No Freedom of Religion at the Western Wall

A couple of weeks ago, while attending the convention of the Rabbinical Assembly (the professional organization of Conservative rabbis) in Atlanta, I heard Israeli journalist and nascent politician Yair Lapid declare that Israel is the only place in the Western world where Jews are not free to practice their religion as they wish.  He was referring to recent events that have resulted from the unseemly alliance of government and right-wing Jewish religious interests: a tourist group of Conservative teens being denied the use of a sefer Torah at a hotel run by a secular kibbutz, the constant police presence and occasional arrest of participants at Women of the Wall's monthly service at the Kotel / Western Wall.

Speaking to a room full of Conservative rabbis, who are committed to a Judaism that is both firmly rooted in tradition and yet open to modern ideas and the principle that Judaism has never existed in a vacuum, Mr. Lapid said:

"I believe the Jewish identity is in danger and you are the gatekeepers, the people who believe Judaism shouldn't be a jailhouse of ideas, but a liberator of ideas. No one can claim ownership over the Jewish God." (as quoted in Haaretz)

This was, of course, an easy applause line for that audience.  Nonetheless, the sentiment here is very powerful, and very important for the future of Judaism in Israel and the Diaspora.

Three rabbinical students from the Jewish Theological Seminary were detained on Tuesday for praying at the Kotel while wearing their tallitot / prayer shawls in the same way that men do.  They were not arrested, but merely roughed up; one was approached by a policeman while reciting the Shema, when it is halakhically impermissible to respond.

This is not freedom of religion.  Since the Kadima and Likud parties have reunited like old brothers, and the next Israeli election cycle will be a year and a half away, Mr. Lapid and his Yesh Atid ("There is a Future") party will not have the opportunity to address these issues in the Knesset any time soon.  Let's hope that change comes sooner.


~
Rabbi Seth Adelson


For a video of the three women talking about their experience, click here.

For a reaction piece from Jonah Rank, another rabbinical student who was there, click here.

For more information about Women of the Wall, click here.

Tuesday Kavvanah, 3/29/2011 - The Internal Tallit

When I was wrapping myself in my tallit (prayer shawl) this morning, one of the morning minyan attendees asked how I kept it so clean. I had personally never noticed that it was particularly clean, and actually have been wondering lately about what to do about a small tear in the atarah (the decorated portion that goes around the neck). In any case, I answered that I always fold it along the creases when I am done with it, and occasionally get it dry-cleaned.

A few minutes later, during the more contemplative part of Shaharit (the morning service), I hovered for a moment over one of my favorite lines, one that is, curiously, in small print in our siddur (prayerbook):

לְעולָם יְהֵא אָדָם יְרֵא שָׁמַיִם בְּסֵּתֶר ובגלוי וּמודֶה עַל הָאֱמֶת וְדובֵר אֱמֶת בִּלְבָבו
Le-olam yehei adam yerei shamayim beseter uvgalui, umodeh al ha-emet vedover emet bilvavo...
We should always revere God, in private as in public. In our hearts, we should recognize truth and pursue it faithfully... (from Tanna Devei Eliyahu, a midrashic collection from the 10th c. CE)

The tallit is an outward manifestation of spirituality; a clean tallit should reflect inner spiritual cleanliness as well. Doing so takes a little care: metaphorically folding up your soul after use, and occasionally getting it dry-cleaned. Daily prayer can be part of that regimen, and Shabbat dinner with family, and holiday observances, and learning Jewish texts.

We put a lot of effort into our outward appearance. Our inward appearance should not be neglected.

Tuesday Morning Kavvanah, 3/8/2011 - Ancient Resonance

Let's face it: to those who have not spent their lives immersed in the intricacies of Jewish text, tefillah and Jewish ritual can seem impenetrable, and somewhat hard to relate to for modern people. Why wake up early every morning to recite a litany of mostly-meaningless syllables in a foreign language? Why bind inscribed pieces of parchment to our heads and arms with leather straps? Why drape oneself in a rectangular garment with knots hanging off the corners?

If we do not feel the compulsion of commandedness (which is very hard for most of us to feel these days), these rituals may fall flat. But when I put on tefillin and tallit in the morning, when I recite the ancient words of Jewish liturgy, I feel the resonance of all the generations that came before me, generations of people who, I hope, felt closer to God than I ever will. And my ancestors used the same words of tefillah, liturgy that has been handed down to us today. Who are we to be indifferent to its power?

This historical resonance enables me to engage meaningfully with Jewish tradition.