then name the seventh, Shabbat.
What differentiates humans from animals is our ability to draw these distinctions and to each and every day make havdalah. This act of havdalah is the defining characteristic of humanity. This is mine. That is yours. This is my home. That is your house. This is my land. That is your state.
Havdalah exists in the moral realm as well. It is in our hands to distinguish between right and wrong, good and evil, friend and foe. This of course is the monumental task of living our lives and much more challenging than carving out a seventh day of rest. Each and every day we are confronted with difficult moral choices.
Often we cannot run to parents, friends and even rabbis. We must decide ourselves. We must choose. Will we cut legal corners in our businesses so that we might increase profit during these trying economic times? Will we speak hurtful words so soon after renouncing them on Yom Kippur? Will we shut our hands to the poor and hungry when there are so many in this great land who stand in need?
Yet we are not entirely alone in making our choices. We are aided by our tradition. We are guided by our Torah. Its wisdom helps us to differentiate right from wrong, good and evil. We must not be afraid from drawing such distinctions. We must adhere to the law even when we find it flawed, reducing our income. We must do our utmost to avoid even listening to gossip. We must not favor our vacations and retirements over the needs of the hungry who stand before our eyes.
It is by separating right from wrong that we imitate God. It is by doing so that we carve out the path of the righteous. This is our daily task.
As we smell the spices, reach out towards the flame and taste the wine let us recall that making havdalah each and every day is what makes us human and what allows us to live in the image of God.
Sukkot Message
After the loftiness of the High Holidays we return to the earthliness of Sukkot. The origins of Sukkot are rooted in both land and history. In ancient times the Jewish people were farmers. In order to facilitate the gathering of the fall harvest they built huts in their fields where they lived for the week long harvest. According to the Torah the historical significance of this holiday is that the Israelites lived in these booths during their wandering in the wilderness of Sinai.
Given that we are not farmers, we of course emphasize the historical meaning of this holiday. Just as Passover celebrates going free from Egypt and Shavuot the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, Sukkot represents the wandering from slavery to sovereignty. Wandering is the core meaning of this holiday. Searching for our home is symbolized in this temporary structure.
In order to capture this quality the tradition dictated exacting requirements for the roof. You must for example be able to see the stars through its lattice work. If the roof keeps out all wind and rain then it is no longer a temporary structure but permanent. In essence, if it is too good of a roof then it is no longer a sukkah but a house.
Years ago I built my sukkah with a student who was homeless. He was studying with me in the 92nd Street Y’s introduction to Judaism class. I invited the group to come to my apartment to help build the sukkah. He was the only person who accepted the invitation. At the time we lived in an apartment in Great Neck. Rather than calling me so that I could pick him up at Flushing where the 7 train reached its limit, he walked to my apartment from the subway station. When I told him that I would give him money to take the LIRR for his return to the city, he refused and insisted on walking back to the shelter where he stayed.
Together on my apartment’s balcony we constructed my sukkah. As we lifted the boards and hammered together the sukkah, I remember thinking to myself: “I am constructing this sukkah to remind me how fortunate I am. For me this sukkah is temporary. Its roof is flimsy. Its walls are permeable. It is less than my house. It is a reminder that life should not revolve around material possessions. For my student however it is far more than his house. It is not less than he owns, but more.”
It was in that moment that I realized the true spiritual meaning of this Sukkot holiday. We might live in beautiful and comfortable homes filled with many wonderful things, but meaning can be found in a few boards and a flimsy roof. We can always fill our lives with more spirit. All are homeless. All are wandering.
I will think of this moment and its lessons as I look up at the large harvest moon through the lattice of my sukkah’s roof. All are forever searching for home.
Given that we are not farmers, we of course emphasize the historical meaning of this holiday. Just as Passover celebrates going free from Egypt and Shavuot the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, Sukkot represents the wandering from slavery to sovereignty. Wandering is the core meaning of this holiday. Searching for our home is symbolized in this temporary structure.
In order to capture this quality the tradition dictated exacting requirements for the roof. You must for example be able to see the stars through its lattice work. If the roof keeps out all wind and rain then it is no longer a temporary structure but permanent. In essence, if it is too good of a roof then it is no longer a sukkah but a house.
Years ago I built my sukkah with a student who was homeless. He was studying with me in the 92nd Street Y’s introduction to Judaism class. I invited the group to come to my apartment to help build the sukkah. He was the only person who accepted the invitation. At the time we lived in an apartment in Great Neck. Rather than calling me so that I could pick him up at Flushing where the 7 train reached its limit, he walked to my apartment from the subway station. When I told him that I would give him money to take the LIRR for his return to the city, he refused and insisted on walking back to the shelter where he stayed.
Together on my apartment’s balcony we constructed my sukkah. As we lifted the boards and hammered together the sukkah, I remember thinking to myself: “I am constructing this sukkah to remind me how fortunate I am. For me this sukkah is temporary. Its roof is flimsy. Its walls are permeable. It is less than my house. It is a reminder that life should not revolve around material possessions. For my student however it is far more than his house. It is not less than he owns, but more.”
It was in that moment that I realized the true spiritual meaning of this Sukkot holiday. We might live in beautiful and comfortable homes filled with many wonderful things, but meaning can be found in a few boards and a flimsy roof. We can always fill our lives with more spirit. All are homeless. All are wandering.
I will think of this moment and its lessons as I look up at the large harvest moon through the lattice of my sukkah’s roof. All are forever searching for home.
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
The holiday of Sukkot begins tomorrow evening. I will build, or better put together, my prefabricated sukkah. No hammers or nails are required. I need only thumb tighten the screws, wrap a canvas tarp around the sides and then throw the bound bamboo skhach over the roof. My sukkah fits the requirements and fulfills the tradition's demands. This is why I found this New York Magazine article and exhibit so intriguing. The exhibit's sukkot are designed by contemporary architects and designers and not only conform to halakhic demands but also interpret the holiday in creative ways. My vote is for the below Sukkah of the Signs. This sukkah emphasizes the message of homelessness embedded in the holiday.
The holiday of Sukkot begins tomorrow evening. I will build, or better put together, my prefabricated sukkah. No hammers or nails are required. I need only thumb tighten the screws, wrap a canvas tarp around the sides and then throw the bound bamboo skhach over the roof. My sukkah fits the requirements and fulfills the tradition's demands. This is why I found this New York Magazine article and exhibit so intriguing. The exhibit's sukkot are designed by contemporary architects and designers and not only conform to halakhic demands but also interpret the holiday in creative ways. My vote is for the below Sukkah of the Signs. This sukkah emphasizes the message of homelessness embedded in the holiday.
The power of Sukkot is to remind us of the temporary quality of life. The requirements of the roofing, skhach, guarantee that the sukkah is of a temporary and impermanent quality. Our homes may feel permanent but in fact everything is temporary and can be blown away by nature's wind and rain. Constructing a sukkah with signs from the homeless and hungry transforms the entire sukkah into the message of the skhach. You must be able to see the sky through the skhach. In sum, if it is too good of a roof then it is not a sukkah. Living in a sukkah for a week produces feelings of gratitude. How fortunate is my lot to live in a home whose roof protects me from wind and rain. I am so blessed to be warmed in the winter and cooled in the summer. There are far too many who do not share this good fortune. That is one reason at least to eat and sleep in a sukkah.
Op-Ed Contributor - Yom Kippur at Sea - NYTimes.com
Op-Ed Contributor - Yom Kippur at Sea - NYTimes.com
This Op-Ed about a Jewish lobsterman brings back a wonderful memory. It was decades ago, before I kept kosher and before I refrained from eating lobster. Although many years have passed since I made this change, I still love the taste of lobster and so I continue to follow the midrash's advice: "Do not say I hate the taste of pork (read here: lobster). Say instead, 'I love the taste of it, but God's Torah forbids me from eating it.'" I had just completed an Outward Bound survival course off the coast of Maine. I promised my family and especially my grandfather that I would return home with fresh Maine lobster. We would then share the lobsters and have a grand feast upon my return. Many had worries about this trip and the wisdom of spending good money to be hungry and cold for weeks and be alone on a island for days. I packed one blank check for this important purpose. "Papa will be so happy when I return home with gigantic lobsters." I thought. Before catching my flight home I went to the local lobster store in Rockland to purchase the lobster. The store owner and lobsterman weighed the lobsters and packed the nearly twenty pounds tight in a cardboard travel case. After reassuring me several times that it was ok to travel on an airplane with live lobsters, he said, "$60." "Who do I make the check out to?" I asked. "I don't take checks," he responded. "Only cash." "But I don't have that much cash. I am sorry. I guess I can't buy them then. I was going to bring them back for my family and especially my grandpa." I turned to leave. "Let me see your check." he shouted after me. I gave him the check and he looked at it and then back at me and said, "Moskowitz that is a good Jewish name. Ok. I will take your check."
This Op-Ed about a Jewish lobsterman brings back a wonderful memory. It was decades ago, before I kept kosher and before I refrained from eating lobster. Although many years have passed since I made this change, I still love the taste of lobster and so I continue to follow the midrash's advice: "Do not say I hate the taste of pork (read here: lobster). Say instead, 'I love the taste of it, but God's Torah forbids me from eating it.'" I had just completed an Outward Bound survival course off the coast of Maine. I promised my family and especially my grandfather that I would return home with fresh Maine lobster. We would then share the lobsters and have a grand feast upon my return. Many had worries about this trip and the wisdom of spending good money to be hungry and cold for weeks and be alone on a island for days. I packed one blank check for this important purpose. "Papa will be so happy when I return home with gigantic lobsters." I thought. Before catching my flight home I went to the local lobster store in Rockland to purchase the lobster. The store owner and lobsterman weighed the lobsters and packed the nearly twenty pounds tight in a cardboard travel case. After reassuring me several times that it was ok to travel on an airplane with live lobsters, he said, "$60." "Who do I make the check out to?" I asked. "I don't take checks," he responded. "Only cash." "But I don't have that much cash. I am sorry. I guess I can't buy them then. I was going to bring them back for my family and especially my grandpa." I turned to leave. "Let me see your check." he shouted after me. I gave him the check and he looked at it and then back at me and said, "Moskowitz that is a good Jewish name. Ok. I will take your check."
The Jonah Song
Enjoy this song and video about the Jonah story read on Yom Kippur afternoon!
This would be great for our congregation's future children's choir.
This would be great for our congregation's future children's choir.
Yom Kippur Message
As we prepare for this day of fasting and introspection I would like to explore one of Yom Kippur’s central exercises: reciting the Viddui, the confession of sin.
There are two points to highlight about this ritual and its words.
1. The sins delineated are normal, everyday sins. The vast majority of those that make the list have to do with the misuse of words and in particular lashon hara, gossip. The suggestion is that everyone misuses, and at times abuses, words. We sometimes speak with angry tones to those we most love. Other times we recall an embarrassing story about others to elicit laughter. Everyone stands guilty of these sins. The larger point is that everyone makes mistakes. Everyone misses the mark.
We pray:
Our God, God of our mothers and fathers, grant that our prayers reach You. Do not be deaf to our pleas, for we are not so arrogant and still-necked as to say before You, our God and God of all ages, we are perfect and have not sinned; rather do we confess: we have gone astray, we have sinned, we have transgressed.
No one leads a perfect life. Everyone has failings to correct, relationships to mend. But it is in our hands to repair our lives. This is the power of Yom Kippur.
2. The Viddui’s greatest power is that we do not confess alone. We do not stand by ourselves and beat our chest. Instead we do so with our community. All of the sins are recited in the plural. Unlike David’s confession of his sin with the word, chatati—I have sinned, we say, "Al chet she-chatanu—For the sin we have sinned…”
There is extraordinary power in reciting these wrongs together. It gives us added courage. We believe that our congregation makes us better individuals, that the group calls us to do more, that community helps us to transform our personal lives.
We are pushed forward by our congregation. We are pulled forward by our God. This year as we recite these wrongs and confess our mistakes let us pray that God will grant us the wisdom and strength to repair our lives. Correcting our failings is ultimately in our hands! We believe nothing is fated. We can change.
G’mar chatimah tovah—may you indeed be inscribed for life.
There are two points to highlight about this ritual and its words.
1. The sins delineated are normal, everyday sins. The vast majority of those that make the list have to do with the misuse of words and in particular lashon hara, gossip. The suggestion is that everyone misuses, and at times abuses, words. We sometimes speak with angry tones to those we most love. Other times we recall an embarrassing story about others to elicit laughter. Everyone stands guilty of these sins. The larger point is that everyone makes mistakes. Everyone misses the mark.
We pray:
Our God, God of our mothers and fathers, grant that our prayers reach You. Do not be deaf to our pleas, for we are not so arrogant and still-necked as to say before You, our God and God of all ages, we are perfect and have not sinned; rather do we confess: we have gone astray, we have sinned, we have transgressed.
No one leads a perfect life. Everyone has failings to correct, relationships to mend. But it is in our hands to repair our lives. This is the power of Yom Kippur.
2. The Viddui’s greatest power is that we do not confess alone. We do not stand by ourselves and beat our chest. Instead we do so with our community. All of the sins are recited in the plural. Unlike David’s confession of his sin with the word, chatati—I have sinned, we say, "Al chet she-chatanu—For the sin we have sinned…”
There is extraordinary power in reciting these wrongs together. It gives us added courage. We believe that our congregation makes us better individuals, that the group calls us to do more, that community helps us to transform our personal lives.
We are pushed forward by our congregation. We are pulled forward by our God. This year as we recite these wrongs and confess our mistakes let us pray that God will grant us the wisdom and strength to repair our lives. Correcting our failings is ultimately in our hands! We believe nothing is fated. We can change.
G’mar chatimah tovah—may you indeed be inscribed for life.
Into the Jewish People - by James Ponet
Tablet Magazine - A New Read on Jewish Life
Rabbi James Ponet, the Yale Hillel rabbi who officiated at the wedding ceremony of Chelsea Clinton, describes his personal religious journey and explores why he now officiates at interfaith weddings. He concludes:
My problem with intermarriage, I now realize, is based on legitimate fears about the survival of our people, period. But what if our people is in fact evolving into new forms of identity and observance? What if we are indeed generating new models of Jewish commitment and engagement with the world? What if Rabbi Donniel Hartman is right when he observes in his book The Boundaries of Judaism that “when the intermarriage act is in fact only … an expression of one’s choice as to partner and not of one’s personal religious and collective identity, the classification of intolerability is not warranted” and that “modernity and the choices it has engendered have created complex realities which we must take into account in our boundary policies”?
I submit that it is time for Judaism to formulate a thoughtful, traditionally connected ceremony through which a Jew may enter into marriage with a non-Jew, a prescribed way or ways by which a rabbi may officiate or co-officiate at such a wedding. I believe we are the ever-evolving people and that there will always be among us those who are rigorously attached to ancient forms. I believe it is critical that there will also always be among us those who vigorously dream and search for new vessels into which to decant the sam chayyim, the living elixir of Torah. If we only look backward as we move into the future, we will surely stumble. We need scouts, envoys, chalutzim, pioneers to blaze new ways into the ancient-newness of Judaism.
Perhaps for example we might note that there may be stages of entrance into and levels of engagement with the Jewish people, which might find liturgical expression both in the wedding ceremony and at other lifecycle events going forward. After all, becoming a Jew, like becoming a person, takes a lifetime. And just as we want to be able to invite our ancestors to the weddings and brisses and bat mitvahs of the present generation, we want our grandchildren and great-grandchildren to feel drawn to the love and joy of being connected to the Jewish people. We want them to know that we have not forgotten that the Jewish people is “a covenant people, a light of nations.”
Lots to think about and ponder. I still marvel at the world I find myself in. It is a world that is nonplussed that the former president of the United States is hoisted in the air for the hora, albeit by the Secret Service. For now sermons to write.
Rabbi James Ponet, the Yale Hillel rabbi who officiated at the wedding ceremony of Chelsea Clinton, describes his personal religious journey and explores why he now officiates at interfaith weddings. He concludes:
My problem with intermarriage, I now realize, is based on legitimate fears about the survival of our people, period. But what if our people is in fact evolving into new forms of identity and observance? What if we are indeed generating new models of Jewish commitment and engagement with the world? What if Rabbi Donniel Hartman is right when he observes in his book The Boundaries of Judaism that “when the intermarriage act is in fact only … an expression of one’s choice as to partner and not of one’s personal religious and collective identity, the classification of intolerability is not warranted” and that “modernity and the choices it has engendered have created complex realities which we must take into account in our boundary policies”?
I submit that it is time for Judaism to formulate a thoughtful, traditionally connected ceremony through which a Jew may enter into marriage with a non-Jew, a prescribed way or ways by which a rabbi may officiate or co-officiate at such a wedding. I believe we are the ever-evolving people and that there will always be among us those who are rigorously attached to ancient forms. I believe it is critical that there will also always be among us those who vigorously dream and search for new vessels into which to decant the sam chayyim, the living elixir of Torah. If we only look backward as we move into the future, we will surely stumble. We need scouts, envoys, chalutzim, pioneers to blaze new ways into the ancient-newness of Judaism.
Perhaps for example we might note that there may be stages of entrance into and levels of engagement with the Jewish people, which might find liturgical expression both in the wedding ceremony and at other lifecycle events going forward. After all, becoming a Jew, like becoming a person, takes a lifetime. And just as we want to be able to invite our ancestors to the weddings and brisses and bat mitvahs of the present generation, we want our grandchildren and great-grandchildren to feel drawn to the love and joy of being connected to the Jewish people. We want them to know that we have not forgotten that the Jewish people is “a covenant people, a light of nations.”
Lots to think about and ponder. I still marvel at the world I find myself in. It is a world that is nonplussed that the former president of the United States is hoisted in the air for the hora, albeit by the Secret Service. For now sermons to write.
Shabbat from Texting
I like this ad.
At Rosh Hashanah services I noticed that the faces of a few congregants were glowing. At first I thought it was because they were transformed by the prayer experience. Praying together is indeed an inspiring experience! Then I realized that their faces were reflecting the glow of their Blackberries, or was it their iPhones. Our attachment to our mobile devices is all consuming. We would do well to heed the Offlining campaign and leave our mobile devices at home on these holiest of days. Check out Offlining.com for more information. Let us use these days to look into the faces of our family and friends instead!
Rosh Hashanah Message
A Hasidic story.
Reb Meir of Premishlan and Reb Yisreal of Ruzhin were the best of friends, yet no two people could be more different. Reb Meir lived in great poverty. He never allowed even a penny to spend the night in his house but would rush outside to give it to the poor. Reb Yisrael, on the other hand, lived like a king.
These two friends once met as each was preparing to take a journey. Reb Meir was sitting on a simple cart drawn by one scrawny horse. Reb Yisrael was housed on a rich lacquered coach pulled by four powerful stallions.
Reb Yisrael walked over to the horse hitched to Reb Meir’s wagon. With mock concern, he inspected the horse with great care. Then he turned to his friend and with barely concealed humor said to him, “I always travel with four strong horses. In this way, if my coach should become stuck in the mud they will be able to free it quickly. I can see, however, that your horse seems barely able to carry you and your wagon on a dry and hard-packed road. There is bound to be mud on your travels. Why do you take such risks?”
Reb Meir stepped down from his wagon and walked over to his friend, who was still standing next to Reb Meir’s horse. Placing his arms around his beloved old horse’s neck, Reb Meir said softly, “The risk, I think is yours. Because I travel with this one horse that in no way can free this wagon if it becomes stuck in the mud, I am very careful to avoid the mud in the first place. You, my friend, are certain you can get free if stuck and thus do not look where you are going.” (Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Hasidic Tales)
On Rosh Hashanah it does not really matter what car we drive or even what clothes we wear. It is instead about looking at the path we are traveling and determining where we are going. It is about finding again the right path. The High Holidays are all about rediscovering this road. And if we find that we are stuck in the mud, then may these days also be about finding our way out.
Reb Meir of Premishlan and Reb Yisreal of Ruzhin were the best of friends, yet no two people could be more different. Reb Meir lived in great poverty. He never allowed even a penny to spend the night in his house but would rush outside to give it to the poor. Reb Yisrael, on the other hand, lived like a king.
These two friends once met as each was preparing to take a journey. Reb Meir was sitting on a simple cart drawn by one scrawny horse. Reb Yisrael was housed on a rich lacquered coach pulled by four powerful stallions.
Reb Yisrael walked over to the horse hitched to Reb Meir’s wagon. With mock concern, he inspected the horse with great care. Then he turned to his friend and with barely concealed humor said to him, “I always travel with four strong horses. In this way, if my coach should become stuck in the mud they will be able to free it quickly. I can see, however, that your horse seems barely able to carry you and your wagon on a dry and hard-packed road. There is bound to be mud on your travels. Why do you take such risks?”
Reb Meir stepped down from his wagon and walked over to his friend, who was still standing next to Reb Meir’s horse. Placing his arms around his beloved old horse’s neck, Reb Meir said softly, “The risk, I think is yours. Because I travel with this one horse that in no way can free this wagon if it becomes stuck in the mud, I am very careful to avoid the mud in the first place. You, my friend, are certain you can get free if stuck and thus do not look where you are going.” (Rabbi Rami Shapiro, Hasidic Tales)
On Rosh Hashanah it does not really matter what car we drive or even what clothes we wear. It is instead about looking at the path we are traveling and determining where we are going. It is about finding again the right path. The High Holidays are all about rediscovering this road. And if we find that we are stuck in the mud, then may these days also be about finding our way out.
"Beasts of Burden"
I still remember the first day of school. The excitement. The pangs of nervousness. My children return to high school tomorrow morning.
Thanks to Peter De Seve of The New Yorker for reminding us what has changed in the interim.
Thanks to Peter De Seve of The New Yorker for reminding us what has changed in the interim.
Nitzavim-Vayelekh Sermon
…For parents the greatest worries are matters of life and death. For God’s Torah the greatest danger is idolatry. The idolatry of other nations was apparently very compelling. It stood in stark contrast to the religion of ancient Israel. Idolatry is about the concrete. You can hold the object of your worship in your hands. You can touch it. You can see it. Believing in one God is abstract. You cannot see God. You cannot touch God. In the Torah’s and the tradition’s eyes idols were everywhere and an everyday temptation.
This is why they counseled us to make friends with the righteous and wise. This is why we warn our children, “Watch out for those other kids.” Is this warning effective for our children? Do they listen to such words? Perhaps instead we should honestly discuss with our children (and ourselves) what are the temptations that must be avoided. Let us give them specific names. Let us name those things which have too much power over our hearts. What are today’s idols?
The most prevalent idol is not an object. It is instead anger. It is this emotion that we allow to have too much power over our hearts. Moses Maimonides suggested that anger is an idol because we let it rule our lives. An idol is anything to which we ascribe too much importance. This is anger. It is common to all. Everyone is taken in by anger. We bow down to it. We worship at the altar of indignation. We allow it to take over our souls. At times we are unable to even see those we love and those who love us because we are blinded by anger.
This idol of anger has become even more prevalent in our own day and age because instead of surrounding ourselves with the righteous and wise we surround ourselves with like-minded people. We only talk to those who agree with us. But the true measure of true friendship is telling someone when they are wrong. It is telling them when we disagree with them. Anger is fueled by agreeing friends. “Yes, you are so right. You were wronged.” are the refrains of the like-minded. Anger is instead overcome by loving disagreements.
Let us banish anger from our hearts. Let us smash the idols!
This is why they counseled us to make friends with the righteous and wise. This is why we warn our children, “Watch out for those other kids.” Is this warning effective for our children? Do they listen to such words? Perhaps instead we should honestly discuss with our children (and ourselves) what are the temptations that must be avoided. Let us give them specific names. Let us name those things which have too much power over our hearts. What are today’s idols?
The most prevalent idol is not an object. It is instead anger. It is this emotion that we allow to have too much power over our hearts. Moses Maimonides suggested that anger is an idol because we let it rule our lives. An idol is anything to which we ascribe too much importance. This is anger. It is common to all. Everyone is taken in by anger. We bow down to it. We worship at the altar of indignation. We allow it to take over our souls. At times we are unable to even see those we love and those who love us because we are blinded by anger.
This idol of anger has become even more prevalent in our own day and age because instead of surrounding ourselves with the righteous and wise we surround ourselves with like-minded people. We only talk to those who agree with us. But the true measure of true friendship is telling someone when they are wrong. It is telling them when we disagree with them. Anger is fueled by agreeing friends. “Yes, you are so right. You were wronged.” are the refrains of the like-minded. Anger is instead overcome by loving disagreements.
Let us banish anger from our hearts. Let us smash the idols!
If You Build It... | The New Republic
If You Build It... | The New Republic
Yossi Klein Halevi's article about the proposed Islamic Center near ground zero is well reasoned and insightful. He writes:
Yossi Klein Halevi's article about the proposed Islamic Center near ground zero is well reasoned and insightful. He writes:
I am urging you [Imam Rauf] to rise to your moment of spiritual greatness. You have dedicated your life to helping Islam enter the American mainstream. In its current form, though, your project will have the opposite effect. The way to ease Islam into the American mainstream is in the company of its fellow Abrahamic faiths. The great obstacle to Islam’s reconciliation with the West is the adherence of even mainstream Muslims to a kind of medieval notion of interfaith relations. Muslim spokesmen often note how, during the Middle Ages, Islam provided protection for Christianity and Judaism. But that model—tolerance under Islamic rule—is inadequate for our time. The new interfaith theology affirms the spiritual legitimacy of all three Abrahamic faiths. Whether or not we accept one another’s faiths as theologically true, we can affirm them as devotionally true, that is, as worthy vessels for a God-centered life.What will define a genuinely American Islam will be its ability to embrace this modern notion of interfaith relations. A 15-story Islamic center near Ground Zero will undermine that process. In the Muslim world, as you well know, architecture often buttresses triumphalist theology. Throughout the Holy Land, minarets deliberately tower over churches. However inadvertently, your current plan would be understood by large parts of the Muslim world as a victory over the West. Merely adding an interfaith component to the proposed Islamic center would not counter that distorted impression. Instead, it would likely reinforce the medieval theology of extending “protection” to Christianity and Judaism under the auspices of Islam. But an interfaith center in which the three Abrahamic faiths are given equal status would send the message that I believe you intend to convey.
American Muslims in particular and America in general will be best served by an interfaith center that reaches out to people of all faiths. An Islam that lives in harmony with other faiths is sorely needed. What an extraordinary example such an interfaith center would serve to the world's Muslims. I continue as well to object to the name "Cordoba House" that affirms an interfaith dialogue where one faith is held superior to other faiths. We do not live in an Islamic state which treats Jews and Christians with benevolence. We live instead in a country that is a amalgam of many different faiths. Let any new center built near ground zero represent this particular American vision.
Nitzavim-Vayelekh
Children often leave their homes accompanied by warnings from their parents. “Don’t drink and drive. Text me if your plans change. Beware of strangers. Don’t do drugs. Watch out for those other kids.”
This is God’s tone as well. The people are nearing the moment when they will cross into the land of Israel. God accompanies them to this door with warnings.
“Well you know that we dwelt in the land of Egypt and that we passed through the midst of various other nations; and you have seen the detestable things and the fetishes of wood and stone, silver and gold that they keep. Perchance there is among you some man or woman, or some clan or tribe, whose heart is even now turning away from the Lord our God to go and worship the gods of those nations—perchance there is among you a stock sprouting poison weed and wormwood. When such a person hears the words of these sanctions, he may fancy himself immune, thinking, ‘I shall be safe, though I follow my own willful heart…’” (Deuteronomy 29:15-19)
Beware of false gods. Beware of temptation. Watch out for those other guys.
The great medieval Jewish philosopher, Moses Maimonides, offers this observation: “It is natural to be influenced, in sentiments and conduct, by one’s neighbors and associates, and observe the customs of one’s fellow citizens. Hence, a person ought constantly to associate with the righteous and frequent the company of the wise…” (Mishneh Torah, Book One, Laws Relating to Ethical Conduct, 6:1)
For parents the greatest worries are matters of life and death. For God’s Torah the greatest danger is idolatry. The idolatry of other nations was apparently very compelling. It stood in stark contrast to the religion of ancient Israel. Idolatry is about the concrete. You can hold the object of your worship in your hands. You can touch it. You can see it. Believing in one God is abstract. You cannot see God. You cannot touch God. In the Torah’s and the tradition’s eyes idols were everywhere and an everyday temptation.
This is why they counseled us to make friends with the righteous and wise. This is why we warn our children, “Watch out for those other kids.” Is this warning effective for our children? Perhaps instead we should honestly discuss with our children (and ourselves) what are the temptations that must be avoided. Let us give them specific names. Let us name those things which have too much power over our hearts. What are today’s idols?
Tshuva as the Foundation for the Renewed Israeli-Palestinian Discourse
By Rabbi Donniel Hartman of the Shalom Hartman Institute
In a provocative and thoughtful column, my teacher, Rabbi Donniel Hartman, writes:
In a provocative and thoughtful column, my teacher, Rabbi Donniel Hartman, writes:
...The refocus of our High Holidays on the human responsibility to change is founded on a number of essential principles which are of great significance, especially this year. The first is the belief that change is possible. Our tradition is not naive about human beings. It knows that in general perfection is impossible and failure is endemic to the human condition. At the same time the deepest meaning of our belief in free choice is that no particular failure is inevitable, and at the same time that no particular failure is incapable of being overturned.
...A Jewish society is one where there is a constant openness to confront one's own failings and which is in regular search for paths of self improvement. To assume one's righteousness and concentrate one's efforts on pointing out the failures of others is again to ignore the principle of tshuva and its spirit on which our tradition is founded.
...Prime Minister Netanyahu, as you go to Washington, my bracha to you and through that to our people and to all people of our region, is that you go as a Jew. I pray that you allow the spirit of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur to define the attitude and spirit of the policies you represent. It is not about being right or about winning this or that political concession in order to sustain a coalition. It is about transforming our future. It is about bringing back the belief in the possibility of a new and better future for us all. It is about recognizing that attaining this future begins with giving an account of what we might have done to impede it and what we can do to help make it a reality. It is about recognizing that greatness is not achieved by attaining atonement but by earning one's destiny through the difficult and noble path of tshuva.I hope that our tshuva might bring peace. Let us indeed pray that Israeli and especially Palestinian leaders are brave enough to look within and change.
Ki Tavo
This week’s Torah portion begins with the rituals we are to perform when entering the land that God promises us.
After harvesting the first fruits of the season the farmer performs a special ceremony. He brings a basket of fruit to the priest who then places it on the altar. The farmer then recites the following ritual formula: “My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there… The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O Lord, have given me.” (Deuteronomy 26:5-10)
In this brief formulaic encapsulation of Jewish history, the Torah emphasizes our journey from wandering to landedness. God brought us from slavery to freedom and from the wilderness to the land of Israel.
It is interesting to note that when we are in the land, as this Torah portion records, we remember our other condition of wandering and when we are in the diaspora we long for the condition of nationhood.
At every Jewish wedding, for example, we sing, “O Lord our God, may there forever be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem the voices of joy and gladness, bride and groom, the jubilant voices of those joined in marriage under the huppah, the voices of young people feasting and singing.” At every Seder we conclude with the words, “Next year in Jerusalem!”
There are two competing paradigms in Jewish history: on the one hand, wandering and the diaspora, and on the other, landedness and Jewish sovereignty. Throughout most of Jewish history our center was a diaspora community, as best exemplified in ancient Babylonia or medieval Spain. There were other times when we enjoyed Jewish independence in Jerusalem, under for example, King David or the Maccabees.
We, however, live in a unique time when there is both a vibrant diaspora community and an equally vibrant, and powerful, Jewish state. Today we are blessed with both paradigms. Today it is not the diaspora or Jewish sovereignty, wandering or landedness. It is both. And so we lack historical parallels to emulate. How do we further our unique historical situation when we only know how to remember wandering or long for sovereignty?
How can we live in both the diaspora and the land of Israel? This is the question for our present age. How can we both affirm Jewish sovereignty in the State of Israel and assert the vibrancy of the Jewish diaspora?
And it is this question that hides beneath nearly every Jewish discussion, especially those about the modern State of Israel and its policies.
After harvesting the first fruits of the season the farmer performs a special ceremony. He brings a basket of fruit to the priest who then places it on the altar. The farmer then recites the following ritual formula: “My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there… The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Wherefore I now bring the first fruits of the soil which You, O Lord, have given me.” (Deuteronomy 26:5-10)
In this brief formulaic encapsulation of Jewish history, the Torah emphasizes our journey from wandering to landedness. God brought us from slavery to freedom and from the wilderness to the land of Israel.
It is interesting to note that when we are in the land, as this Torah portion records, we remember our other condition of wandering and when we are in the diaspora we long for the condition of nationhood.
At every Jewish wedding, for example, we sing, “O Lord our God, may there forever be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem the voices of joy and gladness, bride and groom, the jubilant voices of those joined in marriage under the huppah, the voices of young people feasting and singing.” At every Seder we conclude with the words, “Next year in Jerusalem!”
There are two competing paradigms in Jewish history: on the one hand, wandering and the diaspora, and on the other, landedness and Jewish sovereignty. Throughout most of Jewish history our center was a diaspora community, as best exemplified in ancient Babylonia or medieval Spain. There were other times when we enjoyed Jewish independence in Jerusalem, under for example, King David or the Maccabees.
We, however, live in a unique time when there is both a vibrant diaspora community and an equally vibrant, and powerful, Jewish state. Today we are blessed with both paradigms. Today it is not the diaspora or Jewish sovereignty, wandering or landedness. It is both. And so we lack historical parallels to emulate. How do we further our unique historical situation when we only know how to remember wandering or long for sovereignty?
How can we live in both the diaspora and the land of Israel? This is the question for our present age. How can we both affirm Jewish sovereignty in the State of Israel and assert the vibrancy of the Jewish diaspora?
And it is this question that hides beneath nearly every Jewish discussion, especially those about the modern State of Israel and its policies.
Ki Tetze Discussion
At Shabbat Services we discussed the following mitzvot found in this week's Torah portion.
If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. If your fellow does not live near your or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him. You shall do the same with his donkey; you shall do the same with his garment; and so too shall you do with anything your fellow loses and you find: you must not remain indifferent. (22:1-3)
If, along the road, you chance upon a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life. (22:6-7)
When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring bloodguilt on your house if anyone should fall from it. (22:8)
When you make a loan of any sort to your countrymen, you must not enter his house to seize his pledge. You must remain outside, while the man to whom you make the loan brings the pledge out to you. If he is a needy man, you shall not go to sleep on his pledge; you must return the pledge to him at sundown, that he may sleep in his cloth and bless you; and it will be to your merit before the Lord your God. (24:10-13)
You must not abuse a needy and destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger in one of the communities of your land. You must pay him his wages on the same day, before the sun sets, for he is needy and urgently depends on it; else he will cry to the Lord against you and you will incur guilt. (24:14-15)
When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. (24:19)
You shall not have in your pouch alternate weights, larger and smaller. You shall not have in your house alternate measures, larger and smaller. You must have completely honest weights and completely honest measures, if you are to endure long on the soil that the Lord your God is giving you. For everyone who does those things, everyone who deals dishonestly, is abhorrent to the Lord your God. (25:13-15)
If you see your fellow’s ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow. If your fellow does not live near your or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him. You shall do the same with his donkey; you shall do the same with his garment; and so too shall you do with anything your fellow loses and you find: you must not remain indifferent. (22:1-3)
If, along the road, you chance upon a bird’s nest, in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over the fledglings or eggs, do not take the mother together with her young. Let the mother go, and take only the young, in order that you may fare well and have a long life. (22:6-7)
When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring bloodguilt on your house if anyone should fall from it. (22:8)
When you make a loan of any sort to your countrymen, you must not enter his house to seize his pledge. You must remain outside, while the man to whom you make the loan brings the pledge out to you. If he is a needy man, you shall not go to sleep on his pledge; you must return the pledge to him at sundown, that he may sleep in his cloth and bless you; and it will be to your merit before the Lord your God. (24:10-13)
You must not abuse a needy and destitute laborer, whether a fellow countryman or a stranger in one of the communities of your land. You must pay him his wages on the same day, before the sun sets, for he is needy and urgently depends on it; else he will cry to the Lord against you and you will incur guilt. (24:14-15)
When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow—in order that the Lord your God may bless you in all your undertakings. (24:19)
You shall not have in your pouch alternate weights, larger and smaller. You shall not have in your house alternate measures, larger and smaller. You must have completely honest weights and completely honest measures, if you are to endure long on the soil that the Lord your God is giving you. For everyone who does those things, everyone who deals dishonestly, is abhorrent to the Lord your God. (25:13-15)
Peace Cannot Be a One-Way Street | We Are For Israel
Peace Cannot Be a One-Way Street | We Are For Israel
The following post by Rabbi Micky Boyden captures many of my sentiments about the current peace negotiations. He writes:
I have friends, who today are supporters of J-Street, and were involved in Peace Now at the end of the 1970’s. I was there too, back in the old days. I voted for Yitzhak Rabin z”l, and remember him saying: “We shall fight terror as though there were no peace, and make peace as though there were no terror”.
I still have a bag bearing the stickers “Peace Now” and “A Whole Generation Seeks Peace”. But then came the 2nd Intifada, Intifada Al- Aqsa, which claimed the lives of over 1,100 Israelis and left many thousands more wounded, some of whom still bear the physical and mental scars of their injuries to this day.
None of us will forget how the Palestinians danced on their rooftops as Scud missiles fell on Tel Aviv, and rejoiced as the Hizbollah rockets pounded our northern towns and villages.
I understand them. They are weary of an Israeli occupation, which they have had to endure for over forty years. Not that they had ever enjoyed independence. Prior to 1967, the Jordanians were their masters, while prior to 1948, the British had held the reins of power, which they in turn had wrested in 1917 from The Ottoman Empire, that had conquered Palestine four hundred years earlier.
But today the Palestinians want a state of their own, although there are few signs that they are able to work together, or that such a state will be democratic. When and if it is ever established, it will most likely join the ranks of the dictatorships and the theocracies in our region. Nevertheless, most Israelis support them in their quest for independence.
However, statehood comes at a price. The Palestinians will have to forgo their ambitions to destroy Israel. They will need to recognize that no Israeli government will allow the Jewish state to be swamped with hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of the grandchildren of those who claim to have been displaced by the creation of the State of Israel in 1948.
One year earlier, in 1947, the United Nations had presented its Partition Plan for the division of the territories west of the river Jordan between a Jewish and an Arab state. We reluctantly accepted the plan in spite of all of its disadvantages and limitations. After all, half a cake is better than none. However, the Palestine Arab Higher Committee, supported by the Arab League, rejected it.
More than 60 years later, the Palestinians are faced with the same dilemma: Compromise and accept less than what they want, or remain where they are.
As the US Administration tirelessly works to cajole Mahmoud Abbas (Abu Mazen) into direct negotiations with Prime Minister Netanyahu, it is to be hoped that the president of the Palestinian National Authority will be more pragmatic than his predecessors. Were we seeing Palestinian moderates calling upon him to compromise for the sake of peace, then the chances of success would be greater. But I don’t hear them.
The following post by Rabbi Micky Boyden captures many of my sentiments about the current peace negotiations. He writes:
I have friends, who today are supporters of J-Street, and were involved in Peace Now at the end of the 1970’s. I was there too, back in the old days. I voted for Yitzhak Rabin z”l, and remember him saying: “We shall fight terror as though there were no peace, and make peace as though there were no terror”.
I still have a bag bearing the stickers “Peace Now” and “A Whole Generation Seeks Peace”. But then came the 2nd Intifada, Intifada Al- Aqsa, which claimed the lives of over 1,100 Israelis and left many thousands more wounded, some of whom still bear the physical and mental scars of their injuries to this day.
None of us will forget how the Palestinians danced on their rooftops as Scud missiles fell on Tel Aviv, and rejoiced as the Hizbollah rockets pounded our northern towns and villages.
I understand them. They are weary of an Israeli occupation, which they have had to endure for over forty years. Not that they had ever enjoyed independence. Prior to 1967, the Jordanians were their masters, while prior to 1948, the British had held the reins of power, which they in turn had wrested in 1917 from The Ottoman Empire, that had conquered Palestine four hundred years earlier.
But today the Palestinians want a state of their own, although there are few signs that they are able to work together, or that such a state will be democratic. When and if it is ever established, it will most likely join the ranks of the dictatorships and the theocracies in our region. Nevertheless, most Israelis support them in their quest for independence.
However, statehood comes at a price. The Palestinians will have to forgo their ambitions to destroy Israel. They will need to recognize that no Israeli government will allow the Jewish state to be swamped with hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of the grandchildren of those who claim to have been displaced by the creation of the State of Israel in 1948.
One year earlier, in 1947, the United Nations had presented its Partition Plan for the division of the territories west of the river Jordan between a Jewish and an Arab state. We reluctantly accepted the plan in spite of all of its disadvantages and limitations. After all, half a cake is better than none. However, the Palestine Arab Higher Committee, supported by the Arab League, rejected it.
More than 60 years later, the Palestinians are faced with the same dilemma: Compromise and accept less than what they want, or remain where they are.
As the US Administration tirelessly works to cajole Mahmoud Abbas (Abu Mazen) into direct negotiations with Prime Minister Netanyahu, it is to be hoped that the president of the Palestinian National Authority will be more pragmatic than his predecessors. Were we seeing Palestinian moderates calling upon him to compromise for the sake of peace, then the chances of success would be greater. But I don’t hear them.
Ki Tetze
Many people think that a mitzvah is a good deed. Jewish tradition however understands this term to mean a God given commandment, a sacred responsibility. According to the tradition there are 613 mitzvot gleaned from the Torah.
There is the familiar, “Be fruitful and multiply,” and the obscure, “You shall not wear a mixture of wool and linen.” There are ethical mitzvot and ritual. There are positive and negative. There are laws that are dependent on the ancient sacrificial cult and therefore no longer applicable and there are other laws that are only incumbent upon those living in the land of Israel.
Genesis gives rise to only three commandments. Exodus provides us with the familiar commandments to observe Passover and Shabbat as well as the demand that we not oppress the stranger. Leviticus gives us the laws of keeping kosher and those surrounding the incomprehensible sacrifice of animals. Numbers commands us to wear a tallis and Deuteronomy to give tzedakah and recite the Shema.
Deuteronomy provides us with the most commandments, 200 of the 613. In this week’s Torah portion we find 72, far more than any other portion. There are many interesting commands detailed here. “If you chance upon a bird’s nest with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over them, do not take the mother with her young. If you see your fellow’s donkey or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it. When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.”
Most interesting is the following: “When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring blood guilt on your house if anyone should fall from it.” This first made me think about that great roof top chase scene in Bourne Ultimatum. On Long Island we don’t have too many homes with rooftop parapets. And so I wondered, to what can this apply? I began thinking about fences. But here on Long Island we build fences for privacy rather than protection. We build them to keep the neighbors out rather than to protect our neighbors from harm.
The Biblical ethos is instead that each of us is responsible for our neighbors. The parapet is akin to pool fences. We have an obligation to protect our neighbors. In our culture we remain fixated on the rights of privacy and shielding our lives from our neighbors. The Bible insists that we must not remain indifferent to our neighbors.
All of the Torah is built on the idea that we are responsible for others. It is not constructed around our rights and privileges but rather around our duties and obligations, most especially to our neighbors.
The required list may no longer be 613 items long but the point is the same. Our neighbors are not to be ignored. The fences we build should not be about keeping our lives to ourselves. They must instead be about our responsibility to others.
There is the familiar, “Be fruitful and multiply,” and the obscure, “You shall not wear a mixture of wool and linen.” There are ethical mitzvot and ritual. There are positive and negative. There are laws that are dependent on the ancient sacrificial cult and therefore no longer applicable and there are other laws that are only incumbent upon those living in the land of Israel.
Genesis gives rise to only three commandments. Exodus provides us with the familiar commandments to observe Passover and Shabbat as well as the demand that we not oppress the stranger. Leviticus gives us the laws of keeping kosher and those surrounding the incomprehensible sacrifice of animals. Numbers commands us to wear a tallis and Deuteronomy to give tzedakah and recite the Shema.
Deuteronomy provides us with the most commandments, 200 of the 613. In this week’s Torah portion we find 72, far more than any other portion. There are many interesting commands detailed here. “If you chance upon a bird’s nest with fledglings or eggs and the mother sitting over them, do not take the mother with her young. If you see your fellow’s donkey or ox fallen on the road, do not ignore it. When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not pick it over again; that shall go to the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow.”
Most interesting is the following: “When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, so that you do not bring blood guilt on your house if anyone should fall from it.” This first made me think about that great roof top chase scene in Bourne Ultimatum. On Long Island we don’t have too many homes with rooftop parapets. And so I wondered, to what can this apply? I began thinking about fences. But here on Long Island we build fences for privacy rather than protection. We build them to keep the neighbors out rather than to protect our neighbors from harm.
The Biblical ethos is instead that each of us is responsible for our neighbors. The parapet is akin to pool fences. We have an obligation to protect our neighbors. In our culture we remain fixated on the rights of privacy and shielding our lives from our neighbors. The Bible insists that we must not remain indifferent to our neighbors.
All of the Torah is built on the idea that we are responsible for others. It is not constructed around our rights and privileges but rather around our duties and obligations, most especially to our neighbors.
The required list may no longer be 613 items long but the point is the same. Our neighbors are not to be ignored. The fences we build should not be about keeping our lives to ourselves. They must instead be about our responsibility to others.