Category Archives: Uncategorized

Should We Bring Back Arranged Marriage?

Just married Not long ago, a friend of mine posted an excellently snarky commentary about a new television show called, Married at First Sight. On this show, potential—I don’t know what you call them…”contestants,” perhaps?—fill out personality assessments and undergo “spiritual counseling,” and then four experts narrow down several hundred people to three couples. Then they get married. Without meeting one another first.

My friend was gleeful: what a train wreck! But after an initial shiver of dismay at yet another reality show, I thought to myself—y’know, is it really? It’s just bringing back the idea of matchmakers—what’s so shocking about that?

In earlier times, marriage wasn’t expected to be the way that individuals fulfilled themselves. We think of marriage this way now, but the truth is that we think of nearly everything this way—it’s one of the less admirable side-effects of a rights-oriented society (there are good things of course, too, but stay with me here, we’re not talking about those right now). Older societies viewed marriage in different ways, but the pattern tended towards viewing them as a way to join families (not individuals), a child-rearing project, sometimes a way to maximize economic resources (or if you were very wealthy, to concentrate them). When done well, compatibility of background and interest are taken into account, too.

In theory, this leads to much less of the “oh, my infatuation period is over, lets move on to the next high-excitement partner” problem. In a good marriage, where the daughters’ needs were taken into account by her parents (i.e. no child marriage, no large age difference between the future spouses, etc.—a lot of which is actually mentioned in traditional Jewish sources in those eras when marriages were, of course, arranged) that can mean that a lot of the silliness involved in modern courtship arrangements doesn’t happen. There is no problem with people worrying about the passion not being exactly as it once was, because love comes later, and passion is a bonus, if it happens.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There are so many people out there—I see it at least twice a week in my Facebook feed—advocating that if you don’t “feel the passion” at every blessed moment, there’s something wrong and you should leave, whether it’s your job, or your spouse. But if we think about it, that’s kind of crazy: imagine deciding that when your child was old enough that you were no longer in the stage where you daftly stare into the baby’s face all the time and can’t get enough of smelling its adorable baby smell—imagine if people advised you to give away the baby at that point, because you didn’t feel the passion.

It’s the same for marriage (or your job, for that matter) the beginnings, where you gaze moonily at each other all the time, and can’t really think of anything else—that shouldn’t be the end point of the relationship, where you want to stay for years and years. Like the child, there need to be changes as your relationship matures -that’s not a failure of love any more than sending your child off to preschool—or college—is.

I’m not really advocating for parents to once again arrange matches between families—heaven knows I would likely have been appalled at anyone my parents were likely to pick for me. But there may well be something to be said for having someone who is not directly involved in the emotions of the process being the one (or more) who matches couples up—maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible thing for there someone looking out for long-term goals other than simply the excitement of anxiety and physical attraction in the early days of infatuation. Maybe it would be good for us to return—at least a little bit—to couples thinking of their partnering as something more than just the two of them—or, at least for the person matching them up to think of those things.  And while I don’t foresee a wholesale return to shadchans (matchmakers), the fact that there is a show in which people who want to meet someone else, and are willing to hand over their choice to people who might do a better job than they do—that’s something to think about.

The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.

Posted on July 16, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

YOU Can Bring Peace in the Middle East!

doveTomorrow, Tuesday, July 15th is a fast day in Jewish tradition. It is called the 17th of Tammuz, named after the date on the Hebrew calendar. It is a minor fast, meaning that the fast lasts only from sun up to sun down. It commemorates, among other things, the breaching of Jerusalem’s walls which led to the destruction of the Second Temple.

Coincidently, we are also in the month of Ramadam, when Muslims also fast from sun up to sundown. Given the confluence of the two fasts, and the current fighting between Israel and the Palestinians, several ideas have been floated to bring Jews and Muslims together to celebrate the two fast days.

One group organizing joint gatherings is called “Choose Life Ramadan- 17 Tammuz Fast.” The group can be found on Facebook. Rabbis and Imams from around the world are posting joint events on the page. Scroll through the page to see if there is something in your area. The idea is that if we can celebrate together, we can find a way to peace together.

Another idea is proposed by Rabbi Yehuda Kurtzer in an op ed published in The Times of Israel  calling for “the sound of social silence.” He has been appalled at the hate being expressed on social media by people on both sides of this conflict. He is calling for social media silence on this issue beginning on the Fast of Tammuz on Tuesday and extending through the three weeks of mourning some Jews observe for the destruction of the Temples which ends on Tisha B’Av on Tuesday, August 5th.

Both of these ideas are beautiful ways to try to stem the hatred and violence on both sides of this conflict. They also give each of us a way to contribute to building peace. I hope you are able to put one of these ideas in to practice, or to think of another positive thing you can do to help bring about peace.

Israel’s national anthem is called Hatikvah, “The Hope.” Though things may seem very bleak right now, I am holding on to the hope that peace will finally come to the region, and I want to play even a tiny role in making that happen. You can too!

Posted on July 14, 2014

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Reb Zalman’s Gift to Us All

Reb Zalman at Ohalah rabbinic conference, 2014 (courtesy Rabbi Rachel Barenblat)

Reb Zalman at Ohalah rabbinic conference, 2014 (courtesy Rabbi Rachel Barenblat)

On Thursday, I landed in San Francisco on the first day of a family vacation. As I turned my phone back on as we pulled into the gate, the first news I saw was the announcement of Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi’s passing. On Monday, my colleague Rabbi Laura Duhan Kaplan wrote eloquently about Reb Zalman’s overall approach to Jewish life—an approach to renewing the spiritual heart of Jewish practice. That approach to renewal, while leading to the creation of an organized group of students, communities, a rabbinic program, and much more under the umbrella of ALEPH (Alliance for Jewish Renewal), reached far beyond any particular denomination. And that was of Reb Zalman’s design. His gift did not fit in just one vessel, and he was eager to see the wisdom and innovation shared widely. I’m not sure that I can identify another rabbinic figure whose teachings and wisdom have, in our time, shaped and inspired so many others in so many different parts of Jewish life.

While I am ordained by Hebrew Union College, and work under the auspices of the Reform movement for a Reform congregation, my soul has been and continues to be rooted in Renewal, the teachings of Reb Zalman and the many other teachers that he inspired and empowered to spread their light in the world. In much of my work in Jewish communal settings, my reputation is for bringing spiritual awareness and practice into mainstream settings in ways that are accessible and experiential. When I stop and think about what, specifically, people are drawn to and respond to, so much comes from all I learned from Jewish Renewal.

Once a month, I offer a creative service which borrows Hayyim Herring’s label (from his book Tomorrow’s Synagogues Today)—”Ritual Lab.” In fact, this forum, which allows us to deepen our experience of our worship together and the inner meanings of our prayers, is my own iteration of “Interpretive Davening”—a gift from Reb Zalman and his students.  Sometimes these services include chanting—a gift shared by Rabbi Shefa Gold, whose chanting wisdom was blessed, appreciated and encouraged by Reb Zalman. In one service, my cantorial soloist and I modeled before the congregation how to take a psalm and, one line at a time ,taking turns,  read and drash on that line to more deeply experience and connect to the verses. A gift from Reb Zalman. Sometimes, at a Torah service, I’ve invited people to see if they feel ‘called’ to the Torah for an Aliyah because there is a teaching from the week’s parsha that connects to the fabric of their lives. And every week that I bless a bar or bat mitzvah student with a Mi Shebeirach blessing, I trust that the spirit will inspire an appropriate, spontaneous  blessing in the moment that recognizes that student’s spiritual link to the Torah they have just shared with us.  All this, and so much more I learned from Reb Zalman or from one of the many students who were inspired by him.

There is so much more Jewish creativity and spiritual inspiration, today found in settings across all denominations and none, that owes, either consciously or unconsciously, a debt to the gifts that Reb Zalman either taught directly or encouraged and blessed in others. Take the success of Storahtelling and the wonderful work of Amichai Lau Levi. Inspired by the earlier work of the Institute for Contemporary Midrash—a part of the Jewish Renewal world. Ever sat in a Jewish meditation service? Many of the early teachers who brought forth a practice that, for centuries, was primarily only to be found in mystical or Hasidic contexts, did so first to a receptive community in Jewish Renewal. Ever been transformed by a niggun—a wordless melody—at a Shabbat gathering? These tunes, lying at the heart of Hasidic musical spirituality, were brought into the heart of communal gatherings in the context of Jewish Renewal. Not only there, but so many of those who learned melodies and shared them first learned them in a Jewish Renewal setting. I know that I did, and all of my early work in Jewish communities, focusing on spirituality through music, prior to entering rabbinic school, was inspired by those experiences.

And there’s more. A couple of years ago a young woman, now a Youth Advisor, and I got talking at Kutz Camp, the leadership camp for the Reform movement. It turned out that I had been her religious school teacher in the UK 20 years ago! She told me that there were two things that she specifically remembered about those classes (I was amazed; I don’t think I can recall anything from Religious school at the age of 10). She remembered being shown how all the festivals fit to the seasons and had a different emotional feel, presented in a big pie chart diagram on the wall. And she remembered our classes on Eco-Kashrut. I taught these things because I had been inspired by my teacher, Reb Arthur Waskow, one of Reb Zalman’s earliest students. How incredible – Reb Arthur and Reb Zalman were talking and writing about Eco-Kashrut decades before these topics entered the mainstream awareness in other branches of Jewish life.

As I approach every festival, consider how to invite a community into an experience that will translate ancient words and rituals into the hills and valleys of an inner landscape that we are called upon to explore and come to understand, Reb Zalman’s teachings and the teachings of those he inspired are my guides time and time again.

Reb Zalman cared passionately about a Judaism that would be deeply meaningful and spirituality inspiring. He is the source and the inspiration for so much; truly a gift to us all.

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Posted on July 9, 2014

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Let It Go

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512px-Pinemere_Camp_groundsI don’t normally see myself as a curmudgeon. Ever since I can remember, I have erred on the side of being iconoclastic and even a little bit irreverent. Rules, norms, and social mores, to borrow from a Jewish context, generated a vote but not a veto on my conduct.

So I was surprised to find myself, this past week, bemoaning the lack of decorum during the recitation of the Birkat Hamazon (Grace After Meals) at a summer camp I was visiting.  For those who have never experienced Jewish summer camp, singing is usually a boisterous affair. Songs and prayers are sung loudly, with catchy tunes to make them easier for campers to learn and remember. Hand gestures and more ornate choreography are created to accompany the singing. The Birkat Hamazon, whose length creates challenging opportunities for young campers to learn, is particularly susceptible to these embellishments. I generally applaud these efforts, and remember fondly the frenzied cacophony that was the singing of the Birkat at the Camp Ramah I attended in California.

But there was something that agitated me here: in the midst of the prayer, on several occasions, the students would toss their kippot or hats into the air in celebration, as if they were graduating from college. I thought this was going too far. I spoke with a few other guest rabbis in attendance and they all murmured their agreement. It’s one thing to sing loudly, we thought, and another to take an object of ritual significance and throw it in the air in the middle of a prayer (during which they should have their heads covered at all times). I was tempted to speak to the camp director and tell him about our concerns for this display of irreverence and disrespect.

And then it (or, more accurately, the 10 year-old version of myself) hit me: how can I, or any rabbi, complain about young Jews demonstrating too much ruach, too much spirit, while praying? So what if they threw their kippot in the air a few times—they were praying, feeling connected to one another and to our tradition, and enjoying it! With Jewish institutions all over America struggling to engage the next generation of Jews, here, at this camp, were hundreds of children and teenagers singing and dancing together, in Hebrew, without any signs of complaint. College-age counselors were teaching elementary school students fun and creative ways to get into the prayer and actually understand what the Birkat is saying!

I reminded myself of the story of Eldad and Medad. They were two individuals who were overcome with prophecy in the Israelite camp. Joshua, appalled at their lack of decorum, urged Moses to restrain them. Moses responded, “If only all the Lord’s people were prophets!” (Numbers 11:29)  To which I’d like to add: If only all our Jewish youth had the exuberance of these campers!

May the Jewish community—from funders to communal institutions—continue to find ways to enable more of our children and teenagers to taste the passion and delight of engaged Jewish experience that summer camp provides. And may old fogies like me pause from our propensity to judge critically what the kids today are doing so that we can appreciate the beauty and rarity of this passion and delight. To quote from Elsa, the latest sage from Disney, “let it go!”

The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.

Posted on July 8, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

Corporations Are Not Religious

The Supreme Court gives corporations Freedom of Religion protection. Absurd.imgres-1

At the close of this season’s Supreme Court rulings, the justices voted that corporations had a right to exercise their freedom of religion. The vote was 5-4. Who would have guessed it?

The right-leaning judges of the majority argued that “closely held for-profit corporations” running on religious principles, such as Hobby Lobby, had a right to exempt themselves from federal laws that impinge their religious sensibilities.

The left-leaning judges challenged, but lost. “The court’s expansive notion of corporate personhood,” Justice Ginsburg wrote, “invites for-profit entities to seek religion-based exemptions from regulations they deem offensive to their faiths.” (New York Times).

Are corporations people?

The Citizens United case, which allowed corporate money in campaigns, sure suggested “yes.” Now, I guess its clear. Corporations are certainly and absolutely persons. Persons, yes.  Perhaps more specifically, zombies. Consider: Corporations never feel pain, loss, or ever die (so vampires?).

While in recess, the Supreme Court should prepare for the onslaught of questions that will soon be rolling in. If corporations are persons, and persons have a right to practice their religion—thus exempting such religiously constituted corporations from having to provide federally mandated services, such as birth control in the case of Hobby Lobby—what constitutes religion?

What is a religion?

I’d like my Jewish corporation, which, on religious grounds is closed on Saturdays, to be exempt from one-seventh of its tax burden. Sure the company’s on-line store is open, but nobody is working (its forbidden on Shabbat). For us, to pay taxes that would be collected on Saturday would constitute our business as “working.” According to our rabbi, automated mechanisms set before Shabbat do not constitute working on Shabbat. You see the issue. I claim Religious Freedom for Jewish businesses that are open/not-open from sundown Friday to nightfall on Saturday.

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Is Pasta-farianism, a “real” religion, likewise recognized by the government, and thus protected? Would a company whose corporate leaders organized their for-profit business around the values of the Flying Spaghetti Monster be exempt from taxation of Rolling Rock? After all, the official website of the Pastafarians’ Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster clearly claims, “We are fond of beer.”

Would George Costanza, of Seinfeld fame, and his family be exempt from paying taxes on unadorned metal poles? The Festivus Pole is central to the celebration of Festivus (“Festivus, the holiday for the rest of us.”). Similarly, anything having to do with the “Airing of Grievances” or the “Feats of Strength” should likewise have Freedom of Religion protection for any individual or corporation that identifies itself as striving to live good, clean Festivus values.

My son, a musician, has left our synagogue and joined the “Rhythm of Life” Churchfirst established by Daddy Johann Sebastian Brubeck in the broadway musical, Sweet Charity:

“Daddy started out in San Francisco,Tootin’ on his trumpet loud and mean. Suddenly a voice said, “Go forth Daddy,Spread the picture on a wider screen.” And the voice said, “Brother, there’s a million pigeons Ready to be hooked on new religions. Hit the road, Daddy, leave your common-law wife. Spread the religion of The Rhythm Of Life.”And The Rhythm Of Life is a powerful beat, Puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet. Rhythm in your bedroom. Rhythm in the street.” (1969 film version, with Sammy David Jr. as Daddy).

My wife and I are devastated, of course. As a Rhythm of Lifer, can he still be considered Jewish? Can he be buried in a Jewish cemetery? Most importantly, does his incorporated band have to pay the thousands of dollars they have incurred in noise ordinance fines?

I expect that the Supreme Court will need to answer these questions in the next session. Clearly the absurd is part of the Court’s new religion, so they’ll be no stopping them.

The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.

Posted on July 1, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

The Destination: Israel

I experience the world through Jewish history. I came by it honestly, having been a lifelong avid student of Jewish history. The story drew me in, like learning about my family’s past.

I feel Jewish history like the blood in my veins. So this week I had a chance to retrace a certain Jewish journey, of sorts. While visiting my daughter in Spain, I felt the history of our people there, with visions of the Golden Age when Jews were a thriving community. I heard the names of Jewish communities all over the Iberian peninsula reverberating in my memory, then felt grief and sadness for the fate of those communities under the Inquisition. The fear and hatred wrought by the Inquisitors, the heinous torture they inflicted on suspected Conversos, secret Jews are a great stain on history. The journey of the Jewish people, so marked by our wanderings, was forever changed.

Thankfully, the relationship of the Spanish people to our people has changed, and now the Spanish government is discussing the offering of citizenship to Jews of Spanish origin—even 500+ years since the Inquisition.

I left Spain, boarding a flight to Istanbul, where I had visited several years ago with the warm hospitality of Turkish hosts. In Turkey I felt Jewish history in my bones, in what was once a significant destination for Jews fleeing the Inquisition. The Ottoman rulers welcomed Jews and offered safe haven and new homes. Our people owe a great debt to Turkey for the friendship offered at such an important time.

History marches on, and now there are few Jews in Turkey. We Jews continued to wander, eventually finding unprecedented opportunity to settle in our ancient homeland in the late 19th century. Fleeing European persecution yet again, our people established a refuge for all Jews by creating the State of Israel.

So when I boarded my next flight, this time to Tel Aviv, I smiled at the sweep of history. Here we are, a Jewish people with our long-awaited rebirth. Now we can travel and live in Spain, visit and enjoy Turkey, and also walk the paths of our ancestors in Israel. I am warmed by remembering just how remarkable that is.

Israel is the destination from our wanderings. Yes, I will return home to New Jersey next month, but I carry this place with me everywhere.  And I wonder, and I worry, will my children, and their peers, growing up in a  time when historical memory pales in comparison to the opportunities presented by the global community—will they carry it in their hearts? Our biggest challenge today is to nurture both cultural openness and Jewish pride. The key lies not only in recalling the sufferings of our past, but in experiencing the remarkable. Israel is a complicated and imperfect place, but it is indeed extraordinary. Israel is uniquely a product of Jewish experience and skillful survival. We did this together, and that includes today’s youth too.

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Posted on June 30, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

Explaining the Unexplainable in Minsk

sacred books“Yes,” I told the baffled American immigration official, “I was in Belarus for a roots trip.” But this in no way captured my experience of touring in the environs of Minsk with a German speaking group out of Austria.  One of the challenges for me starting the journey in Austria is the automatic connection I feel with the place. I was very close with my grandmother who was born and raised in Vienna. She spoke German, ate Austrian foods, used cosmetics that had a European appeal. As complex as it is, I resonate strongly with the smells, flavors and sounds of Austria. Austria is one of my “homelands.”

By contrast Belarus, which was home to so many many Jews, is completely foreign to me personally. I spent 5 days in Belarus, which was 4 days more than my great grandmother. Reisl Hanni Brody was deported from Vienna, September 14th, 1942.  Four days later she arrived in Minsk, was taken to Maly Trostinec and together with all the other Jews in her transport shot. The language and the culture of Belarus do not resonate with me on an individual level. The only thing that connects me to this place is pain and death. This distinction is profound. When I am in Austria I feel compelled to better understand this culture from which I come, in Belarus I felt largely disconnected. Ironically, this disconnect was part of what made the overwhelming and challenging content of 5 days of Holocaust touring, bearable.

Bearable however, is a relative term. Over the 5 days, I heard so many horrid things that my capacity to distinguish between mass murder, horrid brutality and interesting fact has eroded. For example, from Vienna to Brisk, the urbane Jews of Austria travelled in the relative comfort of passenger trains. This helped Jews buy into the imagined hope that they really were,as the Nazis promised, relocating. Only after days of disorientation and hunger were they transferred to the cattle cars that carried them to their death. By this point they could barely protest. Apparently this ‘interesting fact,’ out of the context of other things I learned (which makes it seem kind of mild), comes across more on the horridly brutal when shared over a cup of tea.

Even the positive day of our trip offered little relief. We saw first hand the 200 meter long tunnel dug in 1943, which allowed 250 Jews to escape from a prison work camp near Novogrudok.  The work, perseverance and imagination this took is astonishing. Miraculously, most made it to the woods and were able to the join Bielski resistance detachment made famous in the movie Defiance. I am inspired by the acts of heroism in face of horrific odds and grateful for every life that was saved, but the suffering and horrific circumstances and that led to the need for heroism cannot be redeemed.

There is so much that will never be recovered. Belarus sits between Ukraine and Poland, in a place where borders were not so fixed. Nearly the entire Jewish population was destroyed. Some of the greatest Yeshivot, such as the Mir Yeshiva and the Brisk Yeshiva were located here. This was the birthplace of Marc Chagall. Historian Lucy Dawidowicz put the number of Jewish dead at 375,000.

The Jewish devastation is an important piece, but nonetheless only one piece, of the destruction that took place in Eastern Europe during WWII. While there is no consensus on the total numbers of the general population that died, it is estimated  one third of the total population-Jews and non-Jews- lost their lives. Those who survived often did so by collaborating. Old ethnic tensions were excuses for violence that the Nazis were all too glad to exploit. The property damage was extensive. Almost nothing remains of pre-war Minsk. It was all destroyed at the start of the war by the Germans. These types of scars do not heal easily. We see them on show today in the Ukraine.

Those of us whose relatives lived in this part of the world, and took the chance emigrating in the 1880 or thereabouts, should be eternally grateful.

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Posted on June 26, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

Stop Trying to Get Everyone On the Same Page

shutterstock_175604597While on the surface, the last two posts on this blog from my colleagues, Laura Duhan Kaplan and Joshua Ratner, are about two very different things, they are, I believe, both reflections on the shifting culture in which our Jewish lives and worlds are embedded. Sometimes, in our analysis of our field of focus, we can lose sight of a broader set of dynamics that may have as much, if not more, to tell us about a situation we are examining than some of the specifics of the situation itself.

Let’s start with Joshua’s concern that, at a recent rally for the three kidnapped boys in Israel, there was a stark lack of young people present. Likewise, he notes, at communal Yom HaShoah and Yom Ha’atzmaut events, the presence of a younger generation is often lacking.  Is it that they don’t care? Are we dealing with a more self-centered generation than in the past? These are some of Joshua’s questions.

While there may be some partial truths there, I think a step back to look at the worlds that many of our teens and young adults are living in may be more instructive. And not just our teens and young adults, but many other segments of our communities too. One of the things that I’ve observed is that often, regardless of the topic or the issue, any Jewish gathering that aims to or claims to bring all sections of the community together often reaches none, or very few. Perhaps only those who are comfortably self-identified as the Jewish establishment will appear (those are the 50+ folk that Joshua saw in his crowd). They know that we are addressing them. Others may not be so sure unless we break things down and are more explicit about who we mean.

This is why there are many independent communities and minyanim that have popped up in recent years. Not necessarily identified along established denominational lines, they are, in part, a result of young Jews who are less interested in simply “belonging” to an established Jewish entity because it is already there, and are more interested in creating something that fits who they are, where they can be with like-minded folk.  It is why, within a more established kind of Jewish congregation—one like my own where we are the most significant gathering place for Jews who come to us from 20 different towns—our ability to engage and connect with our members requires us to correctly identify many of the different groups and interests within our larger membership and provide a range of doorways in for those specific needs (creating many small gatherings and opportunities within the large). Its why many congregations realized that when you simply advertise “adult education” you always seem to get the same group of, primarily, empty-nesters and retirees in attendance. Its not that others aren’t interested in learning; it’s just that its only when the kids have left home that you finally have some time to do study for its own sake. Or perhaps you now begin to seek new realms of meaning now that not so much of that meaning-making is invested in raising children. That doesn’t mean we can never get other groups to come and learn with us. It just means we have to be really smart about what it is they need at other junctures of their lives.

So I’ve found teens and young adults to be very engaged with Israel, and deeply able to connect with the impact of the Shoah on Jewish peoplehood, but in places where they come to be with each other. Joshua and I shared the same community for a while. The year that we brought our annual Yom HaShoah observance into our community High School Tuesday evening gathering, it was very powerful to see a couple of hundred teens watch Holocaust survivors light candles, and hear the testimony of one of them. Several teens every year did the “Adopt a Survivor” program and personally got to know one survivor and commit to tell their story. It was clear that they had a connection in our debrief the following week. But do they come on a Sunday afternoon for a “communal” event? Not so much.

Laura’s very honest reflections on how, at an event that was meant to bring community together, she felt somewhat uncomfortable and disconnected from narratives being offered by Jewish leadership from another denomination is, I believe, another dimension of some of the same cultural phenomenon. On almost no topic are we a “one community” mindset. It is almost impossible for anyone to speak anymore and be accepted as “the voice” of the people, or even of a particular moment. Perhaps there was a time, in a more modernist era, where we were willing to let voices of authority speak on behalf of all of us—a Chief Rabbi (in the UK, for example; something that was far more accepted a few decades ago than it is now), a communal leader at a rally, an Op-Ed in a newspaper. But today, some of the most successful Jewish communal events are ones that focus on and celebrate plurality and diversity of voice—take the enormous world-wide success of Limmud, for example. Even on something where you might have assumed that, at least publicly, we’d all stand with one voice, it is the right to have even the minority voice heard that overrides any sense that doing so might undermine a perceived communal unity. Take the position of Jewish Voice for Peace on BDS (Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions), for example, and their recent role in a Presbyterian Church vote to partially divest from three companies doing business in Israel. Some are outraged by their presence in the public square of debate on Israel. But, if we take a step back from the issue and better understand our cultural context, in which we have celebrated and empowered those who are drawn to define and act upon their own sense of justice in a plurality of ways, we shouldn’t be surprised by the result.

Just to be clear, I’m not mourning the lack of perceived unity and peoplehood. Neither am I celebrating it. I’m simply describing the cultural landscape that I believe we are living in the ways that I see it. Simply better understanding it can, I believe, help us do our work in connecting Jews together, engaging Jews in communities, activities and causes, with more successful outcomes. Trying to get everyone at the same event, on the same page, and caring in the same way is a fruitless exercise. We can, however, be successful in creating or supporting many gateways, many voices, and many opportunities to be and do Jewish with each other.

The Jewish world is full of debates. Get the latest in MyJewishLearning’s weekly blogs newsletter.

Posted on June 25, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

#BringBackOurYouthEngagement

kiidnapped IsraelisOn Sunday I helped organize a rally at our JCC in support of the three teenagers, Naftali Fraenkel, Eyal Yifrach, and Gilad Sha’er, who were kidnapped last week in Gush Etzion. As part of our advertising, we used the Twitter hashtag “#bringbackourboys” that was developed to bring world attention to this horrific kidnapping. During the rally, one of our speakers made reference to this hashtag and its famous predecessor, “#bringbackourgirls,” created in reference to the nearly 300 schoolgirls who were kidnapped in Nigeria in April 2014 by the Islamist group Boko Haram.

And then I looked around the room. Perhaps I had been too nervous before then—nervous about what I was going to say; nervous about whether enough people would show up to fill the chairs—to notice that there was no one in the audience under the age of 50. No one. Not a soul.

The #bringbackourgirls campaign captured the attention and enthusiasm of Americans young and old, religious and secular, politically active and indifferent. It captivated world attention with its moral resonance and clear message. But where were the young Jews in the crowd yesterday? Why did the kidnapping of students their own age not resonate enough to take 30 minutes out of their Sunday evening?

I’m sure there are communities that have held vigils where teenagers and young adults have shown up. Particularly in more frum communities, where studying in yeshivot in Israel as teenagers is more common, the connection to the kidnapped boys (especially to the American, Naftali) might prompt a better young turnout. But I imagine that the experience in my community was more, rather than less, common.  And it is not just at this event. Look around you at Yom Hazikaron or Yom Hashoah gatherings and see who is with you: the elderly, those who went to Zionist summer camps generations ago, and a handful of Israeli expats. In another generation or two, will we even commemorate these days in America?

The diagnosis for this inattention is far easier, I fear, than the treatment. Younger generations lack the experiential connection to the Holocaust and to Israel’s wars for existential survival. They/we don’t have relatives who survived the Shoah and probably never have heard a survivor speak. They didn’t stay up at night, on pins and needles, afraid that Israel might be wiped out in 1948, 1967, or 1973. Without these experiences, we lack a visceral connection to Israelis as a people.  What happens in Israel is a news item, something to note, perhaps, and then go on with our days here.

So how do we build a deeper, emotional connection to Israel and its people? I’d love to hear your ideas.

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Posted on June 24, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

How To Read The Hebrew Bible

A couple weeks ago I had the opportunity to staff a table at the Chicago Jewish Festival. It was a wonderful opportunity to interact with a wide spectrum of people from the Chicagoland Jewish community. During the course of the day, a member of a missionary Christian organization came to my table to proselytize. Putting aside for this blog post the assumptions that motivate a person behind the act of proselytizing, I found fascinating his use of quotes from Tanakh to justify his theological position. It was not the first time I’ve encountered his approach but for whatever reason it struck me that day.

If there was one way to describe his approach I would call it flat. In the traditional Jewish approach to reading the Bible, the text becomes alive with generations and generations of commentary and layers of understanding. If one would map out a Jewish approach to reading Tanakh as a topographical map, it would contain mountains and hills, valleys and plains. In the contrary approach, as exemplified by that missionary, the text is read without context, without commentary and without depth. The words are understood simply through the bias and lens of the contemporary reader. In interacting with this missionary, and with others like him, it is as if we are operating with two different sets of language and do not share a common vocabulary and reference points to have a meaningful conversation.

However, are there times when it is called for to read the Tanakh absent commentary and rabbinic depth? Even as Jews who inhabit a Biblical world of mountains and hills, are there moments when we can gain from seeing the text as flat?

An example of the power of reading the text flattened: The Hebrew Bible mentions multiple times the need to uphold the rights of the immigrant in your midst (Exodus 22:20, Deuteronomy 24:17, Ezekiel 47:21-23 as just a few examples). It is one of the most dominant themes throughout the entire text. Yet, we know that the rabbis understood this oft-repeated injunction to refer to the legally defined, ger toshav—resident alien, a much more limited category with many specifications and requirements than the broad category of immigrant. Does the flat reading of those many verses in the Tanakh still contain an ethic of how we treat the vulnerable in our society?

I believe they do. There is a power to the text even separated from the traditional Jewish exegetical approach to understanding it. When we conceive of the study of the Talmud we classically divide Talmudic literature into two broad categories: halakha (law) and aggada (homiletics or “everything else”). The aggada is no less valuable than the halakha even if one can not derive specific practical steps from it. The aggada frames the way we view the world and how we conduct our moral selves. Similarly, there are times when reading Tanakh flatly, without the richness of commentary, can inform our moral and ethical selves and help us frame the society we live in. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) wrote in his work, The Nineteen Letters:

“… we must first acquaint ourselves with Judaism through the source which it, itself, offers, the only documentation and evidence about itself that it has salvaged from the wreck of all its other fortunes: the Torah. And through the Torah we must attain, also, an understanding of Israel’s destiny. For is not Judaism an historical phenomenon, and is not the Torah the only account of its origin, of its first appearance on the stage of history and of its existence for a considerable length of time thereafter? … Before we open it, however, let us consider how to read it. As a subject for philological or antiquarian research? … As Jews we will read this book, as a book tendered to us by God in order that we learn from it about ourselves, what we are and what we should be during our earthly existence. We will read it as Torah— literally, ‘instruction’ —directing and guiding us within God’s world and among humanity, making our inner self come alive.”

This I believe is the value of approaching the Hebrew Bible and reading it on its own terms. There are limits to that endeavor, as that missionary at the Chicago Jewish Festival demonstrated, but just because there are limits does not mean it is not a worthwhile practice.

Posted on June 20, 2014

Note: The opinions expressed here are the personal views of the author. All comments on MyJewishLearning are moderated. Any comment that is offensive or inappropriate will be removed. Privacy Policy

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