The Modern Rabbi

(Roughly) Ten out of 613 - Thursday Kavvanah, 2/9/2012

2012-02-09T14:04:00.000-08:00

We have come to think of the Decalogue (aka the "Ten Commandments" or "Aseret ha-dibberot") as the basic template for God's expectations for us. The Torah calls special attention to these mitzvot, with the whole Mt. Sinai thing and the major Exodus special effects budget and the days of preparation and so forth. But really, these ten (which, depending on how you count, can number as high as fifteen distinct statements) are just the tip of the Jewish iceberg.

And yet, whenever many of us talk about commandments, we reflexively refer to the "Top Ten," as Kinky Friedman once put it in song. Perhaps it's because we have ten fingers; perhaps because "ten" sounds much less daunting than "613." Maybe this is simply a nod to human nature: that we need to understand God and life and the rules in small, discrete chunks. If there are ten things to heed, says the Torah, these are they.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Where There's a Will: A Tu Bishvat Wish

2012-02-08T06:41:00.000-08:00

You might be aware of a problem in halakhah / Jewish law related to marriage - that a woman cannot initiate divorce. The difficulty arises when a man is unable or refuses to grant a divorce to his wife, and as such there are a couple hundred women in North America (according to a recent survey by the Jewish Coalition Against Domestic Abuse) that are called “agunot” - literally, chained women. They are unable to divorce and therefore forbidden from marrying others, and are likely stuck without financial support as well.

The problem has been addressed successfully by the Conservative movement with a couple of different solutions; perhaps the best known is the “Lieberman Clause” that appears in ketubot used by our rabbis. Modern Orthodoxy too has effective ways of resolving the agunah problem; for much of the Jewish world, 20th-century outcry by those affected led to rabbinic solutions. As Blu Greenberg famously put it, “Where there’s a rabbinic will, there’s a halakhic way.”

If only that were the case with climate change. I recently saw two sets of relevant statistics. The first was that 2011 was the 11th-warmest year on record, with an average worldwide temperature of 57.9 degrees Fahrenheit. Now that does not sound so terrible, it’s true, except that this temperature is almost a full degree over the average of the 20th century, and marks the 35th year in a row that worldwide temperatures have been above average.

The second statistic was poll data that showed that while in 2001, 75% of Americans believed that human production of greenhouse gases contributes to global warming, only 44% do so today.

Regarding the second statistic, one might say, “So what?” If fewer people believed that the Earth is an oblate spheroid, would it become flat? But the difficulty is that it is ultimately public outcry that will move the hands of politicians to find solutions; in this national election year, it seems that nobody in America is talking about the climate. If we do not care, nothing will change; the solution required is too great to be led by individual efforts, and there is probably only a narrow window of a few years before irreparable damage is done to our environment.

The Mishnah (Rosh Hashanah 1:1) tells us that Tu Bishvat, the 15th day of the month of Shevat (which coincides this year with February 8), is the New Year for the trees. In recent times, Tu Bishvat has become a day to remember our planet and our obligations to it. If I had a Tu Bishvat wish, it would be that we remember not just the trees, but the soil in which they are planted, the rain and sun that nourish them, and the air that we all share. Public interest may be on the wane, but as the mercury continues to rise and global weather disasters unfold at even greater rates, now is the time to act. Let’s find that environmental will.

Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally published in the Temple Israel Voice, January 26, 2012.)

Tu Bishvat: A Day With Great Potential - Tuesday Kavvanah, 2/7/2012

2012-02-07T09:14:00.000-08:00

In truth, Tu Bishvat is not a holiday. It's merely the 15th of the month of Shevat, with no special customs or liturgy or ritual, on which all trees turn one year older, essentially for accounting purposes. (There is a Tu Bishvat seder that some observe, where fruits and nuts are eaten, but this is a modern innovation with no real basis in classical Jewish texts.)

But if we allow ourselves to re-imagine this day, we might see that Tu Bishvat has the greatest potential as a modern holiday not just for Jews, but for the whole world. You might say that Tu Bishvat is the original Earth Day, the day on which we remember God's Creation and our relationship with it. As such, this could be the Jewish holiday that ultimately transcends Judaism to lift up the whole world.

After all, the growing threats of climate change, the lack of adequate water and food for all of humanity, and the abuse of the natural resources with which God has provided us are problems that require global efforts, far beyond the capabilities of individuals. In remembering the trees on their "birthday" (as my daughter has been taught to call it), we should recall that although change begins at home, it must step outside and join hands with all of the other interlocked pieces of this planet.

Tu Bishvat falls tomorrow, Wednesday, February 8. It's an opportunity for the Jewish world to remind the wider world that the only way to ensure that our great-grandchildren can appreciate the Earth in the same way that we can is if we all act, if we all garner the will to change our damaging behaviors. The potential for this day to call us all to task is great; let us take up that challenge with vigor.

So when you step outside tomorrow and see a tree, state these words aloud:

מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשיךָ ה'. כֻּלָּם בְּחָכְמָה עָשיתָ. מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ קִנְיָנֶךָ

Mah rabu ma'asekha Adonai; kulam behokhmah asita; male'ah ha'aretz qinyanekha.

How manifold Your works, God; with wisdom You fashioned them all; The Earth abounds with Your creations. (Psalm 104:24)

And remember that we are all responsible not just for the trees, but for all the rest of what God has given us.

Rabbi Seth Adelson

An Ancient Melody to a More Ancient Song - Friday Kavvanah, 2/3/12

2012-02-03T08:03:00.000-08:00

I love musicals, and have performed in many and appreciated many others. I can almost sing the lyrics of Fiddler on the Roof in its entirety. Unlike in musical theater, real people do not break out into spontaneous song to mark special moments or process strong emotions. However, this does occasionally happen in the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible).

This coming Shabbat is known as Shabbat Shirah, the Sabbath of Song, for two biblical poems that are recited: the first, in Parashat Beshallah, is the song of victory sung by Moses and the Israelites after successfully crossing the Sea of Reeds; the second is that of Devorah, the prophetess that leads Israel's forces against the Canaanites perhaps a century after the departure from Egypt. The first is from the Torah, book of Shemot / Exodus. The second is the haftarah / prophetic reading, from the book of Judges.

Shirat HaYam, Moses' song, was recited daily in the Temple in Jerusalem by the Levitical choir, when the Temple was standing. Today it is part of the regular daily liturgy, and here at Temple Israel we sing it every morning to a melody that comes from the Western Sephardic (Amsterdam) tradition, despite the suite of Ashkenazi melodies that make up the rest of our davening.

What is perhaps most appealing about this melody is something that I read years ago in a paper by Cantor Macy Nulman, who was the director of the cantorial school at Yeshiva University. Cantor Nulman observed that when that popular Sephardic melody is compared with the special chant used by Ashkenazim use when they read Shirat HaYam on Shabbat Shirah and the 7th day of Pesah, we find that they are strikingly similar. The theory goes that the two melodies were likely identical about one thousand years ago, when Jews were moving northward from Italy and Provence to the lands called Ashkenaz (north-eastern France and Germany). They took the tune with them, and then the separation of distance and centuries and customs produced the variation that we hear today.

In other words, the Sephardic and Ashkenazic tunes are the same, but differentiated from each other by a real-life game of telephone. The melody is apparently ancient, though not as old as the words.

The concept of breaking out into spontaneous song, which we might associate with Broadway (or perhaps Glee), is a form of entertainment that is as ancient as the Torah, and the power of traditional melody is undeniable. It is remarkable that these songs are still part of the fabric of Jewish life; I hope that they continue to resonate for at least another thousand years.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Sleeping for Holiness - Wednesday Kavvanah, 2/1/12

2012-02-01T13:56:00.000-08:00

Maimonides (1135-1204 CE, Spain -> Morocco -> Egypt), one of the greatest thinkers in Jewish history and author of some of the most important works of the Jewish bookshelf, was also a physician who wrote extensively on medical topics. Judaism and medicine occasionally collide in his writings, and I recently encountered something fascinating:

צָרִיךְ הָאָדָם שֶׁיְּכַוַּן כָּל מַעֲשָׂיו, כֻּלָּם, כְּדֵי לֵידַע אֶת הַשֵּׁם בָּרוּךְ הוּא, בִּלְבָד; וְיִהְיֶה שִׁבְתּוֹ וְקוּמוֹ וְדִבּוּרוֹ, הַכֹּל לְעֻמַּת זֶה הַדָּבָר

A person should direct his heart and the totality of his behavior to one goal: becoming aware of God. The way one rests, rises, and speaks should all be directed to this end.

That is, even the mundanities of life can raise us up, if we re-orient our thinking. Maimonides gets even more specific, citing work, diet, sex, and even sleep as being part of the pursuit of holiness:

וְאַפִלּוּ בְּשָׁעָה שְׁהוּא יָשֵׁן, אִם יָשֵׁן לַדַּעַת כְּדֵי שֶׁתָּנוּחַ דַּעְתּוֹ עָלָיו, וְיָנוּחַ גּוּפוֹ כְּדֵי שֶׁלֹּא יֶחֱלֶה, וְלֹא יוּכַל לַעֲבֹד אֶת ה' וְהוּא חוֹלֶה--נִמְצֵאת שִׁינָה שֶׁלּוֹ, עֲבוֹדָה לַמָּקוֹם בָּרוּךְ הוּא

Even during sleep, if one retires with the intention of resting his mind and body, lest he take ill and be unable to serve God because he is sick, then sleep is service to God.

We tend to think of ritual -- tefillah / prayer, holiday observances, dietary laws, etc. -- as being the path through which we seek holiness. But Rambam's point is that everything that we do, even something as passive as sleep, can bring us closer to the Divine, if we make it so.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

"

Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot De'ot 3:2-3

My Laptop Doesn't Love Me Back! - Thursday Kavvanah, 1/26/2012

2012-01-26T08:11:00.000-08:00

In anticipation of today's e-waste collection by the Town of North Hempstead, Judy and I decided late last night to clear out our old laptops. So we fired 'em up to delete important items, and after a while they were ready to go. Judy closed her erstwhile machine for the last time and sighed wistfully as she said goodbye.

How ironic, thought I. Many of us communicate more with our devices than we do with each other, and so it makes sense for us to feel a sense of loss when an aging computer is put out to pasture.

But these are only tools; they are no more capable of loving or being loved than a hammer or an electric drill. They (usually) do what we tell them to do, no more or less.

By contrast, the bonds that we make with people are much more complicated and much deeper. And all the more so with God; the modern Jewish philosopher Martin Buber describes the relationship with God as being the most intimate, the only partner upon which we place no conditions.

We will not be sitting shiv'ah (the seven day Jewish mourning period) for our discarded computers. But as I reconsider my relationships with my current devices, I am grateful for the people in my life, and all the more so with the Unconditional. We read three times a day in the Ashrei prayer:

קָרוב ה' לְכָל קרְאָיו. לְכל אֲשֶׁר יִקְרָאֻהוּ בֶאֱמֶת
Qarov Adonai lekhol qore'av, lekhol asher yiqra'uhu be'emet
God is near to all who call upon Him, to all who call upon Him with integrity. (Psalm 145:18)

However it is that God can be described as being near, I am fairly certain that God is nearer to me than my laptop.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

"Organized Religion"? Not Really - Tuesday Kavvanah, 1/24/2012

2012-01-24T07:05:00.000-08:00

As a rabbi, I advocate for Judaism. Whenever I meet somebody who tells me that s/he does not believe in "organized religion", I can't help but joke: "You call this organized?"

To the uninitiated, the assortment of Jewish rituals - the mumbling of lengthy pages of tefillot, or the dietary restrictions, or the separation of Shabbat from the rest of the week, as a short list of examples - might seem at best curious and at worst burdensome. Indeed, many Jews agree.

We are living in what you might call a devoutly independent age, in which what JTS Chancellor Arnold Eisen has termed "the sovereign self" is the overriding personal element in our interaction with the world. Individual choice is the ultimate guide. Jewish practice, although hardly conceived in any orderly way, seems to have been designed to thwart this inclination. Tefillah / prayer generally requires a minyan, a quorum of 10 people. Jewish learning traditionally requires a partner, and often takes place in a beit midrash, a house of study. Kashrut, lifecycle events, and many rituals necessitate communal involvement. You can't be Jewish alone.

So while I hesitate to call Judaism organized, it surely works hard to build community. And in these times, what could we possibly need more than relationships with others?

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Teaching our Children by Making Judaism Part of the Conversation - Thursday Kavvanah, 1/19/2011

2012-01-19T07:33:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking lately quite a bit about parenting, not only because my wife has recently returned to work full-time and so I am spending more one-on-two time with my 4- and 2-year-old, but also because Rabbi Howard Stecker and I have been teaching a class on parenting to 40 eager parents. It occurred to me today that we read the words of the Shema incorrectly, at least in translation:

וְשִׁנַּנְתָּ֣ם לְבָנֶ֔יךָ וְדִבַּרְתָּ֖ בָּ֑ם בְּשִׁבְתְּךָ֤ בְּבֵיתֶ֨ךָ֙ וּבְלֶכְתְּךָ֣ בַדֶּ֔רֶךְ וּֽבְשָׁכְבְּךָ֖ וּבְקוּמֶֽךָ׃
Veshinantam levanekha vedibarta bam, beshivtekha beveitekha, uvlekhtekha baderekh, uvshokhbekha uvqumekha.

The translation from the Conservative movement's Siddur Sim Shalom for Shabbat and Festivals (1998) reads as follows:

Teach them, diligently, to your children, and recite them at home and away, night and day.

But here's the problem: the etnakhta, the major pause of the verse dictated by the te'amei hamiqra (the trope or cantillation marks) is on the word "bam" ([recite] them). That is, it should read is follows:

Teach them diligently to your children and recite them, at home and away, night and day.

with the comma grouping together the teaching and reciting, and the home and away / night and day bit is therefore modifying BOTH commandments.

That is, the way that we teach our children is by speaking the words of Torah in their presence, at home and away and night and day, i.e. all the time. These should not be understood as two separate mitzvot, but rather a single commandment.

And how should we interpret this as modern Jews, firmly ensconced in the wider society and yet with a connection to ancient traditions? That topics related to Judaism - God, the Torah, and Israel - should be readily discussed at home. We cannot teach our children to appreciate Jewish life merely by dropping them off a couple of times a week at Hebrew school; we must make the words of Jewish living part of the fabric of conversation in our dining rooms, living rooms and bedrooms.

~Rabbi Seth Adelson

Rabbi David Golinkin addresses "Qol Ishah" (men hearing women's voices)

2012-01-18T10:31:00.000-08:00

In the wake of the current flap in Israel about issues surrounding what everybody is now calling "hadarat nashim," the exclusion of women, it is surely useful to take a balanced look at one of the issues on the table from a halakhic perspective with a historical eye.

Below is Rabbi David Golinkin's recent teshuvah (rabbinic response to a question regarding Jewish law) on the subject of qol ishah, literally, "a woman's voice." The teshuvah was penned in response to an incident in September, 2011, when nine observant cadets in an officers' training program walked out of an IDF entertainment troupe performance at an official military function because they objected to listening to a woman sing solo.

Rabbi Golinkin was a featured Shabbat guest of Temple Israel of Great Neck last year, and he gave us a taste of his skill in interpreting halakhic questions for our times. The teshuvah below is true to form.

Enjoy!

"KOL B'ISHAH ERVAH" - IS IT REALLY FORBIDDEN FOR JEWISH MEN TO LISTEN TO WOMEN SINGING?Volume 6, Issue No. 2, November 2011Rabbi David Golinkin

In memory ofRabbi Moshe Zemer z"l(1932-2011)Rabbi, scholar and mentsch

Question: On September 5, 2011, an IDF entertainment troupe performed at an official military event focusing on Operation Cast Lead at Bahad Ehad, the officers' training base in the Negev. When a female soldier began to sing solo, nine observant Israeli officer cadets got up and left; they said that it was forbidden for them to listen to women singing. Their Regiment Commander Uzi Kliegler ran after them and ordered them to return to the ceremony. "Anyone refusing [this] order will be dismissed from the course." In the end, four cadets refused to return to the hall and were dismissed from the officers' training course while five were allowed to continue the course after convincing the committee that the move had not been preplanned. It should be noted that a considerable number of the officers' course cadets are observant and most of them did not walk out.

Subsequently, various Orthodox rabbis were quoted in the media as being for or against their action. The Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Israel Yonah Metzger issued a formal responsum on September 25^th justifying their actions and urging the army to arrange that only men should sing at military events where many observant men are present. Is it really forbidden for Jewish men to listen to women singing? Was there any halakhic justification for the soldiers to walk out?

Responsum:

I) The Three Talmudic SourcesAll halakhic discussions of this topic are based primarily on one sentence uttered by the Amora Samuel in Babylon ca. 220 c.e. Some rabbis have claimed that his intent is clear; we shall see below that that is very far from the case. The sentence appears in three places in rabbinic literature, twice in the Babylonian Talmud and once in the Jerusalem Talmud.

1. Berakhot 24a contains a lengthy sugya about whether one may recite the Shema in immodest situations such as two men sharing a bed or a family sharing a bed or when the man's clothes are torn and do not cover his privates. The Talmud continues:Rabbi Yitzhak said: a handbreadth in a woman is ervah[=nakedness, unchastity, impropriety]. [The Talmud discusses this and concludes: "rather he is talking about his wife and when reciting Keriyat Shema."]Rav Hisda said: a thigh in a woman is ervah, as it is written (Isaiah 47:2) "Bare your thigh, wade through the rivers" and it is written (ibid., v. 3) "your ervah shall be uncovered and your shame shall be exposed".Samuel said: kol b'ishah ervah, a woman's voice is ervah, as it is written (Song of Songs 2:14) "for your voice is sweet and your appearance is comely".Rav Sheshet said: Hair in a woman is ervah, as it is written (ibid. 4:1) "your hair is like a flock of goats".There are at least three major problems with this sugya:

a. None of these four Amoraim mention the Shema at all and it appears that this unit was copied here in its entirety from some other context.

b. Jastrow in his Talmudic dictionary (s.v. ervah, p. 1114) and many others think that Samuel is referring to a woman singing. But it is not at all clear whether Samuel means the speaking voice of a woman or thesinging voice of a woman. On the one hand, he may mean the speakingvoice of a woman (see Psalm 104:24; 21; midrashim on the verse in Song of Songs 2:14 in the Bar Ilan Responsa Project; Metzudat David to Song of Songs ad loc.). On the other hand, he may mean the singingvoice of a woman (see the beginning of the verse in Song of Songs;Ta'anit 16a; and six midrashim on Song of Songs 2:14).

c. It is also not clear if this is halakhah or aggadah. If they were making halakhic statements, they would have said: "it is forbidden to look at a woman's thigh or to hear her voice or look at her hair"; therefore they seem to be making aggadic statements followed by verses.At the most, we can say that the editor of the sugya who copied this unit here was trying to say that when one recites the Shema he should avoid a woman's handbreadth or thigh or voice or hair.

2. Kiddushin 70a-b contains a lengthy story about a man from Nehardea who insults Rav Yehudah while visiting Pumbedita. Rav Yehudah then excommunicates him and declares him a "slave". The man then summons Rav Yehudah to a din torah in front of Rav Nahman in Nehardea. Rav Yehudah asks his friend Rav Huna whether he should go and Rav Huna advises him to go. Rav Yehudah then goes to Nehardea to the house of Rav Nahman but, since he resents going, he challenges everything that Rav Nahman does and says, frequently using the words of Samuel to do so. The story continues:[Rav Nahman:] May my daughter Dunag come and give us drink?[Rav Yehudah] said to him: So said Samuel: one does not use a woman.[Rav Nahman:] But she is a minor![Rav Yehudah:] Samuel said explicitly one does not use a woman at all, whether she is an adult or a minor![Rav Nahman:] would my Lord like to send shalom to my wife Yalta?[Rav Yehudah] said to him: So said Samuel: kol b'ishah ervah, a voice of a woman is ervah [i.e. I am not allowed to talk to her].[Rav Nahman:] it is possible to talk to her via a messenger.[Rav Yehudah] said to him: So said Samuel: one does not ask after the welfare of a woman.[Rav Nahman:] Via her husband![Rav Yehudah] said to him: So said Samuel: one does not ask after the welfare of a woman at all.[Yalta then tells her husband Nahman to get to the point so that Rav Yehudah should stop insulting him.]Once again, this sugya is making secondary use of Samuel's words "kol b'isha ervah", but in this case it is not the later anonymous editors of the Talmud who have quoted Samuel but Rav Yehudah, one of his main disciples, who quotes him almost 500 times in the Babylonian Talmud. Rav Yehudah understood Samuel to say: a voice of a woman is ervah i.e. do not talk to women. This is in keeping with other Talmudic dicta about avoiding conversations with women (Avot 1:5; Eruvin 53b; Nedarim 20a; Hagigah 5b;Sanhedrin 75a; Berakhot 43b at bottom; and cf. the brief discussion by Tal Ilan).

3. Yerushalmi Hallah Chapter 2:4, ed. Vilna fol. 12b = ed. Venice fol. 58cAccording to the Torah (Numbers 15:17-21), when a person bakes a loaf of bread or a cake, they are supposed to give a small portion of the dough calledhallah to a Kohen. Today this small portion is burned after reciting a blessing. The mishnah in Hallah (2:3) says that a woman can sit and separate herhallah [and make the blessing] while naked because she can cover herself. The Talmud Yerushalmi comments:From this we learn that her rear end is not forbidden because of ervah.This is true regarding her reciting the blessing for hallah, but to look at her, anything is forbidden. As we have learned: a person who looks at her heel is like one who looks at the house of her womb [=vagina], and a person who looks at the house of her womb is as if he slept with her.Samuel said: a voice of a woman is ervah. What is the reason? "vehaya mikol znutah, "the land was defiled from the sound of her harlotry" (Jeremiah 3:9; the new JPS tanakh translates following Radak: "the land was defiled by her casual immorality").For the third time, Samuel's words are quoted in a secondary fashion in a Talmudic discussion. He was not part of this discussion and his words are not connected to the main topic which is looking at a scantily clad woman who is sitting and separating dough for hallah. Once again, it is not clear what Samuel meant to say, but there is no hint whatsoever that he is referring to the singing voice of woman; it is more likely that he is referring to her speaking voice.Thus if we were to rule on the basis of the three Talmudic passages we could say that Samuel and his fellow Amoraim quoted in Berakhot were making aggadic statements about the dangers of looking at and listening to women. On the other hand, we could say on the basis of Kiddushin (and probablyYerushalmi Hallah) that Samuel made a halakhic ruling that it is forbidden to speak to women or, on the basis of the context in Berakhot, that it is forbidden to speak to or look at women while reciting Keriyat Shema. It is pretty clear from the careful analysis above that none of these three passages say anything about a woman singing.

II) The Rif Ignored Samuel's Statement in Both Passages in the Babylonian TalmudThe Rif, Rabbi Yitzhak Alfasi (1013-1103) was one of the most influentialposkim [halakhic decisors] in Jewish history. Maimonides states that he relied on the Rif in his Mishneh Torah in all but thirty places (Responsa of the Rambam, ed. Blau, No. 251, p. 459 and the literature cited there in note 7).Hilkhot Harif, also known as Talmud Kattan, the little Talmud, codified Jewish law by abbreviating each sugya in the Talmud. He omitted the aggadic passages and most of the give and take of the Talmudic sugya, leaving only the opinions which he considered Jewish law. In the sugya in Berakhotquoted above, the Rif (ed. Vilna, fol. 15a) omitted the opinion of all four Amoraim quoted by the Talmud, as emphasized by Rabbi Zerahia Halevi (Hamaor Hakattan, ibid., fol. 15b) and by the Ra'avad of Posquieres (quoted by the Rashba to the sugya in Berakhot). In his code on Kiddushin (ed. Vilna, fol. 30b), the Rif quotes a few of the dicta of Samuel quoted by Rav Yehudah but omits the dictum "kol b'ishah ervah". This means that the Rif considered all four of the Amoraic statements in Berakhot to be aggadah and not halakhah!

III) It is Forbidden to Talk to Women or to Certain WomenIn the Rambam's (Egypt, 1135-1204) summary of the sugya in Berakhot(Hilkhot Keriyat Shema 3:16), he rules that one may not recite Keriyat Shemawhile looking at a woman, even his wife, as per the Talmud's explanation of Rabbi Yitzhak quoted above in Berakhot, but he omits Samuel's opinion entirely. But in his laws of forbidden sexual relationships (Hilkhot Issurei Biah21:2, 5) he rules that one should not wink at or laugh with or look at the little finger of one of the arayot, i.e. one of the forbidden sexual relationships listed in Leviticus 18, "and even to hear the voice of the ervah or to see her hair is forbidden". The Rambam seems to understand Samuel to mean "kol b'ishah-ervah" [assur], "the voice of a woman who is an ervah" is forbidden. This is a rather novel interpretation since that is not exactly what Samuel said. In any case, the Rambam is clearly referring to her speaking voice and not to her singing voice.This is proven by his famous reponsum about listening to secular Arabic girdle poems sung to music (Responsa of the Rambam, ed. Blau, No. 224, pp. 398-400). After giving four reasons to forbid this music he writes: "And if the singer is a woman, there is a fifth prohibition, as they of blessed memory said kol b'ishah ervah, and how much the moreso if she is singing". In other words, Samuel was referring to women speaking and the Rambam adds that it is even more forbidden if she is singing.Rabbi Ya'akov ben Asher (Toledo, 1270-1343) followed the Rambam in his Tur, one of the major codes of Jewish law (Tur Even Haezer 21) as did the Maharshal (Cracow, 1510-1573, quoted by the Perishah to Even Haezer 21, subparagraph 2).A similar opinion is found in Sefer Hassidim, which is attributed to Rabbi Judah Hehassid, a contemporary of the Rambam (Regensburg, ca. 1150-1217; ed. Margaliot, paragraph 313). He says that "a young man should not teach girls practical Jewish law even if her father is standing there, lest he or the girl be overcome by their yetzer [=evil inclination] and kol b'ishah ervah, rather a father should teach his daughter and wife". Thus, Rabbi Judah thinks that Samuel was referring to listening to the speaking voice of a woman or girl.This also seems to be the opinion of Rabbi Yitzhak ben Isaac of Vienna (1180-1250; Or Zarua, Part I, fol. 24a, paragraph 133) and the Rosh (1250-1320; Piskey Harosh to Berakhot, Chapter 3, paragraph 37).

IV) It is Forbidden to Listen to Women Singing While Reciting the ShemaThe halakhic authorities in this camp ruled according to their understanding of the sugya in Berakhot which is connected to Keriyat Shema and ignored the sugya in Kiddushin.Rav Hai Gaon (Pumbedita, 939-1038) ruled (Otzar Hageonim to Berakhot,Perushim, p. 30, paragraph 102) that a man "should not recite the Shemawhen a woman is singing because kol b'ishah ervah... but when she is just talking normally it is permitted; and even if she is singing, if he can concentrate in his heart on his prayer so that he does not hear her or pay attention to her - it is permissible...". In other words, he understood from the context in Berakhot that Samuel only says kol b'isha ervah when one is reciting the shema and he further understood that Samuel is referring to a woman singing. Even so, Rav Hai allowed a man to recite keriyat shemawhen a woman is singing if he is able to ignore her voice.This general approach was followed by a number of classic Ashkenazic poskim such as Rabbi Eliezer of Metz (1115-1198; Sefer Yerei'im Hashalem, paragraph 392); the Ra'aviah (Cologne, 1140-1225; ed. Aptowitzer, Vol. 1, pp. 52-53, Berakhot, paragraph 76); and the Mordechai (Nuremberg, 1240-1298; to Berakhot, paragraph 80). Rabbi Eliezer of Metz, on the one hand, adds a stringency that one may not recite the Shema "or dvar kedushah" when a woman is singing; but also a leniency - that because of our sins we live among the Gentiles and therefore we are not careful not to learn while Gentile women are singing. The Ra'aviah adds a leniency that one may recite keriyat shema when a woman is singing if he is used to it (or: to her voice).This general approach was also followed by Aharonim such as the Bet Shmuel to Shulhan Arukh Even Haezer 21, subparagraph 4 who expands the prohibition to tefillah [= prayer] as opposed to only the shema.

V) A Combination of the Previous Two ApproachesA number of prominent halakhic authorities combined the previous two approaches. They ruled that a man should not talk to a woman on the basis of Samuel in Kiddushin as in paragraph III above and that a man should not recite the Shema while a woman is singing on the basis of Berakhot as understood in paragraph IV above.This camp includes the Ra'avad of Posquieres (1120-1198; quoted inHiddushei Harashba to Berakhot 24a [mislabeled 25 in the printed editions]); the Meiri (Provence, d. 1315; in Bet Habehirah to Berakhot 24a, pp. 84-85); and Rabbi Yosef Karo in his Shulhan Arukh (Orah Hayyim 75:3 and Even Haezer 21:1, 6).

VI) It is Forbidden to Listen to All Women Singing at any TimeThis approach was first suggested as a possible interpretation by Rabbi Joshua Falk (Poland, 1555-1614) in his Perishah to Tur Even Haezer 21, subparagraph 2, but he himself rejected it. The first to actually rule this way in practice was Rabbi Moshe Sofer (Pressburg, d. 1839; Responsa Hatam Sofer, Hoshen Mishpat, No. 190).Aside from the fact that this very strict approach contradicts all of the halakhic sources we have seen above, we also know from the research of Emily Teitz that this approach contradicts the actual practice of Jewish women who sang in the home, on festive occasions, as singers and in the synagogue throughout the Middle Ages.Unfortunately, the Hatam Sofer's strict ruling was adopted by many later authorities. Some tried to find "leniencies" such as allowing girls and boys to sing at the same time (Rabbi Y.Y. Weinberg, Seridei Eish) or allowing men to listen to women who cannot be seen, such as on a record or on the radio.

VII) Kevod Haberiyot Sets Aside Various ProhibitionsIn any case, even if one were to rule entirely according to the Hatam Sofer, it would be forbidden to get up and leave a concert where women are singing. Even if Samuel meant to give a halakhic ruling (which is not at all clear) and even if he meant to prohibit listening to all women singing (which we have disproved above), there is a well-known halakhic principle that kevod haberiyot [=the honor of people] sets aside various prohibitions.(1) There is no question that leaving a concert is insulting to the women performing as well as to most of the soldiers at the concert and to the commanding officers - indeed that is why the commanding officer removed those soldiers from the officers' training course.

VIII) Summary and ConclusionsWe have seen above that there is no general prohibition against women singing in classic Jewish law based on the Talmud and subsequent codes and commentaries until the early nineteenth century. The current blanket prohibition accepted by Haredi and some modern Orthodox rabbis was first suggested and rejected by Rabbi Joshua Falk (d. 1614) and was only given as a halakhic ruling by Rabbi Moshe Sofer, the Hatam Sofer, in the early nineteenth century. However, this opinion is not in agreement with the simple meaning of the dictum by Samuel and with all of the opinions of the Rishonim. The Rif ignored Samuel's dictum in both Berakhot and Kiddushin. Some Rishonim ruled according to the sugya in Kiddushin that Samuel was referring to the speaking voice of women to the extent that such conversation would lead to forbidden sexual relations. This interpretation seems to be the intent of the parallel in Yerushalmi Hallah. On the other hand, Rav Hai Gaon and most of the Rishonim in Ashkenaz interpreted the words of Samuel according to the sugya in Berakhot and therefore ruled that it is forbidden to recite Keriyat Shema where a woman is singing because of kol b'isha ervah. Finally, some of the rabbis of Provence and Rabbi Joseph Karo ruled according to both of these interpretations. Furthermore, Emily Teitz has shown that in practice Jewish women sang at home, at semahot, as singers and in the synagogue throughout the Middle Ages. Thus, there is therefore no halakhic justification for anyone walking out when women sing. But even if one accepts the very strict ruling of the Hatam Sofer, it is forbidden to walk out in order not to insult the female performers.

David GolinkinJerusalem4 Kislev 5772

Notes1. See David Golinkin, Ma'amad Ha'ishah Bahalakhah: She'elot Uteshuvot, Jerusalem, 2001, pp. 120-121 and the literature cited there; Daniel Sperber,Darkah Shel Halakhah, Jerusalem, 2007, pp. 34 ff. and in a reworked form inWomen and Men in Communal Prayer: Halakhic Perspectives, New York, 2010, pp. 74 and ff.; Rabbis Elliot Dorff, Daniel Nevins and Avrum Reisner, "Homosexuality, Human Dignity and Halakhah", 2006 at www.rabbinical.org. Bibliography I) ArticlesRabbi Sol Berman, "Kol Isha", Joseph Lookstein Memorial Volume, New York, 1980, pp. 45-66 (the most thorough study of this topic; summarized in Hebrew by Kaddish Goldberg in Amudim 614 [Tishrei 5758], pp. 26-27)Rabbi Ben Cherney, "Kol Isha", Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society 10 (Fall 1985), pp. 57-75Rabbi Boaz Cohen, Law and Tradition in Judaism, New York, 1959, p. 174, note 28Orah Cohen, On Both Sides of the Divide: Gender Separation in Jewish Law(Hebrew), Bet El, 2007, pp. 189-196Elyakim Getzel Ellenson, Ha'ishah Vehamitzvot (Hebrew), Vol. 2, Jerusalem, 1987, pp. 81-91Rabbi Louis Epstein, Sex Laws and Customs in Judaism, New York, 1948, pp. 93-100M.Sh. Geshuri, "The Woman and Her Singing in the Biblical Period", (Hebrew), Mahanayim 98, pp. 92-103Rabbi M. Harari, Mikraei Kodesh, p. 233 quoted by Aviad Hacohen, Alon Shevut 11 (Nissan 5758), p. 64, note 3Tal Ilan, Jewish Women in Greco-Roman Palestine, Tubingen, 1995, pp. 126-127Admiel Kosman, " 'And Miriam chanted for them' - Kol Isha?", online at Bar Ilan University's Parashat Hashavua Study Center, February 7, 2004Hannah Pinhassi, Deot 44 (October 2009), pp. 14-17Rabbi Moshe Halevi Steinberg, Hilkhot Nashim, Jerusalem, 1983, p. 45 and the literature in note 23Emily Taitz, "Kol Isha - The Voice of Women: Where was it heard in medieval Europe?", Conservative Judaism 38/3 (Spring 1986), pp. 46-61Rabbi Moshe Zemer, Halakhah Shefuyah, Tel Aviv, 1993, pp. 234-237, 347 =Evolving Halakhah, Woodstock, Vermont, 1999, pp. 278-279Rabbi Yonatan Rosenzweig, Tehumin 29 (5769), pp. 138-143; Reaction: Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Tehumin 30 (5770), pp. 212-215II) ResponsaRabbi Moshe Alashkar, Responsa Maharam Alashkar, No. 35Rabbi Yisachar Baer Eilenburg, Responsa Be'er Sheva, Be'er Mayyim Hayyim, No. 3Rabbi David Bigman, "A New Analysis of 'Kol B'isha Erva' ", February 4, 2009,www.jewishideas.orgRabbi Yuval Cherlow, Reshut Harabbim, Petah Tikvah, 2002, pp. 130-131Rabbi J. Simcha Cohen, Intermarriage and Conversion: A Halakhic Solution, Hoboken, New Jersey, 1987, Chapter 19Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe, Orah Hayyim, Part I, No. 26; Part 4, No. 15, paragraph 2Rabbi Meir Friedmann, "Mitwurkung von Frauen beim Gottesdienste" (German), Hebrew Union College Annual 8-9 (1931-1932), pp. 511-523Rabbi David Golinkin, Ma'amad Ha'ishah Bahalakhah: She'elot Uteshuvot, Jerusalem, 2001, pp. 102-103Rabbi Yaakov Hagiz, Responsa Halakhot Ketanot, Vol. 2, No. 93Rabbi Hayyim David Halevi, Aseh Lekhah Rav, Vol. I, No. 28; Vol. 3, No. 6Rabbi Jonah Metzger, "Kol B'ishah Ervah" (Hebrew), September 25. 2011Rabbi Meir Ben-Tziyon Hai Ouziel, Mishpitei Ouziel, Vol. 4, Hoshen Mishpat, No. 6Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, Tzitz Eliezer, Vol. 5, No. 2; Vol. 7, No. 28Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg, Seridei Eish, Vol. 2, No. 8Rabbi Yitzhak Yaakov Weiss, Minhat Yitzhak, Vol. 8, No. 126Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef, Yabia Omer, Vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, No. 6III) News Articles (in chronological order)The Jerusalem Post International Edition, August 19-25, 1979, p. 15 (the rabbi of the Wall ordered a mixed group of people singing with Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach to leave the Kotel Plaza)Haaretz, June 24, 2008 (IDF forbids observant soldiers from walking out of military assemblies)The Jerusalem Post, Nov. 21, 2008, p. 7; The Jerusalem Post Magazine, December 11, 2009, pp. 28-30 (on a film intended for women only)The Jewish Press, February 20, 2009, p. 30 (on a women's concert in Brooklyn)Ynet, September 9, 2011 (news report about the latest incident)Yizhar Hess, Yisrael Hayom, September 13, 2011, p. 35 (a Masorti reaction to the latest incident)The Jerusalem Post, September 16, 2011 (Orthodox rabbinic reactions to the latest incident)Shmuel Rosner, The New York Times, November 18, 2011

Yaakov Katz, The Jerusalem Post, November 25, 2011, pp. 14-15

Shemot 5772: Seeking Transcendent Moments

2012-01-17T06:43:00.000-08:00

Did you notice the new rack sitting in the front lobby, opposite the office window? If you were here during the day this week, you might have seen it displaying children’s books. We have not officially “rolled out” the program yet, but the books are courtesy of a program called PJ Library, which will soon be providing Jewish books free of cost to children of this community who are 8 years old and younger. I am sure that you will hear more about it very soon.

But the more interesting thing at the moment about that rack is its placement, just opposite the office window, where Susan (who usually sits at the reception window during the day) can keep an eye on it. Why? Because we are all pretty sure that, if nobody’s watching the rack, the books will climb down and walk out the front door, perhaps assisted by members of this community. That is to say, they will be stolen.

On what basis would we make such an assumption? Well, it seems that theft is not an uncommon problem in this building. I am not going to go into details, but children’s books and other items around the building have been stolen. That’s right - in a place where people come, at least in theory, to get a taste of qedushah, of holiness, some valuable items need to be carefully guarded. (It might be worth it to point out that we offer unlimited quantites of contact with God for free.)

As a naive, trusting soul, I never would have expected that. Then again, I am also continually surprised when I see cars blast through the stop sign in front of my house, or people who throw trash on the ground in public places, or other acts that seem to me selfish.

And let’s face it - we live in a world of plenty. Americans have lots of stuff. We have so much stuff that many of us actually rent storage space outside of our homes to keep it. We have to have stuff, because our economy depends on our buying more of it. Not to have lots of stuff is un-American. (Perhaps some of you are familiar with George Carlin’s routine on stuff, which I of course cannot repeat in this space.)

Ironic that in such an environment, there are those who simply cannot resist a “free” item. Now, there are many possible reasons why people steal, and among them may be genuine poverty or the thrill of getting away with it. Not all theft is equal. But on some fundamental level, theft, like disobeying traffic laws, like selling houses to people who can’t afford them or derivative securities to those who don’t understand them, or even like cheating on tests, all of these are acts of selfishness. Whether conscious of it or not, the thief makes a statement that goes as follows: I and my desires are more important than those of whoever owns this item. In order for theft to happen, the owner must be depersonalized, unconnected.

Of course, in some ways, putting oneself before others is necessary to our survival. The sage Hillel says so in Pirqei Avot (1:14): Im ein ani li, mi li? If I am not for myself, who am I? But I’m talking about the kind of worldview that places the self above all others, the kind that Hillel goes on to chastise: Ukhshe-ani le-atzmi, mah ani? And if I am only for myself, what am I? And in this sense there is no question that we are living in a very selfish age. What can we do about it?

Put that thought on hold for a moment; we’ll come back to it.

* * *

Let’s turn our attention to the Torah. From a narrative perspective, the Torah really only contains three parts: before Egypt (i.e. the book of Genesis), the Exodus story through the giving of the Torah, and then everything after, which is kind of a mish-mash of lots of different types of material.

But the middle narrative, the one about Egypt and the Israelites’ exit, up to and including the episode at Mt. Sinai, is the shortest and perhaps most intense tale of the book, and arguably the most central to Judaism and Jewish theology.

The Exodus story, as I noted two weeks ago in our Torah discussion about whether or not Joseph was a success, is the pre-eminent national myth that pervades Jewish life. (And here I use “myth” in the positive sense - not a story that is untrue, but a folkloric tale that helps a community make sense of its experience.) We refer to Exodus constantly in liturgy, on holidays, in sermons, in calls to social action, and on and on.

Leaving Egypt, the departure of the Israelite slaves, the children and grandchildren of slaves, is the second most important moment of the Torah, eclipsed only by the episode at Mt. Sinai. These are the moments that define us as a people. (One popular take on Sinai has it that all Jewish souls were there. That is, indeed, a statement of transcendence.)

Really, it was not even God who was the first to declare us a people, but rather Pharaoh. Not the good Pharaoh that appointed Joseph the viceroy of Egypt, but the the bad Pharaoh, the one who “did not know Joseph,” who enslaved the Israelites. As we read this morning at the beginning of Parashat Shemot:

(Ex. 1: 9-10)
Hineh am benei yisrael, rav ve-atzum mimenu; hava nithakkemah lo pen yirbeh.

“Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase...” (Etz Hayyim, p. 318-319)

Even in the mouth of the Egyptian despot, this is a transcendent moment in the Torah narrative. The 70 people, members of a family who went down to Egypt at the behest of Joseph and the earlier, good Pharaoh, have now become a nation, an “am.”

This acknowledgement marks the beginning of Israel, the people, the point of transition from mishpahah to am. The Israelites needed to crystallize as a nation before God could give them the Torah, before they could enter the land promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, before they could think of themselves as a connected to each other.

Transcendent moments, however, are not limited to the Torah. I am sure that we can all think of them - times that connected us - to other Jews, for sure, but also to other Americans as a nation, or to our families, or schools, or workplaces, or the modern State of Israel, or to ourselves as sovereign individuals, or God.

The tragedy of 9-11 is probably the most powerful example in recent memory. For my parents’ generation, the killing of JFK in 1963 was a transcendent moment. Those of us in the room who remember the Six-Day War, when nobody was sure whether or not Israel would survive, and yet triumphed, might think of that as a transcendent moment. You get the picture.

The events that connect us to each other, help to make us feel like a part of something greater than ourselves. They are, I think, the exact opposite of what we do for so much of our waking existence - that is, make our own choices, think independently, and go about our lives as distinct creatures. Every now and then, we need to be literally shaken and reminded that we are a part of a larger subset of humanity.

We as modern Jews need more transcendent moments. Young and old, Conservative, Reform, Orthodox, Haredi, Reconstructionist, secular, in Israel or the diaspora, Ashkenazic, Sephardic, the Jewish world is fragmented. We need shared experiences that bring us all together.

Given events of late here and in Israel, one might think that different corners of the Jewish world have little in common. We have such a talent for cutting each other down, such formidable zeal for denying legitimacy or respect for this group or that group.

And therein lies one problem that we all face. If we have no shared moments of transcendence as a people, no experiences to bring us all together, then how can we possibly feel connected as a group moving forward? How will we prevent the global forces of modernity from continuing to strip from us our personal interdependence? How will we ensure that our children’s children feel connected to each other as Jews?

And this, of course, brings me back to the beginning: if members of a synagogue community do not feel connected to each other, what will prevent them from stealing children’s books in the lobby? Hanging a sign in the lobby that says, “Lo tignov,” do not steal (Ex. 20:13), probably will not work.

OK, so there will never be another Exodus. And we may have to give up on the rest of the Jewish world, the ones who do not belong to Temple Israel. But we can create transcendent moments here. And sometimes we do.

Some of us have shared a moment when families come together for Shabbat Hamishpahah on Saturday evening, hold candles aloft and sing a Hasidic niggun as we bid goodbye to Shabbat. Some of us share a moment when we strain forward in hunger and exhaustion at the end of Yom Kippur to hear the shofar blown. Some of us share a moment when we gather food and clothes to deliver late on Saturday night for Midnight Run. Some of us might point to a lifecycle event: birth, berit milah, Bar Mitzvah, wedding. Some of us might even point to the moment in the Musaf service on Shabbat morning when we embrace others with our tallitot during birkat kohanim.

Let’s face it: connecting a community of over 900 families is next to impossible, especially when we live in such a selfish age. But we are going to continue to try, and the more that we reach members of this community in smaller contexts, the better chance that we have to reach deeper into the larger group, to foster the sort of transcendence that makes us all feel that we are part of something greater.

Prayer, singing, eating, learning, studying the Torah (Talmud Torah keneged kulam!) together all work to connect each of us to the other, even if we do not know each other. Until we can bring everybody along on our journey with us, Susan will still have to keep an eye on the PJ Library book rack. But let’s hope for and work together for a day when she can turn her back and know that it will be OK, because we will have transcended selfishness. Now that’s a vision for the future!

Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, 1/14/2011.)

Rabbi Heschel, Dr. King, and Repairing the World

2012-01-13T08:25:00.000-08:00

Today is Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel's yahrzeit, the anniversary of his death, which serendipitously falls in the vicinity of Martin Luther King Day from year to year. The iconic photo below shows Rabbi Heschel marching with Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery in 1965, a march about which he is known to have said, "I felt my legs were praying":

Rabbi Heschel's impact on American Jewry still resonates today. In his writings, which continue to inspire many, he spoke of the Jewish obligation to a leap of action, rather than a leap of faith. His commitment to the civil rights movement modeled the way in which we too should work to repair this world. Rabbi Heschel saw the words of the second paragraph of the Aleinu prayer as inspiring us to act from a place of connection with tefillah:

At the beginning of all action is an inner vision in which things to be are experienced as real. Prayer, too, is frequently an inner vision, an intense dreaming for God - the reflection of the Divine intentions in the soul of man. We dream of a time "when the world will be perfected under the Kingship of God, and all the children of flesh will call upon Thy name, when Thou wilt turn unto Thyself all the wicked of the earth."* We anticipate the fulfillment of the hope shared by both God and man.
To pray is to dream in league with God, to envision His holy visions. (I Asked for Wonder, p. 29)

Just as Dr. King saw his work as coming from religious tradition, so too did Rabbi Heschel draw on Jewish text to solicit the leap of action that living a full Jewish life mandates.

*לְתַקֵּן עולָם בְּמַלְכוּת שַׁדַּי. וְכָל בְּנֵי בָשר יִקְרְאוּ בִשְׁמֶךָ לְהַפְנות אֵלֶיךָ כָּל רִשְׁעֵי אָרֶץ

Time for an Inventory of "Meaningful Stuff" - Thursday Kavvanah, 1/12/2012

2012-01-12T06:48:00.000-08:00

We are currently seeking a Director of Education, and as such I have seen a number of resumes of late. One crossed my e-desk last night, notable for the following bullet points under one of the candidate's recent positions (I am not making this up!):

Prepared and taught original classes and lectures several times per week
Hosted Shabbat services and meals
Did some other meaningful stuff

Considering the rather flippant (and quite amusing) third point, it seems to me that there are really only three possibilities here:
1. The candidate is not really looking for a job.
2. The candidate never learned how to put together a resume properly.
3. The candidate used it as a placeholder for something else that he could not come up with at the time, and figured that he would come back to it later, but apparently never did.

I am going to go with the third possibility, giving him kaf zekhut (the benefit of the doubt). But the lesson we can all learn here is the following: every now and then, it's a good idea to take inventory of all the "meaningful stuff" in our lives, and make sure that we have followed through. Where are the placeholders, the important items to which we intended to return? Who are the friends, relatives, and colleagues to whom we still owe a call, a coffee, a card? What are the elements of our internal curricula vitae that remain unedited?

Perhaps now would be a good time for review. Behatzlahah! Good luck!

Choosing and Being Chosen - Tuesday Kavvanah, 1/10/2012

2012-01-10T10:47:00.000-08:00

My first job after graduate school in chemical engineering was in Manchester, New Hampshire, and whenever I hear news about New Hampshire (to which few of us pay attention between presidential primaries), I get all misty-eyed. In thinking about today's election there, I am reminded that democracy affords people choices. In fact, the modern Hebrew word for elections is behirot - literally, "choices."

And of course, the same is true regarding modern Judaism - we may choose to participate, or not. Our morning tefillot / liturgy points in several places to God's having chosen Abraham and the Jewish nation as the inheritors of a unique covenant. Perhaps the most appealing example is this:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה', הַבּוחֵר בְּעַמּו יִשרָאֵל בְּאַהֲבָה

Barukh atah Adonai, haboher be-amo Yisrael be-ahavah.

Blessed are You, God, Who chooses His people Israel in love.

The language is neither passive nor past. God chooses us on an ongoing basis.

To make this partnership work, however, we choose God. We do so when we come to weekday morning tefillot, or keep kosher, or light candles for a holiday, or acknowledge the sanctity of the Shabbat by not checking email for 25 hours.

These are the ways in which we uphold our covenant with God, and re-affirm our individual and national relationships based in holiness. In a world of ever-expanding choice, the democratically-sanctioned opportunity to choose Jewish life and practice should never be underestimated.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Who Has Made Me a Woman and Not a Man

2012-01-04T13:24:00.001-08:00

An illuminating piece of history crossed my desktop today. Elana Sztokman's post on the Forward's Sisterhood blog calls attention to a woman's siddur from 1471 in the Jewish Theological Seminary library's collection, includes a variant on a controversial line in birkhot ha-shahar, the morning blessings. Today's Orthodox siddurim read as follows:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם. שֶׁלּא עָשנִי אִשָּׁה
Barukh atah Adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, shelo asani ishah.
Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has not made me a woman.*

The Conservative Siddur Sim Shalom (all three editions) has changed the traditional berakhah to read:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם. שֶׁעָשנִי בְּצַלְמו
Barukh atah Adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, she-asani betzalmo.
Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has made me in His image.

This avoids slighting the half of humanity that is female, yielding a positive formula that recognizes that both women and men were created in the divine image.

But the 15th-century siddur, produced by scribe and rabbi Abraham Farissol as a groom's gift to his bride, replaces the "traditional" formula with the following:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה ה' אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעולָם. שֶׁעָשיתַנִי אִשָּׁה וְלא אִישׁ
Barukh atah Adonai, eloheinu melekh ha-olam, she-asitani ishah velo ish.
Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who has made me a woman and not a man.

You can see a scanned image of this page in the siddur here. Select page MS-8255_005v, and you will find this formula in the tenth line down on the page. (The first six words are condensed into two acronyms.)

What is the import of this liturgical innovation? As Sztokman points out,

it demonstrates the flexibility and ongoing evolution of the prayer texts, even when it comes to issues of gender. It is perhaps obvious that prayers are not fixed in stone — after all, there are so many variations in “nusach,” or version, that it would seem difficult to make the opposite argument. Yet, the staunch opposition in even the most liberal Orthodox circles to the slightest textual changes can be astounding.

Particularly prior to the printing of Jewish books, which began in the very same decade that this hand-written siddur was produced, variations abounded. There was no sense of fixed liturgy that many of us have today, and innovations such as this were not unusual.

Furthermore, the change in this berakhah

also disproves the notion that history has some kind of linear progression. The medieval Italian rabbi was pre-modern, pre-feminism, and even pre-industrialism. And yet, he executed what was arguably a great feminist act. Orthodox women are so often told by rabbis that change takes time, that we cannot rush history, that social understandings have to evolve at their own natural pace.

A similar case was made by Dr. Elisheva Baumgarten when she visited Temple Israel last spring, when she taught us that there exists a wealth of evidence that some Jewish women in medieval times donned tefillin on a regular basis, a scandalous act in many corners of the Jewish world today. What many of us perceive to be normative Orthodox practice today was not necessarily what existed in the Middle Ages, and those who defend "tradition" should take a close look at what they are in fact defending.

Now that we are facing, particularly in Israel, horrific encroachment on women's rights to live, dress, walk on sidewalks and ride buses according to their will at the hands of extremists, this fascinating artifact sheds light on how much ground we may have lost in the last 500 years. All the more reason, in my mind, to embrace the historical approach that Conservative Judaism has always favored.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

* Some traditional siddurim substitute a line for women to say here, concluding with שֶׁעָשנִי כִּרְצונו, Who has made me according to His will. That is, thank you, God, for choosing to make me something that is not quite as important or relevant as a man.

Getting Closer to God with Words - Tuesday Kavvanah, 1/3/2012

2012-01-03T09:15:00.000-08:00

Most Jewish services are not brief - a weekday morning service, for example, without Torah reading, is about 40 minutes of chanting, singing, mumbling, and silent prayer, much of which goes by quite rapidly.

Why so many words? I am told that Rabbi Mordecai Waxman (zikhrono livrakhah / may his memory be for a blessing), who was the senior rabbi at my congregation for no less than 55 years, used to call this phenomenon "the accretion of the ages," accompanied by a hearty guffaw.

In all seriousness, though, the very concept of the offerings of our lips (perhaps consonant with Hosea 14:3) raises all sorts of questions. Is the point just to recite the words because that is the way it is traditionally done? If one cannot recite all the words in the blur of 40 minutes, has one not fulfilled the obligation of tefillah? What about the meaning? What if I disagree with or am otherwise challenged by the traditional words, a situation in which I occasionally find myself?

Each word of tefillah that we recite, each word of traditional Hebrew prayer brings us a wee bit closer to God. Yes, all of the above questions are important. But sometimes tefillah works best if we push aside the rational and the halakhic in favor of a simpler concept: before we launch ourselves into our morning, spending a few minutes drawing nearer to the Divine will pay off for the rest of the day.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Continuing the Struggle for Women in Israel

2012-01-02T07:14:00.000-08:00

I returned from Israel four days ago, and one thing I learned on this trip is that Israel is second in the world to Japan in per capita sushi consumption. That's right: Israelis eat more raw fish than any other nationality in the world, save the one that came up with the idea.

On Wednesday, my son and I were in Tel Aviv, and we stopped into a sushi restaurant for lunch. I was struck by the fact that the sushi chef was female, something which I had never seen before, in Israel or America. The manager told me that she was Chinese, and had learned to make sushi in China. He also told me that there are in Israel only about 4 or 5 female sushi chefs (out of what I assume to be hundreds, given the aforementioned popularity of sushi).

In the context of events that occurred in Israel over the past two weeks, the presence of this woman behind the array of cuts of salmon, tuna, and yellowtail is worth noting. A confluence of events have led many commentators and regular Israeli citizens to ask if Israel might be taking a step backward with respect to women.

The country that was once led by the original “Iron Lady” of world politics, Golda Meir, has been roiled by controversies in recent weeks related to the freedom of women. The two that most captivated the attention of the Israeli public are:

1. Tamar Rosenblit, a woman from Ashdod, boarded a bus headed for Jerusalem, and took a seat in front. This was, as it turns out, a bus line that is known by some to be “Mehadrin,” meaning that it is the custom of people on this bus (neither supported by nor discouraged by the Egged bus company) to sit gender-segregated, with men in front and women in back. Soon, a Haredi man started to board the bus, and when he saw Ms. Rosenblit sitting in front, he refused to sit down, instead standing in the doorway so that the doors could not close, thus preventing the bus from moving for half an hour.

2. Naama Margolese, the 8-year-old daughter of American immigrants to the city of Beit Shemesh, was spat upon and called horrible names while on her way to school by a group of Haredi men for being (in their opinion) “dressed immodestly.” The school, by the way, is a religious school for girls only, and Naama was of course dressed appropriately, in the fashion of Orthodox girls her age. The school also happens to be located on the cusp of a Haredi neighborhood in Beit Shemesh, and on the front lines of what appears to be a growing social fracture in Israeli society between the Haredim and everybody else.

I could point to a number of other problematic incidents in recent years perpetrated by religious extremists, but these are especially important because they have caught the attention of the Israeli public, the government, and the police. Almost all Israelis, secular, religious, and even Haredi, are against this creeping extremist violence against women. (On one of the morning news programs, the male and female anchors were wearing shirts that echoed the berakhah that we say every morning: Barukh She-asani Ishah - Praised is the One who made me a woman.)

Coupled with other recent events (the religious officers in the IDF who refused to listen to women singing at an army ceremony, the disappearance of women from billboards in Jerusalem), there is a growing sense of, “Now is the time to act.” I hope that we shall soon see how the Israeli government tries to handle the extremists who do not acknowledge any voice of authority other than their own.

The “70 people” identified by the Torah in Parashat Vayyigash, which we completed reading this past Shabbat, as having gone down into Egypt with Jacob leaves out most of the women; as progressive Jews, we acknowledge that the story of women in the Tanakh (the Hebrew Bible), in rabbinic literature, and Jewish text throughout the ages is just as important and relevant as that of the men. That is one of the many reasons that we are egalitarian in practice.

What is equally as important for us here in Great Neck to remember as to those in Israel is the following:

1. Nobody has a lock on “the truth” in Jewish tradition. One of the beautiful features of Jewish life across the board is that customs vary, and that there are, as the rabbis tell us, Shiv’im panim laTorah, there are 70 faces to the Torah.

2. Nobody has the right to defend their take on Jewish tradition by behaving badly against another person, be they 8 or 80 years old.

3. We should never resign ourselves to believing that those who seem more pious are (a) good people, (b) better Jews, or (c) more authentic. Our traditions and our Jewish choices are just as authentic and just as powerful.

One of Chairman Mao’s most famous proverbs was, “Women hold up half the sky.” That is as true in Israel as it is in China, and it is upon us to make sure that this principle continues to be reinforced into the future.

Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, December 31, 2011.)

Being Ready for the Call - Friday Kavvanah, 12/30/2011

2011-12-30T09:11:00.000-08:00

Having just returned yesterday from Israel, I was up quite early this morning, and it afforded me plenty of quiet time while the family was still asleep. I read pretty carefully through Parashat Vayyigash, and through my jet-lagged haze spotted the following (Genesis 46:2):

וַיֹּאמֶר יַעֲקֹב יַעֲקֹב; וַיֹּאמֶר, הִנֵּנִי
God called to Israel in a vision by night: "Jacob! Jacob!" He answered, "Here I am."

The dialogue is a precise echo of the end of the Aqedah, the story of the binding of Isaac (Genesis 22:11):

וַיִּקְרָא אֵלָיו מַלְאַךְ יְהוָה, מִן-הַשָּׁמַיִם, וַיֹּאמֶר, אַבְרָהָם אַבְרָהָם; וַיֹּאמֶר, הִנֵּנִי
Then an angel of the Lord called to him from heaven: "Abraham! Abraham!" And he answered, "Here I am."

Even the trope marks (the Masoretic accents that historically clarify the text and today indicate chanting melody) are identical, including the "pesiq," the vertical line placed between the repeated names, indicating a luftpause, a break for air that audibly recalls the beat separating them as the story unfolds in real time.

Why the exact repetition? The biblical author surely wants us to connect the two stories. Abraham is about to slaughter his son Isaac; his grandson Jacob is about to leave Canaan, the land that has been promised to each of the Patriarchs, to go down to Egypt for Lord knows how long. Each is a hugely significant moment, lush with personal and national meaning, and the readiness of both characters to answer to God's call is formidable. Both are moments when God's voice is not expected, but clearly needed.

Some Jews come to the synagogue on a regular basis to communicate with God, but how many of us are ready to answer God's call to us when it comes? Rabbi David Kimhi (aka Radaq, 1160-1235 in Provence) comments that here God calls Jacob's name twice because it had been so many years since Jacob had received any kind of prophecy, and thus he was probably not expecting to hear God's voice again.

Similarly, if God calls on any of us, would we hear it? Shabbat shalom.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

The Reinvention of Hanukkah

2011-12-19T14:50:00.000-08:00

Hanukkah is a wonderful example of the resilience of Judaism, and the Jewish imperative to reinterpret our tradition in every generation. A minor holiday that had been largely neglected by American Jews in the late 19th century - an article in the Yiddish daily Forverts in 1904 pointed to the giving of Christmas gifts in Jewish homes as "one of the first things that proves one is no longer a greenhorn" - Hanukkah underwent a kind of renaissance in the middle of the 20th century. (See Jenna Weissman Joselit's article in Reform Judaism.) Sociologist Marshall Sklare observed in the 1960s that the lighting of Hanukkah candles, a relatively unimportant mitzvah when compared to, say, kashrut or Shabbat, was the only Jewish practice whose observance was increasing from generation to generation. To this day, lighting Hanukkah candles remains the most widely-performed Jewish activity in America.

And what is it about Hanukkah that caused its resurgent popularity? Sklare pointed to its proximity to December 25, which allowed a somewhat obscure holiday to be redefined, more or less, as "the Jewish Christmas," allowing Jewish parents to placate their otherwise gift-less children under a kosher rubric. (As one who grew up in a particularly non-Jewish town, with parents who did not embrace the American presents-for-Hanukkah custom, I recall distinctly the pain of December in my earlier years.)

But perhaps there is something else there. The powerful, universal symbol of lighting lights during a dark time of year, coupled with the message of Jewish victory in the face of another conquering adversary, and further bolstered by the pleasure of a home-based Jewish activity that is not overly-burdened with extensive, complex rituals all make Hanukkah an easy sell, the low-hanging latke of the Jewish calendar.

Hanukkah is the Jewish answer to Seasonal Affective Disorder: a beacon of joy in an otherwise depressing period. Make a berakhah or two, kindle some candles, and sing a song. It's good for you! Hag urim sameah - happy Festival of Lights.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson
(Originally published in the Temple Israel Voice, 12/8/2011.)

Report from Israel: Buses, Burkas, and the Badatz

2011-12-18T13:12:00.000-08:00

The State of Israel, once ahead of the curve in embracing women as equal participants in society, seems to be backsliding. There are a handful of Haredi women wearing burkas, to the consternation of their (only male) rabbis; there is concern over the disappearance of female images in public spaces in Jerusalem; and two days ago an Egged bus (the main public bus company) was delayed for half an hour while a woman refused to move to the back at the behest of a Haredi man, who held the door open so the bus could not move. According to news reports, the driver seemed reluctant to intervene, and when the police arrived, the situation was only compounded when the officer asked the woman to comply so the bus could go. Unfortunately, this case is far from isolated:

Egged spokesman Ron Ratner condemned the incident, but said such incidents were increasing and that Egged's directives clearly prohibit the driver from "permitting or creating any separation on the bus unless it is voluntary," and instructing to call the police in such cases. Ratner advised [the woman, Tanya] Rosenblit to submit a complaint to Egged's ombudsman so the incident could be scrutinized more closely.

(Here's the rest of the article from today's Haaretz.)

Ms. Rosenblit's run-in is just icing on the cake. This past weekend's Jerusalem Post Magazine contained two pieces (by Israel Kasnett and Naomi Ragen) that referenced the so-called "Taliban women" who are taking themselves out of the picture. The burka case is now well-known, but both articles point to additional instances of radical modesty: a woman who refused to give birth in a hospital, lest the wrong person see her inappropriately attired, and another woman who had just been married (and was divorced soon after, according to Ragen):

But after the wedding, the bride, also a veil-wearer, said it wasn’t possible for her to go to the mikve (ritual bath) because that would require her not only to take off her veil, but to actually immerse naked in the water. Quite reasonable, don’t you think? The groom, apparently not on such a high spiritual level, didn’t agree, and found another, more willing veiled woman to take her place.

Shocking, and yet, as Ragen points out, these women have been cajoled to this point by the Badatz, the same Haredi leaders who are now denouncing them.

Meanwhile, the women's supplement editor of a Haredi magazine, Roni Shub, declared herself on the opinion pages of Haaretz to be proudly liberated while living modestly in Israeli society, in which wanton sexuality and the objectification of women are rampant. She writes, "Iran is not yet here, but in the sacred public square, Sodom and Gomorrah already are." She certainly has a point, but if thinking like this causes women to withdraw rather than fight for their right to be fully integrated and visible, I might be forced to opt for Gomorrah.

As if to highlight Shub's point, there was an investigative report last night on Israeli television (I never have time to watch TV in America!) about forced prostitution in Israel, and one particularly troubling story of a woman who was taken under false pretenses from Uzbekistan to serve ten clients a day in a seedy hotel in Ashdod. After falling ill with pneumonia, she was rescued and returned to her parents' home in Tashkent, where she died soon after arriving. (The family just won a lawsuit against the State of Israel, seven years after her death.) That such horrific crimes occur in Israel (and all over the world) is not new information; in light of all of the above, however, this tale paints in stark colors Ms. Shub's portrait of increased segregation of women in the face of inappropriate sexuality in the public sphere.

I call your attention to this not to throw mud at Israel, Israelis, or the Badatz, but rather to suggest that we as Jews, those in the Diaspora and those in Israel, recall that the work of moving society forward is never complete, that we should never take for granted what was achieved in the last century. The egalitarianism that is vaunted in the progressive corner of the Jewish world empowers some women, but there are many more corners that are less enlightened. With apologies to Pirqei Avot 2:2, here is a point where it is indeed up to all of us to finish the task.

(Supplemental reading: Rabbi David Golinkin's teshuvah on the issue of hearing women's voices, issued following the incident in September 2011 where observant male officer cadets in the IDF left a performance of a military entertainment troupe because they objected to hearing a solo woman singing.)

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Food for Thought - Photos & Commentary from my Youth House Class

2011-12-13T17:30:00.000-08:00

As a part of my class at Temple Israel's Waxman High School and Youth House about making good contemporary food choices based on Jewish values, we took photos of ourselves with food products. Some of these products are labeled with positive terms regarding sustainability and reasonable treatment of employees and animals; some of the labels are, at best, misleading.

Most of the label definitions below come from http://www.sustainabletable.org/intro/dictionary/.

"All Natural" - Currently, no standards exist for this label except when used on meat and poultry products. USDA guidelines state that “Natural” meat and poultry products can only undergo minimal processing and cannot contain artificial colors, artificial flavors, preservatives, or other artificial ingredients. However, “natural” foods are not necessarily sustainable, organic, humanely raised, or free of hormones and antibiotics. The label “natural” is virtually meaningless.

"Organic" - In order to be labeled “organic,” a product, its producer, and the farmer must meet the USDA’s organic standards and must be certified by a USDA-approved food-certifying agency. Organic foods cannot be grown using synthetic fertilizers, chemicals, or sewage sludge, cannot be genetically modified, and cannot be irradiated. Organic meat and poultry must be fed only organically-grown feed (without any animal byproducts) and cannot be treated with hormones or antibiotics. Furthermore, the animals must have access to the outdoors, and ruminants must have access to pasture (which doesn’t mean they actually have to go outdoors and graze on pasture to be considered organic).

"Whole grain" - The first ingredient of this product is listed as "Corn (Whole Grain Corn, Flour, Meal)." This suggests that at least the larger portion of the corn contains the bran and germ. Can't say much regarding the nutritional value of this product, however.

"Organic" yogurt - see above.

"Organic" cream cheese.

"No antibiotics ever administered" - No antibiotics were administered to the animal during its lifetime. If an animal becomes sick, it will be taken out of the herd and treated but it will not be sold with this label.

"Vegetarian fed" - Unless the label says “100 Percent Vegetarian Diet,” there is no guarantee that the animal’s feed was not supplemented with animal byproducts or is organic.

"Barn roaming" - This is not a legally-defined term. This chicken was probably stuck in a barn for all of its 49 days.

"Complete traceability to farm" - This might be useful in the event of an outbreak of disease.

"No growth hormones" - Raised without added growth hormones. By law, hogs and poultry cannot be given any hormones - so the use of the label on these meats is unnecessary, or perhaps misleading.

"Kosher, soaked, salted, and rinsed" - The chicken was slaughtered according to Jewish dietary laws, including that the slaughtering knife was checked for nicks beforehand to minimize suffering ("tza'ar ba'alei hayyim" - the mitzvah of avoiding cruelty to animals). The soaking / salting / rinsing process is to remove all blood from the meat, in accordance with the verse from the Torah (Leviticus 17:13-14): "If any Israelite or any stranger who resides among them hunts down an animal or a bird that may be eaten, he shall pour out its blood and cover it with earth. For the life of all flesh - its blood is its life. Therefore I say to the Israelite people: You shall not partake of the blood of any flesh, for the life of all flesh is its blood."

"Cage-Free Eggs" - Birds are raised without cages. What this doesn’t explain is if the birds were raised outdoors on pasture, if they had access to outside, or if they were raised indoors in overcrowded conditions. If you are looking to buy eggs, poultry or meat that was raised outdoors, look for a label that says “Pastured” or “Pasture-raised”.

Here are the ingredients for this product:

Water, Soybean Oil, Vinegar, Whole Eggs and Egg Yolks, Modified Corn Starch, Sugar, Salt, Lemon Juice, Sorbic Acid, Calcium Disodium EDTA, Xanthan Gum, Phosphoric Acid, Citric Acid, Dl Alpha Tocopherol Acetate (Vitamin E), Natural and Artificial Flavors (Contain Soy Lecithin), Beta-carotene (For Color), Phytonadione (Vitamin K), Paprika, Oleoresin.

Eggs being only the fourth ingredient, the egg content can be no more than 1/4 of the total, and probably considerably less.

"Organic" milk. See above.

"No GMOs / No bioengineered ingredients" - The product was produced without the use of genetically-modified organisms.

"Made with organic spinach and flour" - Great, but what about the rest of it?

"Not treated with rBST / rBGH" - Milk from growth hormone-free cows.

"All-Natural" - see above.
"Handmade" - I have no idea what this means.

"Organic" - see above.

*****

Thanks to all who participated! To learn more, visit:

http://www.jewishfarmschool.org/

http://www.hazon.org/

http://www.sustainabletable.org/

Ancient and Not-So-Ancient Connections - Thursday Kavvanah, 12/8/11

2011-12-08T07:12:00.001-08:00

At the very beginning of the Shaharit / morning service, every day of the year, there is a passage that we generally buzz through quickly without giving it much thought. But it really should be in BOLD CAPS (if there were capital letters in Hebrew), because it nicely prefaces the act of tefillah / prayer.

The passage (found on page 7 of Siddur Sim Shalom for Weekdays), mentions that we are partners with God in the berit, the covenant established with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and cites some of the key berit-making events that are taking place in the current run of Torah readings. And then comes the following:

לְפִיכָךְ אֲנַחְנוּ חַיָּבִים לְהודות לְךָ וּלְשַׁבֵּחֲךָ וּלְפָאֶרְךָ וּלְבָרֵךְ וּלְקַדֵּשׁ וְלָתֵת שֶׁבַח וְהודָיָה לִשְׁמֶךָ
Therefore it is our duty to thank You and praise You, to glorify and sanctify your name.

One source of our obligation to recite words of prayer daily is the connection to the founding ancestors of our tradition. Tefillah / prayer becomes an act of historical resonance, building a sort of pipeline to the patriarchs and matriarchs and allowing us to receive the benevolence bestowed upon them.

But the motivation that connects us even more powerfully today is, I think, not that of ancient times but of the more recent past. When I daven, I sometimes like to picture my grandparents, great-grandparents and so on, peeking in through the windows. We are all the inheritors of a long chain of tradition, unbroken for centuries; it is up to us to claim that tradition.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

The Subconscious Wrestling Match - Friday Kavvanah, 12/9/11

2011-12-08T06:31:00.001-08:00

Jacob's fourth angelic encounter occurs in Parashat Vayishlah, completing his ascent into adulthood and assumption of his role as patriarch. (The first occurred after he had fled from his brother Esau, just after obtaining the blessing from his father Isaac.)

When he wrestles with the "man" (or perhaps elohim, a "divine being," as the Torah later refers to him) in Genesis 32, the struggle seems to take place in both the physical and metaphysical context: on one hand, Jacob appears to be literally wrestling with a stranger; on the other, he is also locked in battle with himself. Given that he is alone at the time, it suggests the possibility that this is a dream, like the encounter in Genesis 28. But this episode plays out as much in the conscious as the subconscious.

This is Jacob's liminal moment: he is facing his past and future, preparing to reunite with his brother Esau and accept his destiny. The angel supplies him with his new name, Israel ("he who strives with God"), signifying his transition. Jacob struggles as much with God as with himself.

And so too is this the point of transition for us, the descendants of Jacob. We are Yisrael, the ones that engage with God, and in doing so to this day, we struggle as much with ourselves.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

We Will Seek No Rain Before Its Time - Wednesday Kavvanah, 12/7/2011

2011-12-07T15:26:00.000-08:00

Coming to the end of the second rainy day in a row, this rabbi wonders if it might not be sheer coincidence that two nights ago we began the seasonal addition of "veten tal umatar livrakhah" ("and grant dew and rain as a blessing") into the sixth baqashah / request of the weekday Amidah. Of course, says my rational side, God does not really work that way, and anyway the request is for Israel, not here.

Meanwhile, the very idea that we make this request at all is curious. The obligation to do so is described in Mishnah Ta'anit, accompanied by an explanation for its timing:

אין שואלים את הגשמים, אלא סמוך לגשמים
They only ask for rain when it is close to the rainy season. (Ta'anit 1:2)

Israel, though located in the Fertile Crescent of the Middle East, does not receive any rain at all from roughly March to October. One might think that we should ask for rain year-round, because every little bit helps. And given how important rain was to the livelihoods of our agricultural ancestors, it might be expected to be a consistent theme in daily prayer.

But there is also a rabbinic principle that we should only tell others what they are ready or willing to hear, and extending that logic to prayer, we should only make requests are within the realm of possibility. There is no point in asking for rain in the Israeli summer, because it simply isn't going to happen. By the time we start adding this to our weekday tefillot, there is a good chance that rain might fall.

So regardless of how wet it might be in New York, now is absolutely the time to pray for rain. Stay dry!

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Jacob and René

2011-12-01T07:08:00.001-08:00

Sunrise this morning was at 6:58 AM, and as I hurried to make it to morning minyan / service at 6:45, the lawn in front of Temple Israel looked very much like this:

I had a momentary fantasy of strolling with a bowler and umbrella through a painting by the Belgian surrealist, René Magritte: L'Empire des Lumières / The Empire of Light.

One way to approach the artwork of the Torah is to place ourselves in it. When Jacob finds himself, at the beginning of Parashat Vayyetze, transfixed by a vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder to the sky, he is awestruck:

וַיִּירָא, וַיֹּאמַר, מַה-נּוֹרָא, הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה: אֵין זֶה, כִּי אִם-בֵּית אֱלֹהִים, וְזֶה שַׁעַר הַשָּׁמָיִם
Shaken, he said, "How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and that is the gateway to heaven." (Bereshit / Genesis 28:17)

When we find ourselves struck by something we see or experience, it is an opportunity to recall the sense of "radical amazement" that Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel brought to our attention in his theological writings:

"Among the many things that religious tradition holds in store for us is a legacy of wonder. The surest way to suppress our ability to understand the meaning of God and the importance of worship is to take things for granted. Indifference to the sublime wonder of living is the root of sin." (Heschel, God in Search of Man).

I imagine that I too would have had that sense of wonder if I were walking through Jacob's vision. Much more challenging, however, is to find the radical amazement in the commonplace; look for it.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Making Connections Through Ritual - Tuesday Kavvanah, 11/29/2011

2011-11-29T17:30:00.000-08:00

What is meant by the term ritual?

The question was asked, curiously enough, at a Ritual Committee meeting last night. I gave an extemporaneous answer, but after sleeping on it, the following definition surfaced: Ritual is what connects us in a Jewish context - to ourselves, to each other, to the community, to God.

The spirit of ritual is captured in the following, easily-overlooked statement that appears at the very beginning of many siddurim / prayerbooks, to be recited in the morning before tefillah / prayer begins in earnest:

הריני מקבל / מקבלת עלי מצות הבורא: ואהבת לרעך כמוך

Hareini meqabbel / meqabbelet alai mitzvat haborei: ve-ahavta lere-akha kamokha

I hereby accept the obligation of fulfilling the Creator's mitzvah: "Love your neighbor as yourself."

This statement is a brief reminder that one of the underlying goals of tefillah should be to connect God, the Torah, the self, and the other, succinctly captured in a preparatory kavvanah / statement of intention. By citing Leviticus 19:18 at the beginning of the service, even before the formal berakhot / blessings have begun, we bring all of these connections into focus. This is indeed the essence of ritual.

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

The Best of Both Worlds - Toledot 5772

2011-11-25T13:10:00.000-08:00

There are several Shabbatot throughout the year that have a special name related to the calendar. For example, there is Shabbat Shuvah, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. There is Shabbat HaGadol, right before Pesah. And so forth. Today might be called Shabbat Toledot, after the parashah that we read this morning, or it might be called “Shabbat Thanksgiving,” for obvious calendrical reasons. Regardless of what you might call it, this is a great Shabbat to be thinking about being both Jewish and American.

A few days ago, a member of this congregation was telling me about a Persian synagogue in Los Angeles that has “an American rabbi.”
“But we’re all American,” I pointed out.
“You know what I mean,” she said.

Since Napoleon granted the Jews of France emancipation in 1789, one question that Diaspora Jews have constantly struggled with is that of national identity. Napoleon’s intent was to make the Jews of France French. A primary goal of the German haskalah, or Enlightenment, in the late 18th century was to encourage German Jews to be thought of as Germans.

But really we have always wrestled with identity. In the beginning of Toledot, Rebekah is troubled by the twins wrestling with each other in her womb. Ya’aqov and Esav are not only foreshadowing the struggle between the two brothers that spreads over three parashiyyot in the Torah, but also physically demonstrating the ongoing struggle that Jews have always faced when grappling with the non-Jewish world.

Ya’aqov, of course, represents the Jews. In next week’s parashah, he will be renamed Yisrael, and it is for him that the people of Israel are named. Esav is considered the father of Edom, the people who live across the Jordan river to the east of Israel. In rabbinic times, when the rulers of Israel were Roman, the name Edom was used as a euphemism for Rome.

Ladies and gentlemen, we continue to face this struggle today. And particularly right here in Great Neck, among those of us who identify with Temple Israel and the Conservative movement. Let me explain:

Orthodox Judaism, in general, expects that its adherents will always choose Jewish law and practice over secular options. For example, there is no question that children in Orthodox homes will not attend school on, let’s say, the first two days of Sukkot when they fall on weekdays.

Reform Judaism, meanwhile, expects that its adherents will make educated Jewish choices, understanding that halakhah, traditional Jewish law, is no longer binding on them. Secular concerns are thereby given a seat at the table when engaging with Jewish life.

Our environment, the Conservative movement, is where things get really complicated. On the one hand, we accept halakhah as valid and binding. We work within the halakhic system, not outside of it. The service that we are all participating in today is, with a few small exceptions, the same as what you will find in most Ashkenazi Orthodox synagogues. This is a kosher building; we observe Shabbat here traditionally, and thus we don’t, for example, take money or turn lights on and off and we ask people not to use cell phones or cameras in the building on Shabbat.

But all of us are engaged with the rest of the world, the non-Jewish world, as well. And it is that struggle that most of us face on a regular basis. Do we keep kosher at home, and how? What about outside the house? Do we come to synagogue regularly? Do we celebrate holidays, particularly the less well-known ones? How do we educate our children Jewishly? Do we continue to learn Jewish tradition after bar/bat mitzvah?

I read a report this week from Brandeis University about Jewish teen engagement in the New York area. It’s really a fascinating portrait of teen involvement in Jewish life, a subject that many of you know to be of utmost importance to me. The 344 teens surveyed were among the most connected to Jewish life - all had celebrated a bar or bat mitzvah in a New York-area synagogue between 2006 and 2009, and two-thirds had continued their Jewish education after bar/bat mitzvah. It’s possible that some who were surveyed even came from this community. Among the more interesting findings were:

About 80% of those surveyed said that being Jewish was very important to them, and nearly half had some involvement in a Jewish youth group, but only 7% cited Jewish activities as being their top priority; the majority cited team sports as receiving the greatest priority. Few had an interest in Jewish ritual or synagogue participation. “Many give high importance to family and to making the world a better place,” says the study, “but they do not attribute their sense of personal or societal right and wrong to Jewish teachings.”

I could cite interesting statistics all day, but the fundamental message that emerged for me was that our teens are, like all of us, engaged in a kind of wrestling match. We all straddle this fence of Jewish vs. secular activities, understanding, belief, and of course identity.

…

We who are seated together in this room are quite an unusual mix of Americans. Some of us were born here; some in Europe, some in Iraq or Iran, a few in Israel and elsewhere. On my father’s side, I’m the fifth generation in America. Although my maternal grandmother was born in what is today Ukraine, my mother’s grandfather on the other side fought for Uncle Sam in the Spanish-American War in 1898. My wife’s first language is Hungarian, although her parents came to this country by way of Israel in the late ‘60s.

It is a fundamental human quality to separate ourselves according to national identity. The Greeks are distinct from the Turks who are distinct from the Mongols who are distinct from the Chinese, and on and on. The Torah itself, a particularly human document, is obsessed with classification — not only about what is kosher or not, but also about categories of people: tribal affiliation, man, woman, child, slave, rich, poor, and so forth.

A century after Napoleon granted the Jews citizenship, French army captain Albert Dreyfus was convicted of treason on the basis of falsified evidence. The question that roiled France was, are the Jews really French, or does their allegiance lie elsewhere? (The trial and its aftermath inspired the secular Hungarian-Jewish journalist Theodor Herzl to pursue Zionism as a solution to this problem.)

In my lifetime, nobody has ever questioned my loyalty as an American. I don’t think anybody will doubt that we live here in America at least as well if not better than in any other place and time in the last two millennia. We are well-integrated into society; there are few barriers to Jews even at the highest echelons of politics, business, and academia. And few of us would argue that this is a bad thing.

But looking around the American Jewish world today, one must marvel at the various communities to our right on the religious spectrum that are, in some ways, isolating themselves from wider American society. They attend their own schools, live in their own neighborhoods, and avoid contact with people who are not of their community. There are American Jews who do not celebrate Thanksgiving because to do so is to assimilate, and they are studiously trying to avoid doing so.

Our community, however, is not like that. Most of us celebrated the non-religious, secular American holiday two days ago (I hope that just as many observed Shabbat, the second-holiest day of the Jewish year, last night with a traditional meal). We are integrated into the fabric of American society. We are as much American Jews as Jewish Americans, and as much Americans as our non-Jewish neighbors and colleagues.

So that raises the question in my mind: when few of our teenagers, our most connected teens, consider Jewish activities a priority and fewer still have an interest in Jewish practice, how will we maintain firm ground in the eternal struggle that we as Jews have had with the non-Jewish world? How will we continue to maintain our customs and our traditions moving forward?

My suggestion is the following: seek out the best of both worlds and grab it. Jewish tradition is rich with family-centered activities, valuable life lessons gleaned from ancient texts, and moments to connect with God. American life, meanwhile, highlights the spirit of independence, stellar opportunities for education and advancement, and plentiful cultural offerings that go far beyond what’s on TV. Leaving aside this season’s commercial fervor for shopping, being an American is a blessing that can only be elevated by the principles that Jewish tradition teaches, like expressing gratitude for what we have, taking care of the needy among us, and judging others fairly.

While I would not go so far as to call this the Promised Land, and you know how important the modern State of Israel is to me, I cannot deny that America has been good for the Jews. As we stand here looking into the future as immigrants and the children of immigrants, we must find a thoughtful way to balance Ya’aqov and Esav, to embrace the elements of Jewish life and American society such that the former part of that equation is not eclipsed by the latter.

Happy Shabbat Thanksgiving!

~Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, 11/26/2011.)

Essential viewing: Dr. Ron Wolfson speaking to the 2011 Rabbinical Assembly convention

2011-11-23T10:20:00.000-08:00

Dr. Wolfson delivers a crash course in the value of welcoming to a group of Conservative rabbis. It's nearly 47 minutes, but he is so engaging that you won't even notice the time. Click on the link below, and enjoy!

http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/13628955

Save the date: Ron will be spending a weekend at Temple Israel as a visiting scholar, May 4-6, 2011.

Every day can be Thanksgiving - Tuesday Kavvanah, 11/22/2011

2011-11-22T14:35:00.001-08:00

Thanksgiving is a non-denominational American holiday of gratitude, a sentiment that Jews know well. The very first statement that we customarily make upon waking is the following:

מודֶה אֲנִי לְפָנֶיךָ מֶלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם. שֶׁהֶחֱזַרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי בְּחֶמְלָה. רַבָּה אֱמוּנָתֶךָ
Modeh (for women, modah) ani lefanekha melekh hai veqayyam, shehehezarta bi nishmati behemlah, rabbah emunatekha
I am grateful to You, living, enduring King, for restoring my soul to me in compassion. You are faithful beyond measure.

The Talmud (Yerushalmi Berakhot 1a) tells us that sleep is one-sixtieth of death; when we wake, we should be grateful that we have returned to being 100% alive. This short statement, which seems to have first appeared in a siddur / prayerbook in 1695 (very recent compared to most other Jewish prayers), captures an essential theme: that nothing should be taken for granted, and that life is a gift that we are continually given every day.

Thanksgiving is an annual event, but we wake up every morning. Give thanks!

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Hayyei Sarah 5772 - Love, Not Fear

2011-11-18T12:48:00.001-08:00

Four elderly Jewish men are seated around a table in a cafe. “Oy,” says one. “Oy vey,” says the second. “Nu?” says the third. The fourth says, “Look, if you guys are going to talk about politics again, I’m leaving.”

I am not going to talk about politics today, but I am going to talk about grief. Like those men seated around the table, I grieve for this world. I grieve out of love.

Rabbi Stecker and I are currently teaching a class on Maimonides, arguably the greatest Jewish scholar who ever lived. We read this past Tuesday evening a piece of the introduction to one of his best-known works, the Mishneh Torah, his comprehensive compendium of Jewish law. In it, Maimonides describes one reason for writing this work is that Jews in the 12th century know far less about Judaism than their forebears did. Maimonides laments,

וּבַזְּמָן הַזֶּה תָּכְפוּ צָרוֹת יְתֵרוֹת, וְדָחֲקָה שָׁעָה אֶת הַכֹּל, וְאָבְדָה חָכְמַת חֲכָמֵינוּ, וּבִינַת נְבוֹנֵינוּ נִסְתַּתְּרָה; לְפִיכָּךְ אוֹתָן הַפֵּרוּשִׁין וְהַתְּשׁוּבוֹת וְהַהֲלָכוֹת שֶׁחִבְּרוּ הַגְּאוֹנִים, וְרָאוּ שְׁהֶם דְּבָרִים מְבֹאָרִים, נִתְקַשּׁוּ בְּיָמֵינוּ, וְאֵין מֵבִין עִנְיְנֵיהֶם כָּרָאוּי אֵלָא מְעַט בְּמִסְפָּר

“In our time, severe troubles come one after another, and all are in distress; the wisdom of our sages has disappeared, and the understanding of our discerning men is hidden. Thus, the commentaries, the responses to halakhic questions, and the settled laws that the Geonim wrote, which had once seemed clear, have in our times become hard to understand, so that only a few properly understand them.” (Introduction to Mishneh Torah, line 40.)

I often hear the same lament today. Plus ça change, plus ça reste la même chose. Maimonides grieved for the lack of Jewish knowledge in his day, and out of love he produced one the most prized offerings of the Jewish bookshelf.

I grieved this week. I even cried. Like Abraham, whose wife Sarah dies at the age of 127 years, and he weeps for her, as we read at the beginning of our Torah reading today. I too wept.

I heard a speaker last Sunday evening at the Forest Hills Jewish Center. His story is so moving, so tragic, and yet so inspiring. It is a story of grief and love.

His name is Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish, a Palestinian ob/gyn and native of the Jabaliya refugee camp in Gaza who holds the distinction of being the first Palestinian doctor to serve in an Israeli hospital. In fact, he was a resident at Soroka Hospital in Beersheva, delivering Israeli babies, when my son Oryah was born there in 2001. I may have, in fact, seen him there at the time.

Dr. Abuelaish’s story is at once tragic and inspiring. During Operation Cast Lead in January, 2009, the IDF bombed his Gaza apartment, killing 3 of his 6 daughters and his niece, and seriously injuring another daughter. It appears to have been a horrible accident, although the IDF has never admitted that, instead claiming that they saw suspected terrorist activity in the apartment.

As a long-time friend to Israel and Israelis, Dr. Abuelaish knew Shlomi Eldar, the Gaza correspondent for Israeli TV’s Channel 10. The two spoke regularly about the situation in Gaza during Cast Lead, and describe each other as friends. When the shell hit his apartment, Dr. Abuelaish called Eldar’s cell phone. Eldar was on air at the time, and put the doctor on speakerphone so that all of Israel could hear him screaming hysterically, on live TV, in mixed Hebrew and Arabic, “Ya allah, habanot sheli, mah nish’ar?” Oh God, my daughters, what’s left? Can’t anybody help us? For seven gruesome minutes, Eldar debated what to do, and then walked off the set to make some phone calls to see if he could get help for the family. The incident was played and replayed all over the world, inflicting doubt and pain on the Israeli psyche and the world stage

Dr. Abuelaish possesses what can only be described as an ironclad optimism that seems incorruptible by tragedy. Despite what he has suffered, he has recently published a book called, I Shall Not Hate, and when he is not practicing medicine and teaching at the University of Toronto, he lectures world-wide about peace and the necessity of the two-state solution, and telling audiences of all sorts that politicians are the enemies of peace, and that an agreement is within reach of both sides.

It is important to mention here that this doctor, who specializes in treating infertility and has helped many Israelis conceive and give birth, is an observant Muslim. He attributes his strength in the face of tragedy and love of humanity to his love of God.

He recalled, as he spoke last Sunday night, that Cast Lead ended just two days after that tragedy, and at the time he remarked to his remaining daughters, almost inconceivably given what had happened, “I am satisfied that the blood and souls of your sisters and cousin is not wasteful or futile. It made a difference in the lives of others and saved others by announcing the cease fire and showing the human face of the Palestinians.”

There had been widespread Israeli support for Cast Lead. Virtually all Israelis agreed that they had to halt the thousands of rockets that were falling on cities in the south. But this scene on live TV with a screaming doctor, a friend to Israel who had brought so much Jewish life into this world, this touched a nerve among Israelis. Watch it on YouTube, and then treat yourself to all the shocking invective against Israel, Israelis, and Jews posted as comments below the video.

Ladies and gentlemen, if this man, who suffered such a tragedy, can choose not to hate, not to seek revenge, but to preach the message of peace, then so can all the rest of us. Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish has chosen love over fear, anger, and bloodthirstiness.

Avraham cries for Sarah. He grieves for her out of love. Rashi points out that she dies just after the story of the Aqeidah, the binding of Isaac, because when she learns that Avraham almost sacrificed their son, parhah nishmatah mimena, va-metah, her soul fled from her and she died. Sarah passed away in grief for love of her son; Avraham grieves for his wife out of love.

One of the beautiful features of childhood is innate optimism, the naive understanding of the world that gradually slips away as we age and encounter suffering.

In the upcoming class that Rabbi Stecker and I are teaching at the home of one of our Temple Israel member families in December, to which you are all invited, we will be discussing what Jewish sources teach us about raising children. And of course, the way it goes with children is something like this: as parents, we do the best that we can to try to give our offspring everything that they need to be responsible, capable, well-adjusted adults.

And we often try to protect (or indeed over-protect) them from the reality that life is difficult, that sometimes you try your best and fail, that suffering and loss are an essential feature of our existence. Sometimes, we do our children an injustice by shielding them from pain; that is the premise of the popular books by the psychologist and author, Dr. Wendy Mogel.

However, I would wish on nobody, even my greatest enemy, the tragedy that befell Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish.

I do, however, wish that everybody could contract his incurable optimism, and that all of the parties involved and committed to recalling the litany of historical wrongs of a century of conflict would let it go and come to the table to hash out a plan. There are some things that we, the Jews, will have to give up on, and some things that they, the Palestinians, will have to give up on as well. And that will hurt. But we do not really have a choice.

Some of you are now thinking, “Oh, Rabbi Adelson, that’s so naive!”

Well, maybe so. Perhaps a wee bit of hope remains deep inside me somewhere, despite the rampant pessimism of our age. But what I want to challenge us to do today is to conquer fear, which is the true enemy of peace.

We protect or insulate or isolate our children out of fear. The journalism industry delivers fear to us daily through more and more channels, as it thrives on the maxim, “If it bleeds, it leads.” Within Israel today, there is fear of the Haredi world displacing secular Zionism - a former Mossad chief recently stated that ultra-orthodox Jews are a greater threat to Israel than Iran. In Europe, there is fear of a Muslim takeover. Here, we fear many things, and especially during an election season: illegal immigrants, taxes, “death panels.”

We may indeed grieve for this world, for the loss and suffering and change and all the different things that cause us pain. But we cannot allow our grief to yield more fear.

We cannot grieve only for our own losses, for spilt Jewish blood. I don’t care how many Palestinian prisoners Gil’ad Shalit was redeemed for. Blood is blood. Jewish blood, Arab blood, Christian blood are all the same. Why do we spill out wine from our cups at the Passover seder table when reciting the Ten Plagues? Because the Egyptians suffered as well, and as such our joy is lessened.

Dr. Izzeldin Abuelaish writes in his book, “To those who seek retaliation, I say, even if I got revenge on all the Israeli people, would it bring my daughters back? Hatred is an illness. It prevents healing and peace.”

Fear breeds hatred, and love gives us peace. And love should not be equated with naiveté. I hope that as we continue into the future, we seek to surmount our fears, and not just with regards to the Middle East, but here at home, in our families, in our work and school and social environments, and here at Temple Israel.

As each of us in this room gets older, we will surely grieve more. May God see to it that we grieve in love, and not in fear.

****

As a coda, I would like to mention that Dr. Abuelaish founded a charity in memory of his daughters. Called the Daughters for Life Foundation, it awards scholarships to girls and women in Israel, the Palestinian territories, and the rest of the Middle East, Jewish, Muslim, and Christian, to help elevate the status of women throughout the region. Dr. Abuelaish believes firmly what is described on the foundation’s website, that:

“When female values are better represented through leadership at all levels of society, overall values will change and life will improve in the Gaza Strip, in Palestine as a whole, in Israel, and throughout the Middle East.”

http://www.daughtersforlife.com/

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel of Great Neck, Shabbat morning, 19 November 2011.)

Eulogize the Living - Friday Kavvanah, 11/18/2011

2011-11-17T05:01:00.001-08:00

When I was a senior rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary, I had a class in homiletics in which I learned, among other things, how to write a hesped / eulogy. Our teacher, Rabbi Gerald Zelizer, whose father had also been a rabbi, told us about how when he was young they practiced giving eulogies for each other. One of them would lie on the floor, and the other would stand over him and improvise a hesped.

In the opening lines of Parashat Hayyei Sarah, Abraham mourns for his departed wife Sarah, and depending on how you read the text, probably delivers the first eulogy noted in the Torah. He channels his grief into words, and to this day we do the same thing at funerals and memorial services, where we recall our loved ones with fondness and remember their better qualities and the happy times that we spent with them. A good hesped moves us like no other speech, yielding tears and respectful laughter, inspiring reflection, longing, and comfort in the face of loss.

What is perhaps most ironic about the eulogy, however, is that the deceased does not hear the moving, wonderful things that are recited in his/her honor. Most of us will not hear the most stirring words ever said about us. A pity, no?

Here is a suggestion: eulogize the ones you love now! Tell your spouse, your children, your parents, your cousins, your friends how much you love and appreciate them, how much you miss them when they are not around, how fondly you recall all of the good times you have had together. (Nobody needs to bother to lie on the floor.)

Why wait? Eulogize the living!

~
Rabbi Seth Adelson

Wrestling with the Big Questions

2011-11-16T06:57:00.000-08:00

In virtually every class that I teach, I encourage students to ask questions, and all my students know that a good question can easily toss the lesson plan out the window.

In his recent column appearing in The New York Jewish Week, Rabbi David Wolpe pointed to the centrality of questions in Jewish life. They are so intrinsic to Jewish practice and learning that we ask a series of them every day in the warm-up passages of Shaharit, the morning service:

?מָה אֲנַחְנוּ? מֶה חַיֵּינוּ? מֶה חַסְדֵּנוּ? מַה צִּדְקֵנוּ? מַה יְשְׁעֵנוּ? מַה כּחֵנוּ? מַה גְּבוּרָתֵנוּ
Mah anahnu? Meh hayyeinu? Meh hasdenu? Mah tzidqenu? Mah yish'enu? Mah kohenu? Mah gevuratenu?
What are we? What is our life? What is our piety? What is our righteousness? What is our attainment? What is our power? What is our might?

The siddur, the prayerbook, reminds us on a daily basis, even before our morning coffee, that we must ask questions, that we must probe the depths of our understanding and relationships from the very moment that the day begins.

This passage also serves as a reminder that, as Rabbi Wolpe put it, questions drive us deeper than answers. As such, much of the Jewish experience surrounds asking good questions, and I would not have it any other way.

Vayyera: Watch Carefully! - Friday Kavvanah, 11/11/2011

2011-11-11T10:55:00.001-08:00

The great 20th-century Jewish philosopher Martin Buber coined the German term "leitwort" ("leading word") to refer to the Hebrew Bible's repetition of a thematic word or root in a specific context. The leitwort gives us an internal emphasis on a particular concept.

In the case of the opening verses of Parashat Vayyera, Genesis 18:1-2, the leitwort is those words having to do with seeing:

וַיֵּרָא אֵלָיו יְהוָה, בְּאֵלֹנֵי מַמְרֵא; וְהוּא יֹשֵׁב פֶּתַח-הָאֹהֶל, כְּחֹם הַיּוֹם

וַיִּשָּׂא עֵינָיו, וַיַּרְא, וְהִנֵּה שְׁלֹשָׁה אֲנָשִׁים, נִצָּבִים עָלָיו; וַיַּרְא, וַיָּרָץ לִקְרָאתָם מִפֶּתַח הָאֹהֶל, וַיִּשְׁתַּחוּ אָרְצָה

1. The Lord appeared to him by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot.

2. Looking up, he saw three men standing near him. As soon as he saw them, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them, and, bowing to the ground... (New JPS)

Leaving aside the question of whether Abraham sees God or three strangers approaching, what the leitwort brings to our attention is that Abraham is carefully watching. He is paying attention, and ready to welcome the men into his tent.

I remember distinctly a word that my own childhood rabbi, Rabbi Arthur Rulnick, gave as a piece of advice to my confirmation class somewhere in the mid-1980s: as you grow older and more mature, look carefully at the world around you as you seek your path. Just as Abraham is watching the area around his home intently (heh heh), so too should we be equally watchful as we move through life.

The Future of Temple Israel of Great Neck

2011-11-10T08:40:00.000-08:00

I have seen the light.

In August, I attended a two-day institute with LOMED, a program run by The Jewish Education Project through which our Religious School is continuing the work of Re-Imagine. I was there with RS Director Rabbi Tracy Klirs, RS teacher Jennifer Khoda, and Beth Hagan Director Rachel Mathless.

The keynote speaker of this institute was Dr. Ron Wolfson, who is a professor of Jewish Education at American Jewish University in Los Angeles, and also one of the prime movers of Synagogue 3000, an organization that provides resources for synagogue transformation, so that synagogues can be equipped for current and future realities.

Dr. Wolfson’s message at this program was simple: the successful synagogue of the future is the one that builds relationships between people. Judaism should be “relational,” and that synagogues that fail to build relationships will never thrive.

The overarching message of the LOMED Summer Institute was as follows: when synagogues offer programming, the central question surrounding each programmatic offering and its success should be, “Did this program, or service, or class, or Shabbat dinner build relationships?”

Dr. Wolfson is the author of the book, The Spirituality of Welcoming (Jewish Lights, 2006), a book we all should read and perhaps commit to memory. In the introduction to the book, he notes that many synagogues (including Temple Israel) have the words, "Da lifnei mi atah omed" ("Know before whom you stand") written above the Ark. He quips that it should be replaced by, “But we’ve always done it this way!”

Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen the light.

I am convinced that today, when it’s getting harder and harder to get people in the door, when synagogue dues seem an almost outrageous luxury, when the fastest-growing religion in America is “nothing,” we cannot afford to do things exactly as we have always done them.

We have to re-examine, re-evaluate, and re-envision everything that we do.

To that end, I am pleased to report four items:

1. I am happy that I received the first evaluation since I have been here (now four years and change). I am sorry, however, that this was the first one. Evaluations of clergy and other senior staff should be conducted with far more regularity, and not just in advance of contract negotiation. Evaluation of everything needs to be part of our culture.

2. Related to this, in a matter of days every single member of the congregation will receive, for the first time, a survey form regarding the High Holidays. This represents a huge step - not only will the feedback be useful to the clergy, the office, and the other professional staff, but even more so it will send the message to you that we want to listen to you, and we care about what you think.

3. During Sukkot, we held the first meeting of the Nitzanim Family Connection, a pilot program for which we have received a $6K grant to bring together parents of Nitzanim / kindergarten children in our Religious School, to build connections between parents and give them the opportunities to discuss their Jewish experiences and the Jewish education of their children. The first meeting was in my Sukkah, next door, and was by all accounts a resounding success.

We hope that this will be a model for building those relationships throughout the Religious School experience, and not only that this cohort will continue to meet, but that a new cohort will begin with next year’s Nitzanim class, and onward and upward.

4. A final thing: on Shabbat mornings, one rabbi is now in the back of the sanctuary, and this has been not only a tremendous learning process for me (since the view from the back is quite different than the view from the bimah), but I think that this has also helped to change the tone of the sanctuary environment. I try to greet every single person that enters the sanctuary for tefillot / prayer. Many have told me that they appreciate this.

*****

To conclude, I strongly suggest that you buy Dr. Wolfson's book and read it. I have already purchased copies to give to members of the Ritual Committee and the Membership Committee. Furthermore, I am now in communication with Dr. Wolfson, and I hope that we will be able to bring him to Temple Israel as a scholar-in-residence and board-training weekend in May, so that he can bring this message to a much wider audience within our community. I am hoping that a few more of us will see the light, so that we can make Temple Israel the community that we all want and need it to be for the future.

(Originally delivered at Temple Israel's semi-annual congregational meeting, November 7, 2011.)

The Most Welcoming Guy in Canaan - Thursday Kavvanah, 11/10/2011

2011-11-10T07:18:00.000-08:00

The beginning of Parashat Vayyera, which we are reading this week, features a fascinating vignette on hospitality. Abraham is hanging out by the entrance to his tent, when three strangers approach. He and his wife Sarah hasten to get them food, water, a place to wash the desert off their feet and chill out, and then stand by them patiently as they eat. Abraham welcomes these people, with whom he has no connection whatsoever, and brings them into his home, no questions asked.

Sometimes, the famously dysfunctional characters of the book of Bereishit / Genesis are undeniably virtuous; this is one of those instances. The Talmud (Tractate Shabbat 127a) tells us that the mitzvah / commandment of hakhnasat orhim, welcoming visitors into your home, outweighs that of welcoming the Shekhinah, God's presence.

What do we learn from this? In an age of increasing isolation, when some of us relate more easily to screens than to human faces, this is a time that we must all reach out to others, to make those connections that only people can make, and particularly in the synagogue. Abraham welcomes the strangers into his tent, and so should we.

The Poetry of Autumn - Tuesday Kavvanah, 11/8/11

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During the weekday morning minyan (service), I usually sit by the window so I can see what's going on in the courtyard. This affords me a ringside seat for the yearly cycle as interpreted by the gorgeous tree that's just outside the chapel.

Fall is the most poetic season; there is something extraordinarily evocative about the death of leaves in an explosion of multi-colored glory. This morning, as I gazed out the window at the oranges and yellows squeezing out the greens, the morning liturgy washed over me in a wave of medieval Hebrew, and it occurred to me that the poetry of autumn provides a gorgeous counterpoint to the words of tefillah.

Ideally, prayer helps us reflect our souls; when it further breaks down physical walls to connect us with the natural world and Creation, it enables us to reach out beyond human social structures to dance with the Divine. I had a moment like that this morning; these are the moments that we should all seek.

Our Jewish Journeys - Thursday Kavvanah, 11/3/2011

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Looking back over the course of my four-plus decades, I can see several different paths through my life.

There is the educational path - what I've learned, with whom and from whom.

There is the experiential path - how I have engaged with all of the activities in my life and how I have interpreted them and integrated them into my personality.

There is the emotional path - the relationships that have defined me with respect to others.

And then there is the Jewish path.

Our understanding of and relationship to the way of life that we call Judaism is complex, and it changes as we age. There are times when we connect with the holiday rituals, there are times when we need prayer, and there are times when reflective study of ancient texts resonates. Some of us come from other religious backgrounds to take a Jewish journey.

When Abram receives an order from God to leave home (the title of Parashat Lekh Lekha says it all), he begins what you might call the first Jewish journey. His physical path takes him from his ancestral home in Ur (in an area that we today call Iraq) to Israel, and then to Egypt, and back to Israel again. But his internal path takes him even further, from the idolatrous home of his father (one of the most familiar midrashim tells us that his father sold idols for a living) to becoming the patriarch of the first monotheistic nation. The journey of Abram (later, Abraham - his path yields him a new, improved name) is all-encompassing.

And so is mine. Where has your journey taken you?

Take the plunge! - Tuesday Kavvanah, 11/1/2011

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When I was 29, I was fortunate to have been laid off from my engineering firm in Houston and begin the journey that ultimately led me to the cantorate and to the rabbinate. At the time, I had no idea where I would end up, but for perhaps the first time in my life, I threw all caution to the wind and re-booted.

Abram (later to become Abraham) faces such a journey in Parashat Lekh Lekha, which we are reading this week.

וַיֹּאמֶר יְהוָה אֶל-אַבְרָם, לֶךְ-לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ, אֶל-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ
God said to Abram, "Go forth (lekh lekha) from your native land and from your father's house to the land that I will show you. (Gen. 12:1)

Abram is given no further instruction at this time - not where he is going, not how to get there, not how long it will take, and so forth. And yet he picks up and moves. As it turns out, the move is good for him and his family, as he is essentially the father of the Israelite people and he lands in Israel. But he could not have known that from the start.

Sometimes making a change in life requires seizing that lekh lekha moment, the willingness to take a chance without a clear picture of what is to come.