Yom Kippur

The Mishnah teaches: “For transgressions against God, Yom Kippur atones; but for transgressions of one human being against another, Yom Kippur does not atone until they have made peace with one another.”

This past Saturday evening Ari and I went to the Bruce Springsteen concert at MetLife stadium.  A shout out to all of the JCB members I saw there.  Because of a weather delay the concert did not start until 1030 pm.  Bruce played until 2 am.  It was of course a fantastic concert.  At about 8 pm they ushered everyone out of their seats to take shelter inside because of the approaching severe weather.  Two hours later they made an announcement.  “We have resolved the situation.  It is now safe to return to your seats.”  Ari and I looked at each other quizzically. 

Are not the rains in the heavens?  During our prayers we pray, “Your might Adonai is everlasting.  You give life to all.  Great is Your saving power.  You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall…”  Some might disagree with this theology.  Perhaps you might offer scientific explanations about cloud formations and the power of nature.  But who would suggest that such matters are in human hands?

I recall a former teacher who appeared to believe that the British controlled the world.  He was a Bible professor so the university was forgiving of his theories about modern politics.  We knew that for ten minutes of every class we could stop taking notes as he spoke about secret meetings between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan.  Thatcher was telling Reagan what to do.  We knew especially that we would not be tested on Britain’s new rain making machine.  (I promise I am not making this up.) 

Nonetheless I thought of my professor on Saturday night.  “We have resolved the situation…”  Who takes credit for the rains?   These matters are not in human hands.  Judaism steadfastly rejects such theories.  It rejects my professor’s conspiracy theories (as well as Mel’s) and his belief that human beings command the heavens.

Judaism rejects the notion that all is in our hands, that everything is controlled by human beings, and as well that nothing is in our hands.  We can say we’re sorry.  We can repair our relationships with others.  When approaching God, prayers can suffice.  With others the hard work of repair is always demanded.

On Yom Kippur we turn inward.  We examine our ways.  We seek to make amends.  “Sure it’s so hard to be a saint in the city.”  Nonetheless every year we are given an opportunity to turn, to change, to carve a different path.  Our lives are not entirely in our hands we recognize.  There are matters that we cannot control.

We cannot influence everyone around us, we cannot change how others might behave or even respond.  We can choose our own responses, our own actions.  We can carve out our own paths. While not everything is within our power, the direction of our lives is for us to decide.  We can always turn. 

The weather is beyond the design of human beings.  The rains are indeed outside of our hands.  Whether we sing or dance is within our power.  How we respond is always in our hands.

Now with these hands
I pray for the strength, Lord
With these hands,
I pray for the faith, Lord
Come on, rise up!

Tom Friedman on Red Lines

Tom Friedman is right about the current failures of leadership.  About Netanyahu he writes:

Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu of Israel has been loudly demanding that America publicly draw a “red line” in respect to Iran’s nuclear program that would delineate exactly when the U.S. would launch a strike against Tehran. Bibi is Winston Churchill when it comes to demanding that the U.S. draw red lines, but he is a local party boss when America asks him to draw a “green line” delineating where Jewish settlements in the West Bank will stop and a Palestinian state might start. Oh, no! Can’t do that, Bibi tells American officials. “I would lose my coalition.” So America is supposed to risk a war with Iran, but Bibi won’t risk anything to advance a deal with the Palestinians that might create a little more global legitimacy and sympathy for Israel, and America, in the event of a war with Iran. Thanks a lot.

When visiting Israel I met with an MK from Hadash an opposition party.  Here is a self-proclaimed pacifist party in Israel.  Most of its Members of Knesset are Arab but Dov Knenin is Jewish.  There was a certain self-righteousness that can only be afforded to members of the opposition.  Governing is of course messy and involves compromise most especially in a parliamentary democracy.  From the opposition you can be comforted by your disagreements.  Governing coalition says yes, you say no.  It says yes you say no.  I am understanding of the pressures on Netanyahu and Obama.  I am forgiving of how challenging it must be to govern and serve as prime minister and president. 

Nonetheless leadership is about courage.  It is about laying out a direction for the nation and plotting the course.  It is about inspiring people to sacrifice so that we can change direction.  If it is only about staying in power, or getting re-elected, then it loses much of its claim.  Israel and the United States must change course, not in every and all areas, but in some key areas.  We long for inspired leadership.

As for Obama, he’s been at his best when he has dared to lead without fearing the politics: taking out Osama bin Laden, securing health care without a public option, racing to the top in education and saving the banks rather than throwing all the bankers in jail, which they deserved. And he has been at his worst when he’s put politics first: spurning Simpson-Bowles, doubling down on Afghanistan for fear of being called a wimp and dropping “climate change” from his speeches. 

Even when leadership inspires us to disagree it serves the common good.  Read the entire article here.

Vayelech

This week’s Torah portion is Vayelech. Moses is nearing his death.  He will die before his life long dream and goal are realized.  The people will cross into the Promised Land without him.  They will be led by his successor, Joshua.  Moses is allowed only to peer from a neighboring mountaintop into the land.  Moreover, he will die alone.  Only God will tend to his funeral.  His grave will remain unmarked.  

How can this be?  The greatest of Jewish leaders is mourned and remembered, but his grave is never again visited.  It remains insignificant.  Our tradition does not mandate pilgrimages to this site.  It is as if to say that future generations must not dwell there.  They must press forward.  A monument might hold them back.  The people might dwell at their leader’s grave.  There they might build a mausoleum to their hero.  They must instead look toward the future.  They must remember his teachings but not hold on to his presence.

The Torah is an idea.  It can be held in our arms.  It can be lived in our words and deeds.  It can be carried from place to place.  It is a vision.  It is not dependent on one man (or woman), even one as great as Moses.  That is the dream of Torah.  It might have been given to Moses to hand to the people, but once given, it is dependent on all to fulfill.

Joshua must have raised such questions to Moses.  He must have doubted his abilities.  He must have wondered how he could stand in Moses’ shoes, how he could follow the greatest of leaders.  The Torah reports: Then Moses called Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel: “Be strong and resolute, for it is you who shall go with this people into the land that the Lord swore to their fathers to give them, and it is you who shall apportion it to them. And the Lord Himself will go before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Fear not and be not dismayed!” (Deuteronomy 31:7-8)  

And Joshua might have cried:
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. (Dylan Thomas)

And yet somehow despite his tears and his cries, Joshua managed to find the courage.  He marched forward.  The people looked not back at their leader’s grave, but marched toward the land.  The people mourned their leader and then turned toward the future.  

Candidates make many promises.  I ask only that they show me the way.   Even the greatest of leaders and visionaries can never see all of their dreams realized.

Obama's Phone Call

Prior to Rosh Hashanah President Obama hosted a conference call for rabbis.  There is a call scheduled with Governor Romney as well.  Note in particular Obama's response regarding the question of red lines.  Here is the report from JTA...

President Obama told rabbis in a pre-Rosh Hashanah conference call that there is "no space" between the United States and Israel on Iran, but added that he would not make public a red line that could trigger a strike against Iran.  "There may come a time" Obama told 1,200 rabbis of all denominations on the call Friday, that the United States would "exercise a military option" to keep Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapon.  He said, however, he would not set red lines or a deadline, as Israel has demanded, noting that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu would also not make public Israel's own trigger for military action.  "No leader ties his own hands," he said.  Still, Obama said, "there is no space between the U.S. and Israel" on Iran.  He also said that "I have been explicit and clear that we will prevent Iran from obtaining a nuclear weapon."  Obama reiterated his belief in exhausting other options. "There remains time and space for diplomacy," he said.

Obama also spoke about the recent anti-American violence in the Middle East. "We knew this process would not be easy," he said, referring to the development of democracies in the wake of the Arab Spring. "The United States must be aligned with democracy and human rights."  

The rabbis asked Obama why he has been focused so much during this election year on the middle class, at times seemingly to the exclusion of the poor.  Obama responded that the programs he has championed as benefitting the middle class, including expanded health care, would also benefit the poor.  Obama said he and his wife, Michelle, "wish you a happy and sweet New Year."  

The rabbis, in introducing Obama, also noted their outstanding plea that he commute the life sentence of Israeli spy Jonathan Pollard.  The call was organized by the rabbinical umbrellas of the Reform, Conservative, Reconstructionist and Orthodox streams.

Food Stamp Challenge

Food Stamp Challenge
During the week of November 11-17, I will participate in the Food Stamp Challenge.  You can find out more about this challenge at the above link.  Here are the guidelines prepared by the Jewish Council for Public Affairs.

1. Each person can only spend a total of $31.50 on food and beverages during the Challenge week - this translates to $4.50 per day, or $1.50 per meal.
2. All food purchased and eaten during the Challenge week, including fast food and dining out must be included in the total spending.
3. During the Challenge, eat only food that you purchase for the project. Do not eat food that you already own (this does not include spices and condiments).
4. Avoid accepting free food from friends, family, or at work, including food at receptions or coffee in the office
5. Please keep track of receipts on food spending and take note of your experiences throughout the week.
6. Share your Food Stamp Challenge by writing an op-ed for your local newspaper, blogging, advocating for feeding programs, and more.
7. Donate the additional money you would have spent on food during this week to a local food bank or anti-hunger advocacy organization (optional).
Note: You may find it difficult to complete the Challenge due to schedule or the limited budget. It will still be important and worthwhile to track your experiences.

Feel free to join me in this challenge, support my efforts or of course read about my experiences on my blog.  I hope to learn more about the struggles, challenges and difficulties of hunger in America.

Friend Me!

Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon
Nadav was within a few hours of reaching the 29,028 foot summit of Everest when he discovered Aydin near death.  He shook Aydin who moaned slightly.  Nadav faced an agonizing choice.  The custom among Everest climbers is not to even attempt to rescue another climber in the so-called death zone, 3,000 feet from the summit.  It is a place that cannot sustain human life and climbers are dependent on the small oxygen tanks they carry.  To rescue another is to almost always guarantee death not for one but for two.  Only moments before Nadav had passed two dead climbers, whose frozen graves will forever remain on the world’s highest peak.  But Nadav ben Yehuda, a 24-year-old Israeli, and Aydin Irmak, a 46-year-old Turk, had become friends in the weeks they spent at Katmandu’s base camp preparing for the summit.

Nadav decided to attempt the impossible.  He carried Aydin on his shoulders part of the way, and at other times, harnessed him to his body, gripping the dying climber between his legs as they descended.  Sometimes they tripped over one another and fell 50 yards at a time.   Nadav removed two of his gloves in order to use his fingers better, causing immediate frostbite that might still, three months later, lead to partial amputation.  Soon Nadav’s oxygen canister froze and he was without the much-needed oxygen.  He recalled, “Your body is shutting down.  You do not see clearly because you are dizzy.”  Even his Sherpa guide, who he met on the descent, could not offer any aid.  Then three might die.  Somehow Nadav Ben Yehuda managed to carry Aydin Irmak to Camp Four where they both received emergency medical treatment.  Nadav has been called a hero for giving up his dream of summiting Everest and becoming only the fifth Israeli to achieve this goal.  He does not however see himself as a hero.  Saving a life was more important than reaching the top of the world.  He says, “I am not a hero but I am completely Israeli.”  The choice he faced at 26,000 feet was anguishing.  When asked why he flouted Everest tradition and perhaps even good sense, the answer was simple and decisive.  “Aydin Irmak was my friend.”

He was my friend.  This morning we ask, what is the meaning of friendship?  We find ourselves living in confusing times.  “Friend me!” we say.  Our children count their friends and their likes.  Friendship appears no longer measured by such heroic choices but is instead quantified.  We tally friends.  We accumulate likes.  Don’t get me wrong.  I use Facebook and Twitter as well.  I text.  I Facetime and Skype.  I do not see evils lurking in the conveniences of modern life.  But I also do not wish to shy away from the questions these modern devices pose.  What unintended changes do they bring?  What is their cost to the meaning of friendship? 

There was a recent article in The New York Times (September 9, 2012).  The reporter (Emily Layden) tells this story: My little brother went to school on a Friday morning last June, and this is what he heard: That another boy, a sixth-grader, had written a Facebook status the previous night asking his friends to “like” it if they hated my brother. The “like if you hate” question had gotten 57 thumbs-up. Verification for my brother’s generation is a statistical rat race, counted in friends, followers, re-tweets and re-pins. On an ordinary Friday morning, my brother learned that his name had garnered 57 “like if you hates.” 

A sad story.  When friendship becomes a matter that is tabulated then it leads to an explosion of such incidences.  Sure there were bullies when old people like me went to middle school, when computers only existed in university science labs and Steve Jobs was still tinkering in his garage.  But you could be sure that if 57 kids surrounded another kid screaming, “We hate you,” even the least caring of teachers and principals would get involved.  Today, the school said that such cyber-bullying is out of their jurisdiction.   What the school does not understand we must relearn.  If you can’t say it, or should not say it, face-to-face then you should not say it online.  If you bully someone on their wall, it is the same as bullying them on the playground.  Judaism believes that words are as dangerous as pushing and shoving.  Our words can harm no matter where they are used.

I have some suggestions about all this.  First the solution that I suspect no one is going to listen to but I believe nonetheless.  No Facebook account, no Twitter until you are in high school.  Some of you might even by typing right now (even though you should not be) and saying things like, “My rabbi hates FB.  He doesn’t know what’s real.  #still-love-my-rabbi.”   You might be saying, “He doesn’t get it.  We have grown up with Facebook and texting.  This is how we talk to each other.”  But how can anything of meaning and substance be transmitted in 140 characters?  I will keep going.  Should I?  Perhaps not.  No media plan until you are in 9th grade.  Get a phone that has only talking and texting for now.  Here is my small hope.  You might spend these years trying to master speaking in complete sentences and listening to others. Spend some time making real friends in the real world.  Don’t worry about how many.  You know that I have always been more concerned about meaning.  Content is more important than who or how many.  Find a few quality friends.  Thank God for sleep away camps.  At most iPhones are still not allowed.  There you have to sit on your bunk during rest hour talking to others or listening to your iPods together.  Late at night when you and your friend can’t fall asleep you can talk about important stuff like what you are really scared about and how you are going to help each other overcome those fears. Try this as another rule.  If you have to tell a friend something and it has to be whispered, then it should not be posted on anyone’s wall.  Does anyone whisper secrets anymore?  Does anyone whisper anymore?

Don’t misunderstand me.  I am not trying to eliminate Facebook, if for no other reason than given how many of my friends invested in its IPO.  These things are here to stay.  We will use them.  We will even benefit from them.  But I am unwilling to let go of the things that should really matter.  Everyone needs not just friends but good friends.  Everyone needs someone who can honestly say things like, “You really should not wear that shirt.”  Everyone need someone who can tell them the truth, but in private and with love.  Good friends are the ones who tell you the things you don’t want to hear. They tell you with their arm around your shoulder.  They tell you with love.  Flattery is not the greatest measure of friendship.  Its true measure is loving critique.  Liking is not friendship.  What is it that we want from our friends?  We want of course love and support.  We want, we need someone with whom we can share our most intimate secrets, our fears and our worries.  We want someone who will accept us for who we are, but prod us to be better.  We need someone who will not judge us when we are broken, but hold us so that we might be find repair.  We need as well someone who will rejoice at our successes.  They will not be jealous of our achievements but instead celebrate them with us.  None of this can be communicated in a limited number of characters.  None of this can be conveyed on a wall.  It is instead, and only, face to face.  It is about looking in another’s eyes.  That is how we truly communicate.  We lose something when we overly rely on these social media outlets.  They do not offer deep and meaningful conversations.  They are not substitutes for real communication.  We must relearn how to converse.  We must relearn how to care. Panim el panim, face to face, is the answer.

David and Jonathan, we read in the Bible, shared the most beautiful of friendships.  The Bible tells us that their souls were bound together. They fought for each other.  They protected each other.  They looked out for each other.   When Jonathan is killed in battle, King David laments: “I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan, you were most dear to me.  Your love was wonderful to me, more than the love of women.” (II Samuel 1:26)  Dare we use such words to describe our friendships?  Learn from David.  Follow in his footsteps. 

The Internet as well has not expanded our horizons.  I know everyone says, “But it is the World Wide Web.  I can sit in my home and watch live video of people praying at the Western Wall.”  Sure that’s cool.  It is not of course the same as being there.  Even more important we tend to organize our cyber lives around likes.  We join groups in which everyone shares the same passions or opinions.  We think we are going out into the world, but all we are really doing is finding someone in Russia who shares a similar passion for cycling.  How is that helpful?  We have only discovered others who share our same ideas and ideologies.  We have merely expanded the circle of likes, but not expanded our knowledge and understanding. 

Someone recently commented to me that part of the problem with Washington politics is that our elected leaders don’t go out to dinner with each other anymore.  If Republicans and Democrats went out to dinner and had a few drinks together, if they became friends, despite their different ideologies, maybe something would get accomplished.  Ask these questions about your friends.  Do you have friends who are not like you?  Have our likes become the same as the ideological litmus tests leveled against aspiring candidates?  Our circles appear to be growing smaller rather than larger.  Online we read only what we agree with.  We friend only those who share our interests and worse, our opinions.  Do we have friends of different faiths?  Of different cultures?  Of different socio-economic standing?  Too close to home?  Online you can call people all sorts of names, you can dismiss their arguments with the press of a button, but when they are first your friend it is not so easy to cast them aside.  And that is exactly how it is supposed to be.  Friends first.  That alone could bridge the divide in Washington.  It is an immeasurable good to expand the circle of friendship ever larger.  I fear that the World Wide Web makes the circle smaller rather than larger.

How has something so basic become so confusing?  And so what of our friendship with Israel, a friendship debated by our politicians and tweeted about by their super PAC’s.  A few things seem clear.  Obama and Netanyahu do not share warm relations.  I do not think they call each other friends.  They do not appear to be the friends that Bush and Olmert or Clinton and Rabin were.  To be honest both Obama and Netanyahu disappoint me. Israel and the United States are supposed to be friends.  Both Romney and Obama, and nearly every senator and representative affirm this.  Look at how many have traveled to Israel on AIPAC trips.  (By the way I would love to send a JCB delegation to the Washington conference.) 

Here is my worry.  This friendship has become defined by talking points.  I firmly believe that deep and meaningful friendship involves loving critique.  Yet every criticism of Israel or inappropriate word is deemed a betrayal of our friendship and treason against the Jewish people.  Don’t reduce my friendship and love to matters of military aid.  Are we that insecure that we cannot tolerate critique and disagreement?  Israel and the United States both face unimaginable challenges.  We face complicated questions that defy simple answers.  The unfortunate problem is that everything is being aired in public.  I feel like I am watching those 6th graders fight it out on Facebook, posting tirades on each other’s walls.  Like if you hate Obama.  Like if you hate Romney.

Friends should have more dinners together.  They should play some basketball together.  Ok, I am sure Netanyahu would prefer soccer but you get the point.  It saddens me that the White House turned down Netanyahu’s apparent request for a meeting when the prime minister is going to be here for the United Nations Assembly.  Obama’s White House should have said, “Sure come to DC for dinner, but no photo ops and no public speeches, no pointing fingers at one another and no lecturing each other, only a joint statement that says, ‘The United States and Israel share a deep friendship that spans presidents and prime ministers.  We share a commitment to peace and security especially in the Middle East.  We both cherish democracy.  The United States and Israel will continue to work together to make sure that Israel and the United States remain free and secure.”  Hammer out the details about Iran in private.  Work out the tough stuff not in the media or Facebook, but in private, arms around each other’s shoulders.  Ok, I am a dreamer.  But dare we forget our dreams? 

By the way I did not think Romney’s visit to Jerusalem offered anything better.  He said what Israelis wanted to hear, or at least what some Israelis wanted to hear.  Know this.  There is a significant percentage of Israelis, perhaps as many as 50%, who disagree with the country’s settlement policy.  Romney spoke nothing of this.  He said only what many Jewish ears love to hear.  My Jewish heart might have been warmed by his words but it was not necessarily what needs to be heard.  Give me some loving critique.  Show me you really understand the internal challenges Israel faces.  How is Israel going to remain both Jewish and democratic while expanding settlements in the West Bank?  Offer Israel constructive criticism and advice.  I continue to dream.  And now some adults might be saying, “My rabbi doesn’t know what’s real.  #still-love-my rabbi.”

The Jewish tradition speaks of God as our beloved friend.  That is what is suggested by its interpretation of Song of Songs.  For modern scholars this biblical text is a love poem that at times borders on the erotic.  The tradition, and in particular the mystical Rabbi Akiva, insisted it was a love poem between the people Israel and God.  “Hark!  My beloved!  There he comes, leaping over the mountains, bounding over hills…My beloved spoke to me: Arise, my friend, my fair one, come away!—Kumi lach rayati!” (Song of Songs 2)  There is an intimacy that is almost embarrassing.  Here are words that should never be posted on someone’s wall.  And yet here it is in our Bible speaking about God and Israel.  The two are depicted as lovers walking hand in hand, arm in arm.

That is what is implied as well when the Bible speaks of Abraham walking with God.  The first Jew is described as walking with God.  What does this mean?  What does it mean to walk with God?  It does not mean that Abraham followed God, although he certainly listened to God’s many demands.  It can only mean that there was a certain intimacy between the two.  They were friends.  God calls Abraham his beloved friend.  The two walked together.  We can learn a great deal from their interactions.  We can discern from their friendship how we are to be true friends. 

We can learn especially from the story of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 18).  In that tale, God first decides to share with his trusted friend Abraham the plan to destroy these sinful cities. And that is the first lesson. God seeks advice and counsel from his friend.  Then the most amazing story unfolds.  Abraham argues with God.  Abraham does not say, “You’re God so it must be a good idea.  Besides they are sodomites and they deserve all that fire and brimstone.”  Abraham bargains for the sake of those sinful cities.  He presses God to relent and to reject the punishment of all for the sake of a few.  If Abraham is able to find ten righteous then the cities will be spared.  God agrees.  God says, “Ok my friend.”  Alright, I paraphrased.  God does not really say, “Beseder, beseder…habibi.”  But God does listen to his friend and Abraham doesn’t say, even to God, “You are wonderful.  Whatever you say goes.”  In the end the cities are of course destroyed.  But Abraham and God continue to walk together.  They continue to journey together.

And that is the most important lesson about friendship.  The Hebrew for friend is chaver.  It means to be joined together.  We are bound together for better or for worse, just like Nadav and Aydin, lashed together by their harnesses.  But everyone seems to think that we are like every other climber scaling Everest.  We act as if we share their ethos of everyman for himself.  To even try to save another is to invite too much risk.  We are not mountain climbers.  We are not scaling the world’s tallest peak.

When Nadav returned to Israel he was greeted with a ticker tape parade and medals.  The guy who didn’t make the summit got a parade.  Why?  Because he understood the meaning of friendship.    Of course, there will be no parades for us.  There will be no accolades on our walls.  We don’t really need such things.  We do need to relearn the true meaning of friendship. We cannot live without friends.  It is not a matter of numbers.  We only need one good friend.  Or it might only be a few.  But we most certainly can never live in isolation.  We can never realize our potential without others.  We are nothing without friends.  We are nothing if we do not look at others panim el panim, face to face, and walk arm in arm.

Rosh Hashanah

Tom Friedman recently wrote: “The truth is, if you want a decent job that will lead to a decent life today you have to work harder, regularly reinvent yourself, obtain at least some form of post secondary education, make sure that you’re engaged in lifelong learning and play by the rules. That’s not a bumper sticker, but we terribly mislead people by saying otherwise.” (The New York Times, September 9, 2012)

It could be a bumper sticker for Jewish values however.  His Op-Ed was not of course about Judaism but instead about the economy and jobs.  Part of what he wrote resonates with Jewish teachings and in particular the central message for the upcoming High Holidays.  On Rosh Hashanah in particular we affirm that we can change.  We proclaim that we can fix our mistakes and mend our ways.  We believe that human beings are capable of repentance and change.

Change however comes with difficulty.  People resist it.  And this is part of our current crisis.  Everyone wants to hold on to the past and in particular their imagination of that past.  When we attempt to hold on to such imaginings we never serve the future.   We find ourselves alone and comforted only by memories.  Thus change is necessary.  It is required for our country.  It is required for our people.  It is required in our personal lives.  We must regularly reinvent ourselves.

On Rosh Hashanah we celebrate our ability to change.  We dip the apples into honey and say, “May it be Your will, Adonai our God and God of our ancestors, to renew this year for us with sweetness and happiness.”  The Hebrew word for renew is hadesh.  We make new.  We make the old new.  We are never trapped in our old ways. Our lives are not predestined.  Our choices are not predetermined.  We can change.  We can be different.

Too often we feel that our lives are beyond our control.  To be sure there are things that we cannot determine.  Our health is not entirely in our own hands.  Sometimes as well other people’s choices effect our own and help to determine the directions of our lives.  Yet our choices remain in our own hands.  This is what we can change.  And this is what we mark on Rosh Hashanah. 

More than other day this holiday offers us the opportunity to reinvent ourselves. Let us celebrate this day and seize this opportunity.

Nitzavim

The Torah declares: “Surely, this instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, ‘Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, ‘Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.”  (Deuteronomy 30)

People are often intimidated by Torah and especially chanting its words.  It is of course written in Hebrew.  The scroll is still written without vowels.  It is a challenging task.  But such an attitude confuses the reading and studying of Torah with living it.  Living Torah, bringing its values into our lives and the world, is our most important task.

A Hasid complained to the Kotzker Rebbe: “I have a tremendous desire to study Torah.  I want to be a learned man, but whatever I learn I forget.”  The Kotzer told him: “Who says that you have to be a learned man?  Isn’t being a plain Jew enough for you?  Nowhere does the Torah state that person must be a great Torah scholar.  When Isaiah says, ‘Learn well,’ Rashi, the great medieval commentator, explains this to mean ‘learn to do good.’   The purpose of learning is not to become a Torah scholar, but to be good and do good.

Although learning is prized, doing good is even more valued.  I understand that even doing good might sometimes seem challenging.  Nonetheless that is our most important task.  And that should be very close.  It is in our mouths and in our hearts.  We don’t require experts to master Torah for us.  We don’t require others to travel great distances to learn it.

Torah belongs to each and every one of us.  It is only a matter of living it.

9-11

Art Spiegelman called his above rendition, "In The Shadow of No Towers."  The shadow still lingers.  And it inspires. Yesterday's Forward published remembrances of Jewish servicemen killed in Afghanistan and Iraq.  Of the 6,565 soldiers killed in these wars, 50 were Jews.  Below is the paper's editorial:

In mid-August, 127 Americans flew to Israel with the intention of joining the Israel Defense Forces. They arrived at Ben-Gurion International Airport to a boisterous and well-organized welcome, complete with a live band, balloon hats, and a speech delivered personally by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Photos of would-be soldiers joyously dancing in the airport arrival hall circulated on the Internet, while many of their parents posted proud but anxious messages on Facebook.  “You’ve decided to defend the Jewish future,” Netanyahu told them.  About a month before this well-reported scene — on July 21, to be exact — Michael Brodsky died in Kandahar province, Afghanistan, from injuries caused by an improvised explosive device. He was 33 years old. He died as a member of the United States Navy, and as a Jew. When he and his brother enlisted right after the September 11 terrorists attacks, they got matching tattoos of the Star of David. And when Michael was deployed, his father told the Forward, he carried an Israeli flag with him.  As a Jewish community, we rightly celebrate the commitment and passion of the young Americans determined to contribute to the defense of Israel. But do we pay as much attention to the many more American Jews who have served in the deadly theatres of war in Iraq and Afghanistan for nearly 11 years?  In February 2011, the Forward published profiles of the 37 Jewish servicemen and women who had died in the two wars over the previous decade. By last Veterans Day, two more names had been added to the list.  Now, that sorrowful tally has grown to 50 — a number that includes fresh losses such as Brodsky and the names of others whose Jewish identity has only recently surfaced.

And here is the paper's story about Petty Officer 2nd Class Michael J. Brodsky.

On September 11, 2001, when Michael Brodsky found out about the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, he and his younger brother, Corey Brodsky, went down to the recruitment office and enlisted in the Navy. The same day, the two brothers got matching tattoos of the Star of David with the Hebrew word for “brotherhood” in the middle.  Steven Brodsky remembers his son as a “goofball” who was always teasing his mother and younger brother. Growing up in Tamarac, Fla., Brodsky was a Cub Scout and later a Boy Scout; a dedicated and athletic student, he also wrestled in high school.  Brodksy came from a patriotic family and became a dog handler in the Navy. Planning to make a career out of the military, Brodsky repeatedly took tests for a promotion. On the day that he died, his father said, the promotion finally came through. Steven Brodsky, an ex-military man himself, proudly recounted his son’s 11 medals.
Michael Brodsky loved his 9-year-old daughter, Natalia, who had fought and beaten cancer when she was younger. “He talked to his mother every day on Skype, and he was my best friend. He was a good person,” Steven Brodsky said.  Brodsky carried an Israeli flag with him when he was deployed, his father told the Forward. “He was a dedicated soul; he loved what he did, and no one could have talked him out of it.”  Michael Brodsky died July 21, 2012 in Kandahar province, Afghanistan, from injuries caused by an improvised explosive device. He was 33 years old.

The 50 remembrances can be found here.  Two of these stories can be viewed on the following video.



These stories are worth remembering on this day as well.

Wieseltier on Ryan

Leon Wieseltier: His Grief, And Ours | The New Republic
Leon Wieseltier writes the following in The New Republic, commenting on Paul Ryan's fascination with Ayn Rand, in particular her radical individualism.

What, then, is so terrible about self-reliance? Nothing, unless it is promoted into an absolutism, into a cult of sacred egotism, into an “Invictus”-like illusion. (That is another classic of ego-swelling adolescent literature.) The more people do for themselves, the better. The more they assume responsibility for the course of their lives, the better. Who denies these noble banalities? Our agency is the clearest expression of our freedom. We possess extraordinary powers. It is miraculous what the works of human hands have accomplished, except that it is the opposite of miracle, because we are not supernatural beings. 

But Ryan’s concept of self-reliance, the gospel of John Galt (“you are your own highest value ... as man is a being of self-made wealth, so he is a being of self-made soul ...”), is devoid of all humility—it is the very vainglory against which the Bible, Ryan’s ultimate book, warned. My power and the might of mine hand hath gotten me this wealth! Ryan may have disavowed Rand’s atheism, but he has not quite escaped her revolt against human finitude, her deification of the individual. This radical individualism is a delusion of impotence made over into a delusion of omnipotence. 

It is also, analytically, a colossal mistake. The splendid isolation of the trader, the builder, the innovator, the entrepreneur, the superman, does not exist. It is one of the many flattering legends that successful people in this country devise about themselves. (Like the legend that success is a proof of personal virtue.) The individual—even the individualist individual—is always situated densely in the customs and the conventions of society. Where is Burke when you need him? And where are the otherwise ubiquitous metaphors of the network and the web? If, for conservatives, the market can serve as a model for society, surely it is because the market is web-like, society-wide, a social entity, a thicket of bonds and connections and influences in which creativity flourishes not least because it is enabled and implemented by others who, gratefully or opportunistically, recognize it. Competition is itself a kind of social compact, and in this sense a kind of cooperation. 

It is no wonder that Ryan, and of course Romney, set out immediately to distort the president’s “you didn’t build that speech” in Roanoke, because in complicating the causes of economic achievement, and in giving a more correct picture of the conditions of entrepreneurial activity, Obama punctured the radical individualist mythology, the wild self-worship, at the heart of the conservative idea of capitalism. An honest reading of the speech shows that Romney and Ryan and their apologists are simply lying about it. The businessman builds his business, but he does not build the bridge without which he could not build his business. That is all. Is it everything? Surely it takes nothing away from the businessman, who retains his reason for his pride in his business. But it is not capitalist pride that Romney and Ryan are defending, it is capitalist pridefulness.

I would add...  I seek not a denigration of individual achievement but a recognition by successful individuals of their dependence on others.  No one succeeds on his/her own.  There is the individual. There is the community.   And there is God.  This recognition leads to gratitude.  And this in the final analysis leads to a desire to give back.  This, I believe, nurtures the individual more than all of the successes that might be counted.

Ki Tavo Sermon

This week’s Torah portion is Ki Tavo.  We are nearing the end of the Torah.  Moses is addressing the people before they cross over into the land of Israel.  He instructs them that when they enter the land they are commanded to offer thanks.  They are to bring an offering and make a proclamation.  It begins with these words: “My father was a wandering Aramean.  He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there…” (Deuteronomy 26:5)   This is followed by a brief encapsulation of Jewish history.

It is fascinating that as soon as the people arrive in their new home they are to publicly declare their immigrant roots.  They are to say we were once wanderers.

In fact the origins of the term Hebrew suggests this wandering.  Ivri means to cross over.  Abraham was the first to be called this because he crossed over into the land of Canaan, later to be called the land of Israel.  Our name suggests our identity.  We are wanderers; we are forever immigrants.  As we become more and more comfortable and at home in our cities, towns and countries we tend to forget this history and our origins.  Perhaps this is the very purpose of the prescribed ritual.  This is why these words became part of the traditional seder.  At these meals we declare, “Our father was a wandering Aramean…”

All of this makes me think about our current discussions about immigration.  These debates tend to look at immigrants as a threat rather than the way they might sustain our future.  We ask, “How much of a threat will these new people be to our accustomed ways and especially our livelihoods?”  We tend to look at what we might lose.  There will be more people to divide up an ever-shrinking pie.  This is how the debate appears.  It is not about what we might gain, but about what we might lose.  I believe instead that new people and their new ideas is how we will march into the future and better that future.

I am not so naïve as to suggest that any country can afford to welcome every person who wants to immigrate.  There are limits to our resources.  Israel, for example, is now facing a similar issue.  After decades of holding up the virtues of immigration and most especially Jewish immigration, Israel has now become a desired destination for African refugees.  In fact about 20 such refugees are now stuck outside of Israel at its new border fence with the Sinai.  They have trekked through the deserts to make their way to a promised land.  The irony is almost too bitter to utter.  Only yesterday Israel allowed three of these wanderers into its borders, a woman and two children.  They have supplied the migrants with food and water but have not allowed more in.  For Israel as well there are limits to this immigration.

One of my teachers, Tal Becker, recently asked how can we respond to this growing crisis with Jewish values?  The Torah teaches us that we must love the stranger.  We cannot turn all away; we also cannot welcome all in.  Tal Becker argues that Israel must figure out how many it has the resources to welcome and then increase that number by 10,000.  His contention is that we must go beyond what we think we can afford.  Israel is built on Jewish values and these in addition to our Jewish history outweigh the practical.  We do not discount the practical.  But we go beyond it; that is what our values dictate.

I do not understand why in this country we are not especially more open to the immigration of those who study here at our universities.  Every person who gets a graduate degree here should be given immediate citizenship; new people and new ideas will only better our future.  That is my faith in immigration. 

It left a deep impression on me at the service when we thanked the church.  Then Reverend Ramirez gave a tearful tribute to his parents who immigrated to this country with only a dream of a better future for their children.  They worked several jobs so that their children might succeed.  That is this nation at its best.  I see this as well every time my son takes to the field on Huntington’s soccer team.  There is Ari, the goalie, often shouting directions in Spanish to his defenders.  It is quite the mixture of people and cultures on that field.  That too is this nation at its best.

As everyone knows Emma Lazarus, the great American Jewish poet, penned the words inscribed on the base of the Statue of Liberty.  She there refers to the statue as the “Mother of Exiles” and she concludes:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

That is the spirit that must animate this great country.  It is the values written there and the values found in our Torah portion.  It is not immigration without limits, but most certainly more than we imagine we can welcome. We shut the door to strangers not only to their detriment but to ours as well. I will always believe in immigration and its power to transform both the immigrant and the nation. 

We are all wanderers—each and every one of us.  We are all immigrants—each and every one of us.  And that is the offering we must carry with us each and every day.

Ki Tavo

This past weekend my family and I traveled to Lake Placid for my cousin’s wedding.  It was of course a wonderful affair.  On our return we stopped at a rest stop on I-87.  There was a swarm of travelers.  (And that made me quite nervous for what awaited us on the Tappan Zee Bridge.)  There were people wearing kippahs, veils, turbans and saris.  There was a cacophony of languages to be heard.  It was a glimmer of the new America.  

It is a new America that makes some uncomfortable.  I understand people’s emotions when debating immigration laws.  I sense the worries about jobs.  There are arguments to be made about the benefits of unfettered immigration.  And there are counter arguments about its dangers.  Rational discussions appear to elude us.  The debate appears more a matter of the heart.  And to be honest my heart is with my ancestors.  It is their words that animate my sentiments about immigration.

When we enter the land of Israel and there find a permanent home we are commanded to declare: “My father was a wandering Aramean.  He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there…” (Deuteronomy 26:5)  As soon as we find ourselves in a home we remind ourselves that we were wanderers.  The message is clear.  Home is fleeting.  As soon as we arrive there, we must remind ourselves that we were once wanderers.  Never forget our immigrant past.

We must never become so comfortable and at ease, and at home.  We are forever wandering.  That is the nature of human history.  All are immigrants.  And we forget this to our own peril.  My family arrived in the United States three generations ago.  All but one of my grandparents was born in Eastern Europe.  Does this make my family more American than the new conglomeration of people at a New York rest stop?

36 times the Torah admonishes us to love the stranger.  “When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him.  The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt…”  (Leviticus 19:33-34)  Was this command repeated so many times because it was deemed of utmost importance or because it was so difficult to fulfill?  Perhaps it was for both reasons.

Loving those who are unlike us is exceedingly difficult.  It is contrary to how we often feel.  Over and over again the Torah commands us to fight such impulses.  Despite such challenges we must reach out to those who are strangers.  “…For you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9)

Very soon we come to feel at home.  We forget that we too were immigrants.  We then see ourselves as legitimate citizens and others as strangers.  All are immigrants.  All are wanderers.

Ki Tetzei

In a recent column in The New York Times ("Motherlode," August 9, 2012), KJ Dell’Antonia writes: “To the best of my recollection, when I did something wrong as a child, my parents blamed me.  When my children do something wrong, I blame myself.  A good parent would have taught them better.  In our determination to be the very best we can be, we’ve created a catch: when our children fail, we fail.”

The Torah concurs: “Parents shall not be put to death for children, nor children be put to death for parents: a person shall be put to death only for his own crime.” (Deuteronomy 24:16)  Leaving aside the question of capital punishment, which the Torah most certainly finds legitimate and the rabbis make impossible to exact, the Bible and the Jewish tradition we have inherited teaches that an individual is responsible for his or her own crimes, sins and mistakes. 

In the ancient Near East family members were sometimes punished for the crimes of others. In other words if a man harmed another, he was then punished by the same harm being done to a member of his family, often the corresponding member.   Occasionally his family might also be punished along with him.  The Torah declares that such practices are unjust.  Only the individual, found guilty of a crime, is punished.  A child is not punished for a parent’s sin.  A parent does not suffer because of a child’s mistake.

And yet parents feel great pain when their children err.  We struggle and toil so as not to experience this ache.  We don’t want to see them fail. 

Dell’Antonia concludes: “And yet we still have to let them fail.  How egotistical is it to insist that our children’s every action reflects our parenting skills?  They’re not trained Labradoodles.  They’re children, by nature impulsive and prone to selfishness and other flaws.  Smooth their paths and repair their gaffes, and we protect our egos at their expense.  It takes a little lousy parenting (or at least the appearance of it) to let a child grow up.”

Each and every individual must take responsibility for his or her own actions.  We cannot say, “Everyone is doing it.” Or “It is not me but my addiction.” Or “My parents made me do it.”   We cannot offer excuses.  Instead we must take direct responsibility for the sin, mistake or failure.  Our failures are just as much our own as our successes.  I don’t very much like failing.  Still it has always been my contention that we learn far more from these mistakes than our many successes. 

Parents must let go of children.  And children must let go of parents.  There might then be more failures (or at least the appearance of them), nonetheless the successes will feel greater because they too will be our own.

Jennifer Finney Boylan writes (“A Freshman All Over Again,” The New York Times, August 22, 2012): “There are times when I want to tell my students that if they want to learn anything at college, their first step should be defriending their parents. Write them a nice letter, on actual paper, once every week or so, but on the whole: let go. Stop living in their shadows, and start casting your own.”

Love is not the same as reliance.

Israeli Racism: Changing the Discourse

Israeli racism: Changing the discourse | Naomi Schacter | The Times of Israel

It is not that I don't recognize the dangers of Iran or of Hezbullah or of Hamas.  It is just that I have great confidence in the IDF and Israel's security apparatus.  I therefore see the internal threats as more insidious and even dangerous.  While focusing on the external we tend to forget about the internal.  Or because we talk so much about the external we begin to view the internal through a similar lens.

Naomi Schacter writes:

Just as Israel has not just a legal but a moral obligation to act against all racist attacks by its own citizens, so it must maintain a strong moral public face and utter honesty with its own history. The validation of the Israeli Arabs’ historical suffering in the creation of the Jewish state would not invalidate the State of Israel or negate its identity as essentially Jewish. Rather, it would acknowledge that natives of this land suffered loss and deprivation as they were buffeted by world events beyond their control. Admitting the historical facts would only strengthen the state and the Jewish people.

Perhaps Thursday's beating of an Arab youth will be the occasion to refocus our discussion and look within.  Such an accounting (heshbon hanefesh) is long overdue.

Say It Ain't So, Lance

Lance Armstrong's Decision Not To Fight Doping Charges : The New Yorker

Martin Schoeller writes:

That is why I am so deeply appalled by his announcement yesterday that he would no longer fight the charges against him. He said he was tired of the fight. Tired? Really? Armstrong made it clear on several occasions he would fight to the death. (My favorite Lance quote about pain, clearly applicable to the accusations, is, “Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.”) 

Yes, quitting lasts forever. And he did not even have the decency to admit his guilt. Oddly, two of my colleagues—both of whom had ridiculed me mercilessly for supporting Lance—wrote to me today to say that they actually felt sorry for the guy. 

I do not. Lance Armstrong stood for something. He was a man who, despite the hatred, the envy, and the odds, would never quit, would never concede. He was the great American—a man of principle who also won. Now, I am afraid, he is nothing.

I am not surprised about the news.  I remain so disappointed.

Shoftim

What is so terrible about a tree?

In keeping with Deuteronomy’s near obsession with idolatry and its desire to eradicate all objects of foreign worship from the land of Israel, we read: “You shall not set up a sacred post (asherah)—any tree-like object beside the altar of the Lord your God that you make—or erect a stone pillar; for such the Lord your God detests.” (Deuteronomy 16:21-22)  Last week’s theme continues through this week.

An asherah, sacred post, was apparently a standing wooden object erected at a place of worship.  In other words it was a totem pole.  It could have also been a particular type of tree that was deemed sacred by the ancient Canaanites.  Or, perhaps it was a tree that was planted near their temples.  Interestingly the name for a Canaanite goddess was Asherah.  Trees, or wooden objects, were thus associated with this goddess and explicitly forbidden. 

The sentiment is clear.  Anything that even approaches Canaanite religion or worship is forbidden.  The message is emphatic.  We are going to do things differently, most especially in the land of Israel.  And that begins with how we pray. 

But a tree? 

There are times when hiking in the deserts of Israel one is grateful for the shade of a tree.  It is a welcome relief from the afternoon sun.  In a hot, dry climate, shade can offer much relief.  “And the Lord appeared to Abraham by the terebinths (oaks) of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot.”  (Genesis 18:1)  Given that this tree, or cluster of trees, had a particular name indicates that they were familiar to Abraham and his contemporaries.  Perhaps they were used as a landmark.  Then again perhaps these trees were also deemed sacred by his new neighbors.

During Abraham’s time there appears more comfort with the indigenous Canaanite religion.  It was not that the patriarchs believed as the Canaanites did.  But they do appear more at ease living side by side with competing religious practices and ideas.  They allowed such religions to coexist alongside their own.  Rather than uprooting these sacred trees Abraham redefines them.  There he experiences his God.  The Canaanites’ totem pole becomes the site of his covenant with God and the beginnings of our faith. 

Deuteronomy sees such an approach as impossible.  By this time the Israelites wish to become the dominant religion of the land.  They are to be the majority of its inhabitants.  Thus the Canaanites are no longer neighbors but enemies.  In this week’s portion we sense the moment when the Israelites will reclaim the land for our entire nation.  There can be no living side by side with their enemy’s ideas or even with their sacred objects.

Imagine a tall, stately tree that serves as a contemporary destination.  Imagine as well that years ago this same beautiful tree was used to lynch an innocent man or even to hang a guilty criminal.  Would you want such a tree to continue to serve as a landmark for the place you now call home?  This is exactly how the Canaanites were seen.  This is exactly how their sacred trees were viewed.  In the imagination of the ancient Israelites the Canaanite religion was equated with such evils. 

One always imagines an enemy doing horrific and unspeakable acts.  (And sometimes they do.  But many times they do not.  More often the evil-doers are fewer in number than we imagine.)   The Israelites therefore believed that there was no choice but to eradicate even their trees.

Beware of seeing evil lurking under every tree. 

The prophet proclaims: “Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war; every man shall sit under his grapevine or fig tree and no one shall make him afraid.” (Micah 4:4)

Elul

A story.

A young rabbi arrived in an East European town eager to serve his new congregation. During his first day he was given a tour of the town by one of the city’s leaders. Eventually they came to the Jewish cemetery where, as was the custom, all of his rabbinic predecessors were buried in a common section. As they passed by the gravestones something began to become frighteningly clear – the ages on the stones. The life of one rabbi was 34 years, another 28, and yet another was a mere 23 years. In fact there was not one person who survived past 40.

As he began to realize this, the new rabbi started sweating. He began to believe that the community was so difficult; it was killing off its rabbis. His guide, sensing the young rabbi’s growing panic, and fearing that he might leave the new congregation, said, “Let me explain something. Then you can make your choice about leaving or staying. These dates are not the number of years that these people lived. They are instead the number of years that they truly lived their lives.”

You see we have a custom in our community that each person keeps a personal diary and at the end of the day they write down how much of their time was spent serving God – not just through prayer or study, but the number of hours spent living a life of gratitude and not regret, the number of hours living closest to their highest selves, the amount of time reaching out to those in need and living according to what is truly important and not trivial. And then at the end of a person’s life we add up all of the hours in the notebook. That is the number we then put on the headstone. He lived to be 94 not the 38 years engraved there.” And pointing to another stone, he said, “And this rabbi was on this earth for 83 years not 34.”

If we were to count our years in such a manner, measuring the moments giving thanks and living closest to our highest selves, how many years would we apportion? Would we deem ourselves a 100 or a mere 20? Would our tally be counted in years or mere days? When we our remembered how many moments would be counted as if they were penned in such a diary?

Saturday was the first day of the Hebrew month of Elul. According to tradition this day begins a forty-day period of repentance that concludes on Yom Kippur afternoon (September 26). This time is devoted to measuring our years and working to better ourselves. On the High Holidays we read of the Book of Life that measures each and every person’s deeds. We speak of how our actions might engrave our future.

We also speak of how our fate is never written in stone. The High Holidays and the period of repentance that began this weekend is a yearly opportunity to change. Let us seize this opportunity and rewrite our years.

Addendum: I first heard this story at the recent funeral of my mentor and friend, Dr. Jerry Perkoff (z”l). His grandson Jeff Stombaugh shared this tale on that occasion. Jeff is now a first year rabbinical student studying in Jerusalem.

Reeh

In the traditional haggadah we read the following prayer when opening the door for Elijah: “Pour out your fury on the nations that do not know you, upon the kingdoms that do not invoke your name, for they have devoured Jacob and desolated his home.  Pour out your wrath on them; may your blazing anger overtake them.  Pursue them in wrath and destroy them from under the heavens of Adonai!”

Added to the haggadah during the bloody Crusades, these words seem out of step with our modern, universal values.  Even though we are sympathetic to the origins of this prayer, our liberal haggadahs have deleted it from our Seders.  We speak instead about the messianic peace that Elijah will announce rather than the vengeance he might exact.

This week’s portion begins with a similar sentiment.  Here it is not a prayer but a command.  “You must destroy all the sites at which the nations you are to dispossess worshipped their gods, whether on lofty mountains or on hills under any luxuriant tree.  Tear down their altars, smash their pillars, put their sacred posts to the fire, and cut down the images of their gods, obliterating their name from that site.” (Deuteronomy 12:2-3)

Again this appears contrary to everything we believe.  Destroying non-believers and their places of worship contradicts everything we hold dear.  How is this any different than what we witnessed at Milwaukee’s Sikh Temple?  How is this different from those who read these words as a mandate to murder and destroy? 

And yet we live in a time when suggesting we have no enemies is equally fallacious.  Thus we are forever sandwiched between those who are unable to name our real enemies and those who see enemies everywhere and anywhere.  Such is our challenge.  There is great confusion about these issues.  People too frequently treat those with whom they disagree as their enemies but extend a hand in peace to those who seek their destruction.  We must fight against those who wish to destroy us.  And we must refrain from denouncing those who disagree with us.

Our times need not be so confusing.  Those who wish to destroy us, who revile the pluralism for which this country stands, are most certainly our enemies.  We must not be afraid to say such words.  Our world has real enemies.  Does that make such prayers legitimate?  Does that make such commands meaningful?  Better perhaps we should pray for peace rather than vengeance while remaining forever on guard and vigilant. 

We must also work to be sure that those with whom we have honest disagreements remain friends.  We dare not confuse friend with enemy.  Articulating a vision of pluralism and an acceptance of different worldviews is paramount.  Let us be clear. When others advocate for our destruction they name themselves as our enemies.  We must remain unafraid of saying so in clear and unmistakable terms.

Attributed to the medieval commentator Rashi’s disciples is a parallel prayer to that found in the haggadah.  “Pour out your love on the nations who have known you and on the kingdoms who call upon your name.  For they show lovingkindness to the seed of Jacob and they defend your people Israel from who would devour them alive.  May they live to see the sukkah of peace spread over your chosen ones and to participate in the joy of your nations.”  Pray for peace.  Remain vigilant.

“See, this day I set before you blessing and curse…” (Deuteronomy 11:26)  These indeed are today’s choices.

What's Standing in the Way of Palestine's Success?

What's Standing in the Way of Palestine's Success? – Tablet Magazine

This is an interesting article about Mitt Romney's recent speech in Jerusalem.  Smith examines the question about the cultural differences between Israeli and Palestinian societies.  Romney suggested that Israel is successful, and Palestinian society is not, because of their cultural heritage.  Palestinians of course cried foul and said, "No it is all because of Israeli occupation." Romney was accused of a major diplomatic gaffe.  Smith writes: "Erekat and Masri are correct—so long as the word occupation is understood in a fuller context. Instead of building a bustling economy, the Palestinians have devoted their energies to waging war against Israel for more than 60 years. The absence of a Palestinian state is proof that this war has been unsuccessful, wasting almost three generations of Palestinian talent."  This is indeed correct.  The culture of victimization in Palestinian society is the root of the disparity.  Most interesting is the fact that outside of Palestine, the Palestinians are successful and their diaspora thrives.  Our cultures might very well be more similar than we wish to admit.  Romney is wrong.  It is not a difference of culture but instead of leadership.  The difference is that Israel's leadership is singularly devoted to nurturing Israeli creativity and success whereas the Palestinian leadership is singularly devoted to destroying Israel.

On a related theme read this recent Tablet article as well: Romney and Einstein: Racists?

Ekev

Our hearts are joined in sorrow with the Sikh community.  What a terrible and unspeakable tragedy.  Even though this murderous attack occurred outside of Milwaukee it should be viewed as an attack here.  And even though it occurred at a Sikh Temple it must be seen against us as well.  This was not the murder of Sikhs alone but an attack against Americans.  This was an attack on American values.  There are those who wish America to be a homogeneous whole.  I prefer difference.  I value heterogeneity.  This country must always stand for pluralism.  We must stand with those of different faiths and proclaim that was not simply against one faith community but an attack on all.  This week we must stand as Americans.  My response to this tragedy is twofold: to mourn the victims and to embrace the multiplicity of cultures that make up the American landscape.  I refuse to say, “Look at what happened to them.”  Instead I say, “Look at what is happening to us!”

This week’s Torah portion contains a familiar if misunderstand verse.  We read “man does not live on bread alone.”  Often this is understood to mean that food is not the only staple of life.  A full life should include literature, music and art (and I would add, sport).  Of course there are those who interpret this verse literally, suggesting that we should eat more than just bread.  Wine is always a nice addition, and perhaps even some cheese.  These are worthy lessons but not the intention of the Torah.  Instead the portion wishes to tell us that the only sustenance we require is faith in God.

Look at the verse in its context: “Remember the long way that the Lord your God has made you travel in the wilderness these past forty years, that He might test you by hardships to learn what was in your hearts: whether you would keep His commandments or not. He subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat, which neither you nor your fathers had ever known, in order to teach you that man does not live on bread alone, but that man may live on anything that the Lord decrees….” (Deuteronomy 8) 

There appears an ascetic strain within the Torah portion.  It is as if it says, “Rely on God alone.”  The Jewish tradition rejects this and believes that we must take care of our earthly needs in order to reach for the heavens.  We cannot simply have faith in God and say, “Whatever God decrees.”  We cannot, and should not, wait for manna to be provided for us.  Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah taught: “No sustenance (literally flour), no Torah; no Torah, no sustenance.”  We require food and religion.  The two must go hand in hand, the earthly human needs and the lofty heavenly ideals.  If we focus only on heaven we lose sight of the everyday and human.  Judaism teaches that the purpose of our religion is to elevate the earthly.  We lift the everyday toward heaven.

Still the portion seems to suggest otherwise.   It suggests that we only require faith.  I prefer otherwise.  Our tradition comes not to remove us from this world but instead to renew our commitment to it.  I always prefer a good meal and Torah.