“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. ” This is a countdown that our kids are used to hearing! They always finish the task when we reach the right number! I have learned that a countdown should start at 3 and not at ten! Countdowns are also part of our personal lives. Before you know it someone will remind us that there are only 213 days to Hanukkah. I know there are those getting married this summer or celebrating other life cycle events that are counting down the weeks and days. Many of us have counted down the days to a major transition moment in our lives, be it major birthdays, how soon we can drive, how long before we go to college, or retire, and even how long until our next great vacation. Counting down offers us a growing sense that the cherished moment is getting closer and closer.
This week's Torah portion Emor reminds us that there is a different way to count. We count in a very precise fashion. For seven weeks leading up to the festival of Shavuot we count. In ancient times the count marked the transition from one agricultural season, the barley harvest, to the early summer wheat harvest. For us, counting agricultural days are not part of our purview, unless we are very obsessive about those tomato plants. Perhaps we know counting better from how many more days till Rita's Water Ice opens. In Judaism, we continue the count to mark the transition from Passover to Shavuot; to mark the transition from a liberation from Egypt to the revelation of the Torah at Sinai. In recent years we have added some important steps to this period of counting, like a celebration of Israel and remembering those who died during the Holocaust.
This process of counting gives us an opportunity to appreciate every day more fully, reminding us that in Judaism the journey is as meaningful as the destination.
Our text teaches us yet another lesson about time. It teaches us the value of sacred time. All of us are living ever-more stressed lives. “Time away” has disappeared, particularly with the advent of cell phones. We are available 24/7. The Torah comes to remind us that we need to stop and stand apart from that mad rush through time; that there are moments in our lives called sacred time. The great Jewish thinker Abraham Joshua Heschel offered the idea of Shabbat, of the Sabbath, as an island in time.
The text proposes that there are sacred times. Weekly there is Shabbat, both a reminder of God’s resting after creation, which perhaps should resonate with many of us who work many hours, and of our liberation from Egypt, when our ancestors as slaves were granted no “down time.” The holiday cycle comes to remind us that we need to celebrate liberation, revelation, and our agricultural bounty—Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, respectively -- but also that there is a moment of renewal and new beginnings (Rosh HaShanah) and also a time for personal reflection and repentance (Yom Kippur). Add to that list, later holidays of Hanukkah, with its reminder of light and restoration, of Purim, celebrating the joy of survival, and most recently Yom HaAtzamaut, Israel Independence Day, which reminds us of the miracle of the modern Jewish State, and we have the core of the cycle. At the heart of this view of time is that we are part of a community; not just individuals with time on our hands. But as community members we need to pause, celebrate, commemorate and, yes, recharge our spiritual batteries. Just as we recognize that our cell phone batteries need periodic recharging so, too, we should be mindful that our souls require recharging. And the Jewish calendar is a reminder of that necessity.
We are taught in Judaism that time is a commodity that can never be regained!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Kedoshim
A would-be convert asks Rabbi Hillel, one of the greatest rabbis of all times, “Can you tell me what the Torah is about while standing on one foot?” (A great trick to keep rabbis words to a minimum, I think!) Hillel replied, from this week’s Torah Portion, “Love your Neighbor as Yourself.” That is the whole Torah. All the rest is commentary; now go and study it.
I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t ask myself what the point is of a specific lesson, program, or event -- not in a dismissive way, but in a deep philosophical way. Why do we do anything we do hereat Tempel Sholom? Why do we exist? As a reader of educational and business literature, I’ve learned that the task is simple: be vision-centered and mission-driven. Know at all times what your purpose is and stick to it.
Our purpose is clear: to increase people’s connection to that which is holy and sacred. “Kedoshim Tihiu,” we read this week – “You shall be holy.” The “you” is the entire Jewish community. How do we go about being holy? By observing Shabbat and rituals, by giving to the poor and reaching out to the needy, and by studying and learning more about what is commanded of us. But why? What is the point? The point is that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Why come to Shabbat services? To be inspired to do more, to be more, and to care for others. Why did we just observe Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron? To remember those who sacrificed their lives for us and encourage us to honor their memory.
“But can’t we just be a good person? Isn’t that enough?” you may ask. In an interview with Martina Navratilova. She spoke about how after a few years of falling second to Chris Evert someone finally said to her, “When are you really going to try to win? When are you going to change what you do every day, change your work out, change your preparation to be prepared to beat her on the court?” Could Martina Navratilova practice a few hours a day by herself and be very good? Yes. Could she be the best? No. She needed guidance, inspiration and a system of discipline, a set of rules.
“Kedoshim Tihiu - we shall be holy.” We have the capacity to bring the divine in us into the rest of the word. In order to do that, though, we must urge ourselves to take advantage of the numerous ways in which this community helps us learn how to really be holy, how to really love every single neighbor like we love ourselves. Each of us has chosen to belong to a community which can help inspire us to live a sacred life; all we have to do is participate.
I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t ask myself what the point is of a specific lesson, program, or event -- not in a dismissive way, but in a deep philosophical way. Why do we do anything we do hereat Tempel Sholom? Why do we exist? As a reader of educational and business literature, I’ve learned that the task is simple: be vision-centered and mission-driven. Know at all times what your purpose is and stick to it.
Our purpose is clear: to increase people’s connection to that which is holy and sacred. “Kedoshim Tihiu,” we read this week – “You shall be holy.” The “you” is the entire Jewish community. How do we go about being holy? By observing Shabbat and rituals, by giving to the poor and reaching out to the needy, and by studying and learning more about what is commanded of us. But why? What is the point? The point is that we can learn to love our neighbors as ourselves.
Why come to Shabbat services? To be inspired to do more, to be more, and to care for others. Why did we just observe Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron? To remember those who sacrificed their lives for us and encourage us to honor their memory.
“But can’t we just be a good person? Isn’t that enough?” you may ask. In an interview with Martina Navratilova. She spoke about how after a few years of falling second to Chris Evert someone finally said to her, “When are you really going to try to win? When are you going to change what you do every day, change your work out, change your preparation to be prepared to beat her on the court?” Could Martina Navratilova practice a few hours a day by herself and be very good? Yes. Could she be the best? No. She needed guidance, inspiration and a system of discipline, a set of rules.
“Kedoshim Tihiu - we shall be holy.” We have the capacity to bring the divine in us into the rest of the word. In order to do that, though, we must urge ourselves to take advantage of the numerous ways in which this community helps us learn how to really be holy, how to really love every single neighbor like we love ourselves. Each of us has chosen to belong to a community which can help inspire us to live a sacred life; all we have to do is participate.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tazria Metzorah
I have read the words to the poem “Birth is a beginning and death a destination” hundreds of times. I am not sure why I never hear the poem at baby namings or a bris, I hear it sometimes at regular services, but most often at Yizkor or funerals. The poem is so striking to me because I am always thinking about how young I am, and how it must be hard for a congregation of mourners to listen to me speak about life-long lessons when I have lived such a short life compared to them. It is also striking because I long for the time in the journey when I have moved from ignorance to knowing, from foolishness to discretion. I long for the time when I know what the right words are to comfort someone, what the words are to say when there are no words.
Intellectually I understand this time will never come. What is comforting to one person is offensive to another. The only way to really be able to comfort someone is to know everything about them, to know what will bring a smile to their face and what will cause a tear to shed, and when to evoke each emotion.
The problem with our world is that it contains suffering. There has always been cruelty, sickness, and despair. In our Torah portion this week, Tazria-Metzorah, the parashah focuses on a disease that not only affects one physically but it affects how an individual looks. It is also contagious so it affects how the person can interact with others. Perhaps this is the definition of true suffering. It cannot be hidden, it affects how you feel, how you look, and how others treat you. At this time in our calendar as we approach the season of Passover we also think of suffering and liberation.
It is always surprising to me when people tell me they no longer believe in God because of a personal tragedy, because of something specific that happened to them on a certain day. While I understand, I want to ask them – was it OK when others were suffering but only when it happened to you, then you stopped believing in God?
What is remarkable about both the parashah this week and the story of the season is that both inherently command us to be concerned about those that are in pain. In Tazria-Metzorah there is a clear communal element to how we treat those who are sick.
When people tell me they no longer believe in God, it is most often in response to a hospital visit or pastoral phone call. When they say this I want to respond, “If you don’t believe in God, believe in me, believe in the community. Have faith that your friends, your family, and the relationships that you value in your life will help you and bring you comfort.”
Intellectually I understand this time will never come. What is comforting to one person is offensive to another. The only way to really be able to comfort someone is to know everything about them, to know what will bring a smile to their face and what will cause a tear to shed, and when to evoke each emotion.
The problem with our world is that it contains suffering. There has always been cruelty, sickness, and despair. In our Torah portion this week, Tazria-Metzorah, the parashah focuses on a disease that not only affects one physically but it affects how an individual looks. It is also contagious so it affects how the person can interact with others. Perhaps this is the definition of true suffering. It cannot be hidden, it affects how you feel, how you look, and how others treat you. At this time in our calendar as we approach the season of Passover we also think of suffering and liberation.
It is always surprising to me when people tell me they no longer believe in God because of a personal tragedy, because of something specific that happened to them on a certain day. While I understand, I want to ask them – was it OK when others were suffering but only when it happened to you, then you stopped believing in God?
What is remarkable about both the parashah this week and the story of the season is that both inherently command us to be concerned about those that are in pain. In Tazria-Metzorah there is a clear communal element to how we treat those who are sick.
When people tell me they no longer believe in God, it is most often in response to a hospital visit or pastoral phone call. When they say this I want to respond, “If you don’t believe in God, believe in me, believe in the community. Have faith that your friends, your family, and the relationships that you value in your life will help you and bring you comfort.”
Friday, April 9, 2010
Yom Hashoah
This Sunday, corresponding to the 27th of Nisan, is Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Memorial Day. The history of Yom HaShoah is brief but incredibly complex and instructive about the Jewish world today, indeed about the place of the Holocaust in the world as a whole and even the nature of Zionism. From the very beginning, the idea of a Holocaust Remembrance Day was Israeli but meant to be shared with the world Jewish community.
Originally, the idea for a Yom HaShoah was proposed as a day to remember the beginning of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising., consistent with Israel’s belief in Jewish self-defense. The Warsaw revolt began on April 19, 1943, which corresponded to the first day of Passover that year. However, mixing Passover and Yom HaShoah clearly was not a good idea, so alternative dates were discussed. Jewish religious traditionalists suggested the 10th of Tevet, the anniversary of the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem in 588 BCE by the Babylonians. The matter was intensely debated and on April 12, 1951, Israel’s Parliament voted to establish Yom HaShoah on 27 Nisan, which is eight days before Israel’s Independence Day.
To a certain extent, the calendrical relationship of Yom HaShoah and Yom HaAtzmaut parallels the proximity of Tisha B’Av, the traditional Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians and the Romans on the 9th of Av and “Tu B’Av,” the 15th of Av, an ancient Jewish version of Sadie Hawkins Day. Most importantly, remembering the Holocaust on 27 Nisan and celebrating Israel Independence Day on the 5th of Iyar underscores the dramatic role Israel has played in rebuilding the Jewish people since the Shoah.
Fervently Orthodox Jews do not observe Yom HaShoah to this day and only maintain the traditional collective days of mourning in the Jewish community. For German Jews, remembering the first night of Kristallnacht is particularly poignant. Ukrainian Jews mark the anniversary of Babi Yar with special observances as well.
If that is not complicated enough, there are other non-Israeli “Holocaust Days,” most importantly January 27, which marks the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945, and was adopted by the United Nations and over 40 countries, including the UK and Germany, as their official day of remembrance. Regretfully but not unexpectedly, the Muslim Council of Britain (MCB) immediately elected to boycott the official British Holocaust Day and instead called for the establishment of a global Genocide Day.
In Israel, at 10:00 a.m., a siren will sound for two minutes and the entire country will come to a standstill. In Israel and in the Diaspora, including in our own Kehillah, there will be special programs and services. Although there is no standard practice, the public lighting of six candles as well as solitary yellow candles at home, the reading of the names of the perished and the singing of HaTikvah is widely observed. Because Yom HaShoah is not a religious holiday, it is often marked by special services and programs in public space in the United States, including the Rotunda of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.
Remembering the Holocaust is both a theological and a political challenge as the brief history of Yom HaShoah confirms. More importantly, remembering the Holocaust has become a generational problem. Aside from youth choirs who sing at Yom HaShoah events, most of the participants are older individuals and often survivors or the children of survivors. Remembering the Holocaust is essential in Jewish life. We need to find ways of remembering it in all of its fury. Even more, we need to find ways to maintain Judaism in our daily lives where the real challenges of memory and meaning are played out every day. Let us remember. Let us vow never to forget.
Originally, the idea for a Yom HaShoah was proposed as a day to remember the beginning of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising., consistent with Israel’s belief in Jewish self-defense. The Warsaw revolt began on April 19, 1943, which corresponded to the first day of Passover that year. However, mixing Passover and Yom HaShoah clearly was not a good idea, so alternative dates were discussed. Jewish religious traditionalists suggested the 10th of Tevet, the anniversary of the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem in 588 BCE by the Babylonians. The matter was intensely debated and on April 12, 1951, Israel’s Parliament voted to establish Yom HaShoah on 27 Nisan, which is eight days before Israel’s Independence Day.
To a certain extent, the calendrical relationship of Yom HaShoah and Yom HaAtzmaut parallels the proximity of Tisha B’Av, the traditional Jewish day of mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians and the Romans on the 9th of Av and “Tu B’Av,” the 15th of Av, an ancient Jewish version of Sadie Hawkins Day. Most importantly, remembering the Holocaust on 27 Nisan and celebrating Israel Independence Day on the 5th of Iyar underscores the dramatic role Israel has played in rebuilding the Jewish people since the Shoah.
Fervently Orthodox Jews do not observe Yom HaShoah to this day and only maintain the traditional collective days of mourning in the Jewish community. For German Jews, remembering the first night of Kristallnacht is particularly poignant. Ukrainian Jews mark the anniversary of Babi Yar with special observances as well.
If that is not complicated enough, there are other non-Israeli “Holocaust Days,” most importantly January 27, which marks the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945, and was adopted by the United Nations and over 40 countries, including the UK and Germany, as their official day of remembrance. Regretfully but not unexpectedly, the Muslim Council of Britain (MCB) immediately elected to boycott the official British Holocaust Day and instead called for the establishment of a global Genocide Day.
In Israel, at 10:00 a.m., a siren will sound for two minutes and the entire country will come to a standstill. In Israel and in the Diaspora, including in our own Kehillah, there will be special programs and services. Although there is no standard practice, the public lighting of six candles as well as solitary yellow candles at home, the reading of the names of the perished and the singing of HaTikvah is widely observed. Because Yom HaShoah is not a religious holiday, it is often marked by special services and programs in public space in the United States, including the Rotunda of the Capitol in Washington, D.C.
Remembering the Holocaust is both a theological and a political challenge as the brief history of Yom HaShoah confirms. More importantly, remembering the Holocaust has become a generational problem. Aside from youth choirs who sing at Yom HaShoah events, most of the participants are older individuals and often survivors or the children of survivors. Remembering the Holocaust is essential in Jewish life. We need to find ways of remembering it in all of its fury. Even more, we need to find ways to maintain Judaism in our daily lives where the real challenges of memory and meaning are played out every day. Let us remember. Let us vow never to forget.
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