God – Page 5 – Jewish Relationships Initiative

Remembering- Seders past and Yizkor

Yizkor Pesach 2014

The Seder Table at my grandparent’s houses was one of those interesting affairs. The table started in the dining room, made its way past the wall into the living room and hung a right turn into the foyer. This was unlike my great-aunt on my father’s side, where the table started in the living room, ran through the dining room and into the kitchen, where the kids sat. Now I realize why the two families never got along; I always thought it was because one was Galitziana and the other Litvak…

At Nanny and Grandpop’s house, my mom’s parents, the table seemed to groan under the weight of the Seder Plates and bowls of salt water and bottles of wine and the platters upon platters of food. The table was laden with a stuffed breast of veal and brisket, homemade gefilte fish and chicken soup with dill and soft matzoh balls that my father mocked because they were not hard enough. My mom made them like rocks, which according to my father who actually loved them, could be used by the Israeli army as provisions to be eaten or if necessary as a weapon to be thrown. I recall my hand being slapped by my grandfather as I tried to take the Afikomen a bit too early in the affair. I eventually would get it, but only after an appropriate amount of time and tries had elapsed according to his calculations. I recall the mixing of English and Hebrew, the raucous noise of talking, singing, laughing and of course arguing, and sharing the story from the Hagaddah. The three major denominations of Judaism were all represented and all joined together to celebrate this mix of religion and family at the festive table.

I can trace my life through my movement along that table. I moved from the kids table, where I once chanted the “four questions,” to the main table where I chant the Kiddush, and ultimately now to sit at the head of the table to help lead the Seder. And there I sat this year, with my wife’s family.

They have their own interesting rituals and traditions, as does each family. But one is particularly worth noting. At the conclusion of the Seder, my mother-in-law plugs in the cassette player with a very special recording. They recorded her mother on one of her last Seders at the table, telling stories sharing recollections of times past and a poem. My mother-in-law sits transfixed, the voice carries her someplace else as she listens to her mother re-tell the telling of the Exodus. She drinks in her mother’s words and for those brief moments, Rose Mandel comes alive for her. That is truly the high point of the Seder. And why we need to commemorate those we loved this Yizkor.

For Yizkor is our time to remember. It is our time to reflect back on those we loved. This is our time to recognize how much they continue to mean to us. Often they fade into the background. We are so caught up in the day-to-day things that fill our time. Kids, food, shopping, the house, the spouse and our own selves, just to name the short list. But now is our time to remember them. Those we loved, those who we have lost, often too soon. Oh to have a few more moments of them. For when we remember them, we remember the blessings they brought to our lives. The richness that is ours because of them, the history that is uniquely our individual own because of the way they shaped and influenced our lives. We remember to offer gratitude for their being in our lives. We remember their best as a means to help propel us to be our best. And therefore we remember them as we strive to create the memories for those who come after us as the legacy we leave to them in an unbroken chain of loving and caring.

Discipline at what Personal Cost?

Leaders or anyone concerned with the welfare of others can find themselves confronting a challenging personal conflict. We saw this recently play out in parsha Shimini. Here, the story of Aaron is an extraordinary narrative illustrating the real tension in trying to navigate the waters between public and personal needs. In parsha Shimini, there was an imbalance between the two competing needs and the cost of doing one at the expense of the other was overwhelming.

Nadav and Abihu, Aaron’s sons are killed because they brought an offering of “alien fire” before God. But instead of grieving as any father would, Aaron is admonished not to acknowledge this tragedy in any way. He is to attend to his sacred duties. The needs of the Kahal outweigh the personal need. So Aaron tries to fulfill his duties as the High Priest, as Moses instructed. Aaron is completely silent, suppressing everything related to this horrific incident. It is only when Moses chastises Aaron’s remaining two sons for improper ritual that Aaron breaks his silence. Aaron yells at Moses, unable to contain the emotion that has been bottled up inside.

Moses was so disciplined, that the needs of the Kahal came before everything else including mourning the loss of the two young men, his nephews, Aaron’s sons. Moses could only see the need to properly perform the priestly service to the Almighty on behalf of the people. But it is not his sons that have been slain. Aaron tried to accede to the demands of his position and do as Moses instructed. He however was unable to maintain the discipline of Moses. But when Aaron broke down and showed his pain, Moses was moved and in an act of humanity consoles his grieving brother.

How often are we overwhelmed when a decision has to be made? Often life confronts us with an “either/or” choice. We do not have the luxury of the “both/and” that we speak of in our theoretical and lofty discussions. So often we judge others by the choices they make, when in fact, they often do not see that there was a choice at all. I recall a profoundly difficult time when this happened to me.

We sat in shock in the hospital waiting area immediately after my mom’s death. My dad started to cry. Then suddenly he sucked it all up, steeling himself to the situation saying, “I have to be strong.” And the tears stopped flowing. I on the other hand, could not “be strong.” I needed to grieve, whatever form that took. I remembered a conversation I had with my mom where she asked me if I would cry for her when she was gone. I did.

The differences in our reactions to her death created a rift between my father and me. I needed to mourn in my own way and I could not do it with someone who was trying to impose such control. How different might our experiences have been if I could have understood the discipline my father was trying to exert upon himself. We might have found strength in each other and maybe even the space to share this profoundly sad moment in much more supportive ways. If instead of harsh judgment, I could have found compassion. If instead of toughening himself for some idealized vision of what it meant to be the head of the household, he could have shared his grief with me. It took me a long time to begin to understand. If only I knew then what I know now.

Forever Changed- Relationships through the lens of Ki Tisa

Experience forever changes who we are, what we are, particularly when it is an encounter with another. Each of us can think of a person who has had a profound impact on our lives, and usually impact is based on one select memory we have of our experiences with them. The experiences of this week’s Torah Portion, Ki Tisa illustrates the indelible impact of the encounter with God.

We struggle with God and the Divine presence. God chastises us for abandoning God by demanding and worshipping the Golden Calf. But doesn’t God deserve it? As we retell the story every Pesach, God “remembered” us and “with a strong hand and outstretched arm” redeemed us out from the land of Egypt. But just one question, “Where was God for past 400 years, while we suffered in slavery?” From our historical perspective it is a great story from which we make all kinds of meaning. But if you were the “average Yehuda,” living in Egypt before the redemption, you suffered as a slave, plain and simple.

So possibly, we remained a bit skeptical of God and this freedom stuff and we needed constant reassurances that it really was not merely smoke and mirrors, or in this case pillars of smoke and fire. And when Moses, our leader left us and did not return when he promised, we panicked. We reverted to the familiar stuff that comforted for generations. We went for the Golden Calf! Forgive us our weakness, but recent miracles not withstanding, we were not getting the “warm and fuzzies” standing in the desert at the foot of a mountain with both our God and our Moses nowhere to be found. We were scared and felt abandoned.

And of course, God sees this and is deeply offended by our fickle actions; for the Divine Presence is actively sharing Torah with Moses so that Moses can bring it back to the people. They are engaged in a deep communion. The people however don’t know that and react badly. God does know that, and arguably He reacts badly too.

God wants to wipe out the ingrates and start anew. He tells Moses that He will make a whole new people from Moses and these will be the new loyal and chosen people. It is Moses who stops God and persuades the Almighty that the existing people are indeed those with whom He is in Covenant, a sacred bond that cannot be irrevocably broken because of the bad actions in a moment. God is persuaded by Moses’ argument, but God’s relationship to the people is changed. God suggests that He will dispatch an Angel to lead them forward from Sinai. God is no longer interested in personally leading these people. Moses must use his powers of persuasion yet again to get God to amend this attitude.

As Moses helps God in God’s time of need, so too God helps Moses. For when Moses sees for himself the betrayal of the people and the great sin of the Golden Calf, Moses, to use common parlance, “loses it.” He smashes the two sacred tables given to him by God, and heads back up the mountain to suggest that God’s original suggestion was not so bad after all. Let’s start over! This time it is God who must talk Moses off the ledge. But Moses is also forever changed by this encounter. Torah speaks of Moses descending with light radiating from his face, so much so that Moses wears a veil whenever he appears before the people. The only time we are told Moses removes his veil is when he talks to God. This Midrash confirms the relationship is irrevocable altered. Moses still loves the people and remains their committed leader throughout the wandering in the desert. But the relationship is now different from what it was before.

The relationship between God and Moses is one from which we can learn and draw great meaning.

God and Moses play off each other. Both God and Moses need a partner, a sounding board to help them through. Each keeps the other in check so that one does not to fly off the handle acting rashly or precipitously in the moment in a way that would irrevocably damage another. How important is this lesson for us. To ask for help in getting perspective, not letting ego or hurt or pain cause an outburst or reaction. To consider and cogitate, dispassionately considering what really is the best course of action given the circumstances we confront.

Who gives you this kind of non-judgmental, unconditional support that you need? Do you have the security of a relationship where you can expose your true self and your true feelings without fear of harsh judgment or repercussions? Is there someone, or might you find that in your relationship with God. It can be your love, your friend, your rabbi or possibly a colleague such as my rabbi. How much better off would we be if were to think before we were to act, to measure what we do by the standard of what is best for all those involved, rather than to let ego dictate a reaction that gives us satisfaction in the moment but leaves a path of hurt or destruction in its wake?

Cain yehi ratzon May this be God’s will.

Shabbat Shalom

Putin, Hitler and the Olympics I won’t watch

A few months ago, I said I would boycott watching the Olympic Games in Sochi. I will miss the extraordinary competition and the pomp and circumstance of this gathering of athletes from around the world. But I cannot in good conscience support a spectacle hosted by a dictator thug who has declared homosexuality illegal and who has among his many infamous and dubious distinctions such as suppressing human rights and making a mockery out of the rule of law, has abetted and enabled the atrocious slaughter of innocents in the Syrian Civil War.

I recall history and remember with admiration Jesse Owens. He won the Gold Medal in front of Adolf Hitler flouting and shattering the myth of Aryan supremacy. It certainly would be wonderful irony and affront to the Russian regime for individuals who are homosexual to win Gold and stand atop the podium time and again. I root for it, hoping it will happen, but I will not be watching when it does. I will not support the commercial enterprise; I will not support the corrupt and disgusting regime no matter what lovely face Vladimir Putin attempts to show the world. We know it is all merely show and it is contemptible.

Does He or Doesn’t She? Some Thoughts about God, Me and the SuperBowl

This Friday night we celebrate a very special Shabbat. Although each Shabbat is special, certain Shabbats are singled out for particular meaning in the Jewish calendar. There is Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Shabbat HaGadol, the Shabbat leading to Passover, Shabbat Shirah, the Shabbat where we sing of crossing the Reed Sea, to name but three of them. Friday, January 31^st, we celebrate Shabbat Super Bowl.

Super Bowl Sunday is Feb 2^nd 2014. Does God actually play a role in the Super bowl?

There is much debate in America as to whether God plays a role in the Super bowl. According to a new survey from the Public Religion Research Institute, “half of American Sports fans say they believe God or a supernatural force is at play in the games they watch.” This includes 26% of Americans who pray directly to God to help their team, 25% of Americans who believe their team is cursed and approximately 19% of Americans who believe God is involved in who wins the game. This raises some very interesting questions: What is the nature of the God you believe in?

How do we understand God? What role does God play in our lives?

If a disaster looms, do we thank God that we were spared from the hurricane (even though the guys that were nailed were not quite so lucky)? If we get sick, do we pray for God to make us well?

I believe the adage “there are no atheists in foxholes.” When your life is at stake, you grab on to anything that might be a lifeline. And foxholes are metaphoric as well as literal. Each of us will face trials and tribulations in our lives. It is then that we need something to hold onto, an anchor, a rock a something that says we will survive this, because regardless of whether we want it or not, misfortune will surely strike. We do not control the event, but we can control how we get through it and how we carry on after it is over.

So where and how do you find God?

As I sought to answer this question, I found some incredible, astounding and sobering statistics: The Department for Veteran’s Affairs reports than an estimated 48,000 veterans are homeless or at risk for becoming homeless. As of the end of last year, the number of non-fatal casualties from Afghanistan and Iraq surpassed the grim milestone of one million. Over 270,000 brain injuries have been diagnosed including traumatic brain injuries and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. These are forbidding statistics. But there is an important point that is tragically lost in these statistics.

These are human beings who are suffering. They are not nameless things, but rather, they are people, people who feel sadness, pain and anguish. These are the people our prophets seek to protect when they call out to us. For far too long we have not felt a personal connection to these individual people. We have let the impersonal Government take care of the nameless masses. But it is for us, however, to look at them as our brothers and sisters, members of our American family. These are the distinct brave men and women like veteran ranger Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg who appeared at the State of the Union Address earlier this week. Sergeant First Class Cory Remsburg served his country heroically with a valor and devotion that goes beyond the comprehension of most of us. And Cory Remsberg will spend the rest of his life dependent upon the love and support of all of us as he struggles to recover from devastating injuries.

We are taught, “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh.” We are all responsible for each other. This is the charge from our God to each and every one of us, that it is our sacred obligation to protect the vulnerable. We are commanded to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, and safeguard the widow and the orphan. It is here that we can find our God. For when we reach out to another, God is in that sacred space.

We learn about God’s sacred space in this week’s Torah portion Terumah. Here are the intricate details of building God’s house in the Midbar. The Mishkan is a moveable structure that the Israelites carry with them on their travels through the Wilderness. And if we take this passage as metaphor, essentially we learn in this parshah that God is with us wherever we may go. God Himself teaches us one of the core messages of Torah. As we are taught to build the Ark of the Covenant, two Cherubim are placed on top of the Ark with facing each other with arms outstretched. And God then says, “Here I will meet with you.” (Ex 25:22). That, in other words, God is found in the place we come into relationship with each other.

So let me return to the original question, “Does God influence the Super Bowl?” “God Knows,” but I do not. I am sure that there is a facet of God that enjoys a good contest, revels in positive human competition, and even enjoys a good burger. Should we invite Him to the Tailgating party? Would that unduly influence the Almighty or perhaps might He just enjoy the sweet savor of something hot off the grill?

But the real question remains: “How can you find God’s presence in your daily life?” And the answer to that question might be that maybe God does indeed have the capacity to influence everything in our lives if only we reached out to others and opened ourselves up to the possibility.

Shabbat Shalom

Presence is an active not passive activity

We think of “being present” for the other as being available to hear them and be with them. We say we reach out to them but often we are really offering to wait for them to come to us. I have learned that is not enough. Offering to be there is a far cry from going to where they are. And I have also learned that when someone needs another, they rarely have the presence of mind to reach out to someone else, instead they are trapped, caught in a place of aloneness.

A friend recently lost a son, a tragedy that words cannot adequately describe. He was loved by many, as was his mother, my friend. People packed both the funeral and the Shiva minyanim, expressing their love and support. At one minyan, I approached my friend and I said in earnest, “Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.” She responded, “Thanks, you’re the third rabbi who has made that offer tonight.” She was appreciative, but her matter-of-fact response was very instructive.

Two weeks later I called her. She had heard that I weaved the story of her son into a sermon and was overflowing with gratitude that I had remembered her and him. The simple act of making a phone call, reaching out to her, rather than sitting waiting for her to call me, was received as a profound gesture of caring. In those few minutes I truly did something important and meaningful. I went to her and provided comfort. Realistically, she never would have called me, and it was unrealistic for me to think otherwise. She was unable to reach out to me. Whether we are providing pastoral care or being a friend, it is what we do that makes the difference in the lives of others.

Hannukah, Maccabees, Soviet Jewry, Freedom. We remember.

On the eve of Hanukkah thoughts turn to the meaning we glean from the ritual and what we remember, particularly the cause of freedom and what is necessary to achieve it. As we recall the Maccabees, I think of the words of acclaimed anthropologist Margaret Meade who once said, “Never Doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed it’s the only thing that ever has.”

Many of us remember to that momentous time on December 6, 1987 when a quarter of a million people came together on the National Mall to protest during Premier Mikhael Gorbachev’s visit to Washington demanding that he “let my people go,” and grant the right of Soviet Jews to emigrate to Israel. But before 250,000 people could gather and speak with one voice, people needed to galvanize them. In fact it was on May 1, 1964, outside the Russian Legation to the United Nations in Manhattan, that the first mass public rally to support Soviet Jewry was held. This was the original committed core that started the process, and as they say, the rest is history. Those Soviet Jews that wanted to were eventually granted the right to make aliyah and go to live as Jews in the Land of Israel.

We celebrate those brave souls who risked their personal safety to stand for the ideal of freedom that is embodied in Judaism. We rightfully pay tribute to those who stood up and spoke to power there knowing free speech did not exist in that place, that such speech came at a great price. Those of us here in the United States were encouraged and energized by their voices and we joined ours to theirs. The cry for freedom grew louder and louder until it could no longer be ignored. The doors opened and the great exodus of the twentieth century began; the Jews of the Soviet Union came home.

We saw the power of the word defeat the mighty. We can and should celebrate this modern miracle. But the past is only prologue. For not all the Jews left. What of those that remained behind? They could have been forgotten as our attention focused on the new Olim and we reveled in our accomplishment. But that small committed group continues to make its voice heard and the Jews of the Former Soviet Union have also entered into a new era.

The Jews of the FSU are actively reconnecting with their Judaism that others had tried to take away two generations ago. With the help of outside groups such as the JDC there is a Jewish revival happening. It is not the whispers of Jews practicing their faith behind closed doors, but Jews being and doing Jewish in the open. To visit major urban centers in the FSU, Synagogues that had been shuttered or once repurposed as things like warehouses are now open for business as places of worship. We saw with amazement not only synagogues but also day schools and Jewish Community Centers. And even more remarkable, not only Chabad is there, but so are other streams of Judaism. An organic Judaism is taking hold as Jews rediscover and reconnect to their past, themselves, and their future.

The work is far from over. Rabbi Tarfon tells us in Pirkei Avot that “You are not duty bound to finish the work, but neither can you desist from it.” Judaism’s rise in the FSU, from near extinction to flourishing, is nascent. It remains our sacred obligation to use our power and influence to nurture Jews around the world seeking to connect with our sacred wisdom. We are there to open the doors and welcome our brothers and sisters to join Klal Yisrael. Our true tribute to those who have done so much for the cause of freedom is to continue the work that they started and help the next generation of Jews.

How special must it be to be really special? Thoughts on Thanksgivukah.

Thanksgiving and Chanukah coincide this year. You may have already heard that. You may also have heard that according to the people who calculate such things, this event will happen again in 70,000 years, give or take. So for us it is safe to say Thanksgivukah is a once in a lifetime event. It is the first time the two holidays occur at the same time and, as much as I love my country, I am not sure if it will be around 700 centuries years from now for the next one. Thanksgivukah is a big deal if only because it likely will happen only this one time. Let us celebrate!

So break out the sweet potato latkes and the turkey menorahs with candles for tail feathers. I am sure that there are all kinds of tie-ins, dreidels and chocolate gelt meeting funny looking black hats (maybe no change there) along side pumpkin pie and turkey with dressing. And on the more serious side, there are the opportunities to learn and make meaningful connection; how do we as moderns understand the two holidays? How do we tell the intertwined story? How do we relate to the people both Native American and Pilgrim and their respective narratives from a Jewish point of view? What a special celebration this will be.

The thing of it is, each day of our lives is truly just like Thanksgivukah; a unique moment that is ours for as long as it lasts, and once gone, only a memory never to be relived but possibly recaptured as myth and retold because it was special. What if we greeted each day with such a profound sense of awe and anticipation? How much better might life be if we lived each day to its fullest?

I will not let you go until you have blessed me.

In the dark solitude of night Jacob wrestles with an unidentified man until dawn, but would not let him go, even after he appears to vanquish his opponent. Although the text says it was a man, the figure is mysterious and might have been an angel of God or possibly a demon from Jacob’s psyche.

This remarkable story speaks to how we might make something good come from the troublesome or even the tragic event; for Jacob would not let go until he received a blessing. Instead of fleeing, as Jacob has in the past, Jacob only grapples with it. Acknowledging this event is now a part of him, Jacob holds on. Jacob emerges from the scuffle physically injured, forever changed. But he still insists that something good comes of the encounter a blessing.

So many of us confront tragedy in our lives. And despite the pain and the suffering tragedy causes, people often turn it in order to make something good as a result. For example, the founders of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, MADD, were able to take the unspeakable horror of losing their children and create a crusade to save the children of others. Veronique Pozner, recently named as one of the Forward 50, lost her 6-year-old son Noah in Newtown and transformed her personal tragedy and grief into a rallying cry for gun control legislation in Connecticut.

We are forever changed as a result of the harsh tests in our lives. For Jacob, his hip was damaged and his name changed to always reflect that the event had irrevocably altered him. Nothing will bring the lost children back to their mothers. Noah will never return to Veronique, but she celebrates his brief life, by working to create a better world. May we all find the strength to do so.

~Thoughts on Vayishlach

The need for connection runs deep

Toledot, last week’s Torah portion, holds one of the most poignant moments in the entire Tanakh for me. The story of Esau before his father is heart wrenching. We know that Esau sold his birthright to his brother for a bowl of stew and that Jacob completed the deed by deceiving his father into giving him the blessing. But I cannot help but feel a profound empathy for Esau’s anguish.

There Esau stands, this strong brute of a man, sobbing before his father beseeching him: Is there nothing left for me? Can I not also have your blessing? This is more than a demand for his portion of the family wealth. This is the yearning human need to belong. There is the deep heartfelt desire to believe that there is love enough in his father’s heart to share a blessing, a hope an aspiration for something that is Esau’s inheritance from his father. The best Isaac could muster was that Esau would be free of his brother’s dominance only when Esau moved away. And so an estrangement began so brutal in its nature, that Jacob fled and when the brothers next meet twenty years later, Jacob still fears for his life.

When our father died, my brother and sister and I respectfully shared the material possessions that remained. My brother took a desk that he always loved and I took the vanity mirror that sat on my dad’s dresser since he was a boy. But I think the blessing that my father left my brother was his knowledge that he was dad’s primary caregiver and their bond grew very strong and close. For me it was the knowledge that this new path I embarked upon into the rabbinate was a source of pride and admiration. These are the truly valuable legacies that will remain with us.

May we always find that our inner wellspring of love and compassion is never exhausted. May we always have something to give to those seeking our love and support, even when it is challenging. May we learn from Isaac that there is a better and more empathetic way to embrace another.