I am pleased to share our video teaching of Pirkei Avot
We aimed this teaching at the Baby Boomers to help unlock the wisdom of Pirkei Avot as they navigate this very interesting stage of life. The link is below, or you can find this and other insightful things at www.JewishSacredAging.com.
http://www.jewishsacredaging.com/pirkei-avot-a-short-video-study-series-with-rabbi-david-levin/
Naomi and I have entered a new chapter in our lives. A new phase in the journey that has brought us to an interesting, sobering and new place.
I do not have a formal name for it, but people approximately my age/generation are becoming aware of it and those of you in the generation that has preceded us remember this time as well. I guess we are officially “middle age.” With all the talk of 40 being the new 30 and similar reframing, the fact is that in our 50’s we are in the place where mortality is showing itself as a real part of life. We have those krenks and pains, and some body parts are not performing as they once did. But even more sobering, some of our friends are not faring so well. They have real issues, confronting things such as cancer and heart disease, and some have died. Our parents are aging; many slipping, and many of them too are dying. We have entered that phase where these things are becoming the common and expected part of daily life, no more the stories of others from another generation, or the extraordinary event of someone we know. I am not sure precisely what this phase may be called, except for possibly “our new reality,” this next phase of our lives.
It is strange and as a new experience it creates separation and aloneness. Yet it is a phase that we all experience. This is a time when our older generation can truly reach out to us younger people and help us make sense of this new place; for they have been here and have lived through it. Their experience gives them an understanding that we could use. If we could talk about it, the wisdom of the older would help us make some sense of it. We both would benefit from the conversation and the bonds that this sharing could foster. When we open up about our fears and how we navigate through them, we deepen the relationships between us figuratively and literally holding each other’s hand.
Dear Mr. Fingerhut,
I urgently write you to reconsider your decision to refuse to speak at the upcoming JStreet conference. You are squandering an extraordinary opportunity to reach a substantial portion of our young people and sending a message of exclusion, that the young people attending the JStreet conference are not worthy nor are they welcome to be part of Hillel.
Personal views regarding Mr. Erekat notwithstanding, he has been a representative of the Palestinian people and authority representing them. He speaks with leaders around the world as such. But more importantly, it is not his legitimacy as a speaker nor his attendance at the JStreet event that is noteworthy, it is your absence. JStreet is not endorsing his viewpoint, only asking that he share it in a peaceful thoughtful way. His acceptance of the opportunity to speak is a chance for us to hear his point of view and possibly learn from it.
I dare say you do not agree with JStreet’s politics as well. This is also okay. Your appearance was intended as an opportunity to share your views and offer a message of support to our young people who are in a committed relationship with Israel. You were to be welcomed with respect and we looked to learn from you. Sadly with your withdrawal you have sent the message that those who disagree with you are not welcome in your tent, marginalizing a substantial portion of the Jewish student population. This reflects poorly on Hillel, the organization that is supposed to be the home of all Jewish students on campus, not only those who comport to a particular political viewpoint.
Democracy encourages diversity and through diversity comes strength. This is a fundamental tenet of all democracies. Although we have many different political views, we all are committed to Israel. Hopefully on that we can agree and then build. However, we must be able to respect the viewpoints of others even when those views diverge from our own. Welcoming you and listening to you, I might learn from what you hold as true, and likewise you from me. Your leadership, demonstrating a strong commitment to what you believe while willing to embrace and reach out to those who disagree, is critical at this juncture. Our young people need to hear your voice and they need to feel welcome as a fully authentic part of Clal Yisrael.
You need to be at the JStreet conference. I hope you will reconsider and join us.
Rabbi David M. Levin
God’s Miracle is not in the Thunder and Lightning but in people sheltering others from the storm
At this moment we are awaiting the appearance of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu before the joint session of the United States Congress. Whether you think it is a good idea or not, it is happening. We will listen to the messages, which we can anticipate will be: Israel believes Iran cannot possess the ability to create a nuclear bomb, which would pose an existential threat to Israel and to the world; and therefore must be stopped by any means necessary. The Prime Minister will also appeal to the deep and constant support of its most important ally, the United States, and attempt to minimize the issues that exist between him and the President of the United States.
I do not know how successful Mr. Netanyahu will be at conveying either message. I do know that we, the American Jewish population, needs to increase its voice of support for the American-Israeli alliance, to strengthen a relationship that finds itself tested harshly and deeply at this point in time. We have much work to do to repair any damage that has been done, and particularly to move past the political partisanship dangerously inserting itself into the conversation.
We also be aware of the Iran issue and remain vigilant. And we must demand to know the terms of any negotiated deal will be and why. A rising Iran, particularly a nuclear capable Iran, is a global concern. A solid, strong unwavering alliance between the United States and Israel is also very important to the free world and particularly to us. We must work to make sure despite stress to this relationship, the relationship remains sound.
It is all about what we do tomorrow.
The swirl of events both at home and abroad makes keeping an even keel difficult if not almost impossible. The storm rages and calls out to us to react harshly, which can only add to the anger. Some may recall Jonah offering himself up to be sacrificed and when the sailors threw him overboard, the seas calmed. But that is not how it is here. Instead it is more like Nadav and Abihu, the priests and sons of Aaron who brought offerings ostensibly honoring God. But God rejected their alien fire and they were destroyed. The storms call out for more sacrifices but to give in would consume not only our offerings but us as well.
We are compelled to act against the injustice and the evil we see in the world around us, compelled to act against the injustice and evil that seduces its followers to do wrong while believing they champion a worthy cause. Now more than ever, each of us is compelled to seek the wisdom of our texts, the Ethics of our Fathers, to guide us on straight paths. This Erev Shabbat, I share with you the poem “IF” by Rudyard Kipling:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.
Shabbat Shalom
Living in the state of Florida, initial conversations with new acquaintances usually had two questions asked early on. The first question was: Where are you from? The second question was: Where do you live? Most of us had come from somewhere else. Most of us were immigrants to the Sunshine State. This meant that our lives and the things that brought meaning to our lives were someplace else. According to the traditional laws of the interstate highway system, our home was somewhere Northeast if you lived on the Eastern side of Florida along I-95, or home was the Midwest if you came to Florida via I-75. Regardless from whence you came, each of us brought our own question, whether we would be able to make our home in this new land. Some made the transition; some maintained a dual identity and some but a ger toshav– a resident alien.
Jacob made his life in Egypt according to Parsha Vayechi. For 17 years he lived with his extended family in this new land opened to them by his son Joseph. But when it came time to die, Jacob made Joseph promise that he would bury Jacob in his homeland. And so Joseph brought his father Jacob back to be buried in the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron. All of those years living in Egypt as someone of privilege, whose son was so prominent, but Jacob considered his home elsewhere and never fully accepted a place in Egyptian society and culture.
What does it mean to maintain your identity? The Hebrews remained separate and distinct from the Egyptians. In the next parsha we learn that a new Pharaoh arose who did not know Joseph and feared these strangers in the midst of Egypt, leading to 400 years of slavery and ultimately an Exodus to return home.
We struggle as we attempt to preserve our families and our values. This is especially true given our mobility today. The American story has been an active tension between the desire to assimilate into American culture and the desire to maintain a distinct Jewish identity. How do we balance these two, which often are in conflict with each other? How do we live out our days fulfilled? What roles do our families play in this process of making a home? What do we pass on to our children as the legacy, their true inheritance?
“Home is where the heart is” goes the adage. But if we do not make our homes wherever we are, isn’t life there incomplete? Where and how do we make our home? The questions raised by Parsha Vayechi remain important. They are as relevant to the person moving to Florida as they were to the person sojourning in Egypt, or to someone moving to a new residence to accommodate to a new set of personal needs as they move into a new phase of life.
It is more than just bad policing
We are in the throes of mourning the death of two New York City Policemen, on the heels of the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner. We are raw. Emotions have spilled like blood from deep wounds. We need time to process. We need time to grieve. We need to catch our collective breath. We need time to come to grips with the tragic series of events that have shaken our country. What we do know is that the violence is overwhelming and somehow we must get it to stop.
The deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner have galvanized people across the country. Initial protests over the deaths of these two individuals increased dramatically in the wake of the Grand Juries not indicting the police officers involved. Uncovered a deep gulf between the police and the people they serve.
My concerns run deeper than whether indictments were handed down. There are other frankly more important issues that must be addressed. I am deeply troubled when a man repeatedly pleads 11 times that he cannot breathe and the police who have subdued him are unable to move from actively bringing him under control to actively engaging in the humanity of helping him once he was down. I am deeply troubled that a man’s body remained laying in the street for four hours rather than being treated with basic dignity. The lack of humanity is deeply distressing, and it goes far beyond bad actions of particular police.
Our problems are a deep divide separating whole segments of society from the institutions that are supposed to protect, defend and nurture them. Oppression is the result of the separating segments of society already prejudged as unsavory from the rest of “civil” society. It is more than a new approach to policing and re-examining the way our criminal justice system metes out punishment, as important as these changes are. It goes to the fabric of our country. It permeates our society and cannot be simply fixed by changes implemented at the top. All of us have responsibility to understand what is wrong and how we might change it.
Government can make the police of Ferguson look more like the people of Ferguson. But it is the people of Ferguson who must also invest in the infrastructure the schools and the families to build minds and to instill values. It is up to the locals and their police to be sensitive to each other. It is up to the broader society to bring economic opportunity and the possibility of upward mobility, the opportunity to aspire to become something more. It is up to us.
Marching is important if it serves as a first step to spur the people. Now the next step is to organize and develop goals and a strategy with political clout to effect change. And the rest of us need to support this work knowing that through this process we are all strengthened. This is the beginning of the next important phase of the Civil Rights movement in our great country.
The Attorney General of the United States seems as perplexed as many of us and has ordered a Federal Investigation into the death of Eric Garner. This might shed light on a process that many found disappointing to say the least. But this investigation cannot provide justice for Eric Garner; it is for our future. The civil rights advances of the past did not happen solely by new law or court order. The advances happen and endure only when there is sufficient will of the people to demand we overcome the status quo and demand better of our institutions and ourselves.
Our demonstrations proclaim “Black Lives Matter.” All lives matter. Everyone deserves to live. We are a nation of laws. And those laws must apply to all to protect the weak so that all may have the opportunity to pursue, free from violence and fear, the inalienable rights upon which our nation was founded.
But for now, let us take time to grieve and bury our dead. Then let us return and start the process of making change.
One powerful way to demonstrate Israel’s commitment to a future together with the Palestinian People would if Israel took the lead and sponsored a Palestinian State in the United Nations.
This bold and decisive measure would show that Israel is indeed prepared to have the Palestinian people living in their own land with control over their destiny as a neighbor and partner in peace.
The original UN Partition Plan called for the establishment of two states. Sadly, its rejection and the ensuing war left the Palestinian State stillborn. The bitter state of affairs has remained. By declaring support of the Palestinian State now, Israel would show its real commitment to a two-state solution.
In many respects, it is the internal issue that is at the crux of Israel’s problem; Israel has not determined in her own heart the status of the West Bank, aka Judea and Samaria, or East Jerusalem. Until Israel can articulate its position vis-a-vis this land, Israel is unable to move forward, mired in her own internal struggle with what she understands herself to be. If Israel can offer most of the West Bank to the Palestinians, the time to do it is now.
Recognition of a Palestinian State does not end the conflict between the two peoples. Those who believe only in the eradication of Israel will remain a voice of trouble. However, giving hope to the Palestinian people by supporting them in their homeland, offering hope and prosperity can marginalize these destructive voices. Peaceful coexistence is more important than a perpetual state of hostility that only serves to kill too many of our children.
This vision of the future will take great time, patience and resources. Too many have a vested interest in maintaining belligerence. Israel must remain vigilant in protecting herself with secure borders and acting decisively in the face of threats to her people or her existence. Supporting the creation of the State of Palestine does not deter Israel from protecting her self-interests. It does precisely the opposite; a perpetual state of war cannot end well for either side, nor can a perpetual state of occupation. The only way to live together is to try, to have the courage and the strength to lead by example and support the legitimate hopes and aspirations of the Palestinian people to have a say in their own destiny and possibly learn to live side by side with their Israeli neighbors.
I love Santa. As a boy growing up, my mom would dress me in my “Sunday Best” and take me to Macy’s to sit on the big guy’s lap and tell him about all the stuff I was supposed to get. This lovely tradition stopped when I started checking each Santa to see if the beard was real. The presents and the love however did not cease. Even way back then, Santa was an American experience that I enjoyed and fondly remember.
The Santa Claus experience was not rooted in my maternal line of Orthodox and Conservative Jewish generations preceding my mother. On my father’s side however, my Grandmother, a Southern Baptist, embraced Christmas and helped to push the borders of Judaism in our world.
My Grandma was a lady, full of grace in every sense of the words. She was elegant, kind, sweet, devoted and deeply loving. My grandfather and she fell in love while he was on the road as a traveling salesman staying in my great-grandmother’s boarding house in Dallas, TX (a wonderful story unto itself). They eventually returned with a child in tow to the Orthodox world of the Jewish Bronx. But Grandma never converted. Grandpa once remarked that he would never ask that of her, and for reasons of her own, she never did. Grandma did however fully support the raising of a Jewish family and I remember her actively participating in every holiday and ritual, even including supporting the State of Israel. I recall her standing with me at my Bar Mitzvah, lighting the Chanukiah and making latkes, and so many more experiences too numerous to mention. She could not have been more involved or a more important part of my Jewish identity and upbringing even though she remained a Southern Baptist.
As a way to honor my Grandma, we celebrated Christmas. It was a time that the Levin family gathered together to share a family meal and exchange presents. In actuality, the kids received the presents. I remember sitting in Grandma’s living room in the apartment on Schenk Avenue surrounded by wrapped boxes impatiently waiting for my turn to open them up; we opened gifts one at a time according to age, so that each child would savor the experience. We usually came to this celebration wearing the new cowboy boots and cowboy shirt with the snap buttons that Grandma had already bought each of us, a nod to our Dallas heritage. My mom struggled for years with the Christmas tree, but eventually she learned to embrace it. These childhood experiences were ones of love and warmth that remain in my heart.
My experience of Christmas is not religiously Christian. It is however deeply beautiful and meaningful and incorporates some of the best values religion has to offer. It has enriched my life and filled me with wonderful memories of people I hold dear. It has helped to shape me into the person and rabbi I am today. My concern is that I am able to share the wonderful blessings that I enjoyed with others.*
* A few of my colleagues are engaged in a conversation about the topic of Santa and Christmas in the public domain. These were my thoughts on the matter.
Lech Lecha
“Go Forth from your native land and from your father’s house, to a land that I will show you…” Lech Lecha
These are the words of this weeks Torah portion, “Lech Lecha” “go Forth.”
Lech Lecha- These are the Words of God, spoken to Abram. Abram has grown from child to adult In fact an old adult. For those of us who struggle, if you read just a bit further down the page, something very scary appears. As it is written and I quote, “Abram was 75 years old when he left Haran.” So for those of you wondering about your 20-something moving out of the house, be very careful. It could be worse.
But kidding aside, the story we learn about Abraham and his conversation with God are also a story is about Terach, Abraham’s father. Every parent is familiar with these words as well. For it is indeed the conversation we parents eventually have with our children. It is the understanding that the time has come for our child to venture out on his or her own.
The rabbis struggled with this text asking how could Abraham leave his father and family behind, never to see them again? One Midrash posits that maybe Terach was evil and thus Abraham leaving Terach behind might be justified. Another Midrash explains that it was God directly intervening, calling on Abraham to leave and thus exempting Abraham from the filial duties that the eldest son would normally have been required to perform.
But maybe, this issue is better explained if the words are those of Terach, the father who recognized his son’s need to strike out on his own. Might God’s words be spoken through Terach?
We constantly take lessons learned from the words of God and our relationship with the Almighty and find amazing parallels in our relationships with others, particularly parent/child relationships. Who is responsible to whom, and for what? How does each person change as a result of the encounters and experiences with the other?
In some respects the Torah can be viewed as Process Theology overlaid on humankind. We look at this story and we can imagine these words coming from a father as he realizes it is time for his son to venture forth into the world to find a new path taking him from his father’s home to someplace far away.
Now for those of us who live in Philly, it is hard to imagine that people actually leave, but suffice it to say even if your child only moves from the Main Line to Center City that too is leaving the house of your birth.
Such a parting comes after a long and arduous journey starting at, if not before, conception. There are stages in the process. First there is the shock, that moment when you realize you are to become a parent, and you are on the verge of leaving behind forever the life that you have known. Then there is ecstasy, that overwhelming joy that you will be having a child. Then you are overwhelmed by another emotion, fear, “How am I going to pull this off?” This is followed by somber reflection. Then we begin in earnest, we start painting the babies room, stop drinking, start eating right, read baby books. We dream of what might be for this new life- sometimes a projection of the wishes and dreams unfulfilled in our lives that road not taken by us; what we might have been. We pray that their lives will be filled with joy that we will be good parents. We hope they will become something wonderful, and most of all we pray for their good health.
And then, there they are and the real deal begins. They are small, helpless and overwhelming. Late at night, bleary eyed after too much sleep deprivation, you find yourself looking to the heavens thinking, “Why didn’t You include an instruction manual?”
Parenting is hard. We spend our parental lives preparing, teaching, nurturing, strengthening and protecting. However, the protecting needs to withdraw we need to practice a kind of tzimtzum– so that the other things we have taught can find space to flourish and they can discover on his or her own.
We watch as our creation spreads his or her wings and learns to fly. If we tether them– flight will falter and fail. They need to learn sometimes the hard way and we need to be able to give them that.
I remember teaching my son Derek to ride his bike, the two-wheeler bicycle without the training wheels. Holding the bike upright, walking then quickly breaking to a run, holding on to the seat until that moment when I had to let go. Somehow we know the first time would not end well. But we do it none-the-less. Derek caught on to the idea of riding, it was the stopping part that he found confounding. Pedaling forward he understood. Backpedaling to brake was not a concept he embraced initially, so hedges, lawns, cars and even the street became ways to stop. It took a couple of skinned knees on him and frayed nerves in me before biking started working for him.
And then it continues. School, friends, relationships, achievements and love, disappointments and hurts, our children continue to develop. We spend so many years of our lives devoted to the nurturing, the teaching, investing in them, exposing them and protecting them. And once we have given them all that we reasonably can, we are to let them go, to let them be the people they are becoming.
“Go out with the tools that I have given you
with the life that I have nurtured,
go out and make a place for yourself in the world
that is yet to reveal itself to you.
Make your place in it, make it yours,
full of all the good things that might be.”
The words of God and Terach to Abraham are the blessings every parent hopes to bestow upon every child.
What does the world have in store? What lies ahead through that open door to the future that leads out of the relative safety and security of our home into the world of the unknown, a world filled with potential yet fraught with danger?
Filled with ambivalence we prepare to say “Lech Lecha” but hope maybe they might stay a bit longer. Possibly the struggle with adolescence is part of the process that helps our children cleave from us after so long cleaving to us. And our prayer, the V’ahavta takes on new meaning, may I suggest, something like this:
“I hope I have taught you well.
I hope the lessons and values I shared you have embraced,
and you will carry them and me in your heart
down whatever path you choose for your life.
May these principles guide you
in the choices you make and the actions you take
from the moment you wake in the morning
until it is time to rest at night.
Wear them proudly in your deeds and in your thoughts
so that everyone you meet will know
they have entered the presence of someone who tries to live life
virtuously and with integrity.”
So I say Lech Lecha- go forth my child. Take what we have given you and make a life for yourself. You need to go and I cannot go with you. Know that our lives have been forever changed by you; sometimes it was hard, but oh so deeply rewarding. But now it is time. But just one thing, every once in a while, especially when the time comes for you to have a child of your own, remember to call home; I miss you already.
Shabbat Shalom
