Sibling rivalry, parents’ pettiness, estranged family members. It is always surprising to me when people say that they don’t find Judaism relevant to their lives. What could be more relevant?
This week in Parashat Toledot we read about Rebecca and Isaac and their sons Jacob and Esau. As you may remember, while Rebecca is pregnant, she is told that her two sons will war against each other. She prefers Jacob and helps him trick his brother and father to receive Isaac’s blessing, which was Esau’s birthright. The story is a difficult one to understand from the outside. How could parents behave this way? Why isn’t Isaac able to un-do the blessing once he knows he has been tricked? Why aren’t Jacob and Rebecca punished?
The questions actually led me to think about families and how we often look at families from the outside and judge them. On one of my favorite TV shows the male character turns to the female one and says, “Now don’t judge me” She replies, “I wouldn’t do that.” He then says, “Sure you would! That’s what we do, we judge… Some people play sports, others read… we judge!”
Our tradition teaches us, “Don’t judge a fellow human being until you have stood in his place.” Family relationships are the most complex, difficult, and long lasting relationships that we have. Each of us struggles to live up to the ideal and embrace the reality of these relationships. Yet family relationships are often more public than we would prefer. I often think that stories like these are included in the Torah so we understand that everyone’s families have difficult moments, life-altering decisions, and attempts at reconciliation. This is what being involved with someone for your entire life is all about. You need not reproach yourself for how difficult your relationships are, but rather try simply to make them a little better today than they were yesterday.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
The life of Sarah
This week’s parasha is entitled Chaye Sarah. In English it means “the life of Sarah” but the parasha begins with her death. The Rabbis who comment on the Torah say that Sarah died when she heard about Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac.
When did Sarah hear about the sacrifice? What did she hear? Did someone tell her that Abraham was going to sacrifice her son and she knew what he would do in that situation? How often in Jewish life do we hear something and jump to a conclusion without truly finding out the whole story. We assume, based on past experiences, or based on one person’s negative experience, that the worst is true.
I wonder what Sarah thought about God. Here is a divinity that had taken her away from her family to journey into the desert. She was promised a child but forced to give a surrogate to her husband. She finally gives birth late in life and then hears that her husband is asked to sacrifice that son. “Why is this God asking so much?” I am sure she asked. Just hearing about what might have happened was enough -- she was walking away.
All too often in religious life, I feel that the negative experiences far outweigh the positives. Sarah rightfully did not think about how her children would be blessed years later or what she had gained already by deciding to be Jewish. She had big expectations and she wanted them to be realized sooner rather than later. If we could speak to her now, would she think it would have been worth it? Would she have understood the test?
We are all on journeys – hopefully not as taxing as Sarah’s, but they are lifetime relationships with Judaism, with the synagogue, and with God. It is hard to really reflect on your whole journey. It is easier to think about what you are receiving and what you are giving at this moment. But in the end, when we look back on our journey we hope that Judaism and synagogues have added to our lives. For me that is the goal of my rabbinate, to ensure that each child and family that I come into contact with has a richer, more meaningful life because Judaism enabled them to add holiness to that life.
When did Sarah hear about the sacrifice? What did she hear? Did someone tell her that Abraham was going to sacrifice her son and she knew what he would do in that situation? How often in Jewish life do we hear something and jump to a conclusion without truly finding out the whole story. We assume, based on past experiences, or based on one person’s negative experience, that the worst is true.
I wonder what Sarah thought about God. Here is a divinity that had taken her away from her family to journey into the desert. She was promised a child but forced to give a surrogate to her husband. She finally gives birth late in life and then hears that her husband is asked to sacrifice that son. “Why is this God asking so much?” I am sure she asked. Just hearing about what might have happened was enough -- she was walking away.
All too often in religious life, I feel that the negative experiences far outweigh the positives. Sarah rightfully did not think about how her children would be blessed years later or what she had gained already by deciding to be Jewish. She had big expectations and she wanted them to be realized sooner rather than later. If we could speak to her now, would she think it would have been worth it? Would she have understood the test?
We are all on journeys – hopefully not as taxing as Sarah’s, but they are lifetime relationships with Judaism, with the synagogue, and with God. It is hard to really reflect on your whole journey. It is easier to think about what you are receiving and what you are giving at this moment. But in the end, when we look back on our journey we hope that Judaism and synagogues have added to our lives. For me that is the goal of my rabbinate, to ensure that each child and family that I come into contact with has a richer, more meaningful life because Judaism enabled them to add holiness to that life.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
What is a sukkah?
Today I recieved an email from a friend that has opened my eyes! Can you make it to New Yrok? At least take a look and vote online!
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
Twelve architects compete to redesign the ritual holiday hut—and you get to pick the winner.
http://nymag.com/arts/architecture/features/68057/
Today I recieved an email from a friend that has opened my eyes! Can you make it to New Yrok? At least take a look and vote online!
Sukkah vs. Sukkah
Twelve architects compete to redesign the ritual holiday hut—and you get to pick the winner.
http://nymag.com/arts/architecture/features/68057/
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Burning books
Hours before Rosh Hashanah and here are the thoughts burning in my head....
The Bebelplatz in Berlin is known as the site of the infamous Nazi book burning ceremony held in the evening of May 10, 1933 by members of the SA ("brownshirts"), SS, Nazi students and Hitler Youth groups, on the instigation of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. The Nazis burned around 20,000 books, including works by Thomas Mann, Erich Maria Remarque, Heinrich Heine, Karl Marx and many other authors. Today a memorial by Micha Ullman consisting of a glass plate set into the cobbles, giving a view of empty bookcases, commemorates the book burning. It is a powerful reminder of an event that is painful to consider. I stood there as a tourist and creid seeing the empty shelves!
A line of Heinrich Heine is engraved at the sight, stating "Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen" (in English: "Where they burn books, they ultimately burn people").
I was very distressed to learn of the planned "Burn a Koran Day" on Sept. 11 at the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville.
As Jews, we have a tragic history of watching bigots and fanatics burn our books, and we know that very often book-burning is the beginning, not the end, of provocation and violence against a people. We also know the pain which is added to a terrible situation when others remain silent in the face of such awful intolerance. And so we feel it is our sacred duty to stand with all good people, from all religions, against this shameful act.
It is both factually and morally wrong to blame all Muslims for the 9/11 attacks, and to assault their religion through the desecration of their holiest book. We cannot remain silent as their sacred scriptures are burned, nor can we accept the demonization of an entire religion because of the terrible acts of a minority from that religion.
I pray that the organizers of this travesty will desist from their plans, as I pray that our Muslim friends, neighbors, co-workers and family members know that these fanatics do not speak for the rest of us.
The Bebelplatz in Berlin is known as the site of the infamous Nazi book burning ceremony held in the evening of May 10, 1933 by members of the SA ("brownshirts"), SS, Nazi students and Hitler Youth groups, on the instigation of Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. The Nazis burned around 20,000 books, including works by Thomas Mann, Erich Maria Remarque, Heinrich Heine, Karl Marx and many other authors. Today a memorial by Micha Ullman consisting of a glass plate set into the cobbles, giving a view of empty bookcases, commemorates the book burning. It is a powerful reminder of an event that is painful to consider. I stood there as a tourist and creid seeing the empty shelves!
A line of Heinrich Heine is engraved at the sight, stating "Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man am Ende auch Menschen" (in English: "Where they burn books, they ultimately burn people").
I was very distressed to learn of the planned "Burn a Koran Day" on Sept. 11 at the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville.
As Jews, we have a tragic history of watching bigots and fanatics burn our books, and we know that very often book-burning is the beginning, not the end, of provocation and violence against a people. We also know the pain which is added to a terrible situation when others remain silent in the face of such awful intolerance. And so we feel it is our sacred duty to stand with all good people, from all religions, against this shameful act.
It is both factually and morally wrong to blame all Muslims for the 9/11 attacks, and to assault their religion through the desecration of their holiest book. We cannot remain silent as their sacred scriptures are burned, nor can we accept the demonization of an entire religion because of the terrible acts of a minority from that religion.
I pray that the organizers of this travesty will desist from their plans, as I pray that our Muslim friends, neighbors, co-workers and family members know that these fanatics do not speak for the rest of us.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Opening the Gates
The liturgy of the High Holy Days is permeated with the metaphor of “the gates.” The gates of repentance are opened for us as the new year enters. The gates of repentance begin to close at Neilah. So, too, in most modern American synagogues, there is a literal and physical “opening of the gates” in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
In anticipation of holiday crowds we open up our sanctuaries by retracting the back wall. A vast space is thereby created for our enlarged congregation. Just as in ancient Jerusalem on the festivals, the gates of the Temple are opened and the crowds surge in.
The High Holy Days are powerful. For centuries, the sound of the shofar has summoned Jews to our places of worship. Jews of every stripe are moved by its sounds. Regular worshipers and holiday-only worshipers, believers and non-believers, old and young, men and women, Hebrew readers and non-Hebrew readers, congregational activists and those who struggle defining their place in the congregation – all of us, it seems, are drawn to our sanctuary.
The back wall of the sanctuary in a just a few days will no longer in place. A sea of chairs awaits the congregation. The office is abuzz with preparations. The phone is ringing. E-mails are piling up. The holidays draw near!
But in a deeper sense, the gates of the spirit, the gates of Jewishness, the gates of community are beginning to open. Out there, on our personal radar screens, a bleep approaches. Rosh Hashanah is just around the corner. Schedule adjustments need to be made. Emotional adjustments need to be made. The gates are opening and soon we will be passing from the daily course of our lives to the sacred precincts of our souls.
The gates are opening. The shofar is calling you. May you find spiritual nourishment in our worship on this Rosh Hashanah and may the gates of Torah remain open for you long after the holidays pass. Indeed, they are always open for you in the community and in your hearts.
A healthy and a happy
The liturgy of the High Holy Days is permeated with the metaphor of “the gates.” The gates of repentance are opened for us as the new year enters. The gates of repentance begin to close at Neilah. So, too, in most modern American synagogues, there is a literal and physical “opening of the gates” in preparation for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
In anticipation of holiday crowds we open up our sanctuaries by retracting the back wall. A vast space is thereby created for our enlarged congregation. Just as in ancient Jerusalem on the festivals, the gates of the Temple are opened and the crowds surge in.
The High Holy Days are powerful. For centuries, the sound of the shofar has summoned Jews to our places of worship. Jews of every stripe are moved by its sounds. Regular worshipers and holiday-only worshipers, believers and non-believers, old and young, men and women, Hebrew readers and non-Hebrew readers, congregational activists and those who struggle defining their place in the congregation – all of us, it seems, are drawn to our sanctuary.
The back wall of the sanctuary in a just a few days will no longer in place. A sea of chairs awaits the congregation. The office is abuzz with preparations. The phone is ringing. E-mails are piling up. The holidays draw near!
But in a deeper sense, the gates of the spirit, the gates of Jewishness, the gates of community are beginning to open. Out there, on our personal radar screens, a bleep approaches. Rosh Hashanah is just around the corner. Schedule adjustments need to be made. Emotional adjustments need to be made. The gates are opening and soon we will be passing from the daily course of our lives to the sacred precincts of our souls.
The gates are opening. The shofar is calling you. May you find spiritual nourishment in our worship on this Rosh Hashanah and may the gates of Torah remain open for you long after the holidays pass. Indeed, they are always open for you in the community and in your hearts.
A healthy and a happy
Thursday, August 26, 2010
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, begins with a text that is familiar to anyone who has attended a traditional Passover Seder. After instructing us to we put the first fruits of the harvest in a basket and bring it to the priest, the Torah commands that we say: "My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation."
This summary of our history is a wonderful example of "remembering." Jewish tradition understands that the process of telling and retelling the stories of our past shapes our identities at least as powerfully as the events themselves did (sometimes, more!). This portion teaches us it matters that we remember to tell our story and it matters how we choose to tell our story. For, as the Baal Shem Tov taught: "In remembrance is the secret of redemption."
Think of a significant event in your life. As you told the story of that experience to various friends and family members, your interpretation of that event began to take shape. Repeating the same details and even using some of the same words/phrases, you eventually found a way of telling the story that helped you make sense of your past.
Let’s think a few days ahead. Rosh Hashanah is called Yom Ha'zikaron (Day of Remembering). In one sense, Rosh Hashanah is all about remembering. We gather in community to tell ourselves, once again, our story. In so doing (even when that story is painful), we regain our sense of where we are and where we're going, based on our understanding of where we've been. That may be among the most profound meanings of "teshuvah" — repentance/turning back. So, it matters greatly that we remember to tell our stories and it matters even more how we choose to tell them. Without them, we are often lost. On Rosh Hashanah and as we prepare for the holidays, we remember to remember.
on another note.....Here is a bit about the movie we are screening on Selichot.
http://www.godinthebox.com/
This summary of our history is a wonderful example of "remembering." Jewish tradition understands that the process of telling and retelling the stories of our past shapes our identities at least as powerfully as the events themselves did (sometimes, more!). This portion teaches us it matters that we remember to tell our story and it matters how we choose to tell our story. For, as the Baal Shem Tov taught: "In remembrance is the secret of redemption."
Think of a significant event in your life. As you told the story of that experience to various friends and family members, your interpretation of that event began to take shape. Repeating the same details and even using some of the same words/phrases, you eventually found a way of telling the story that helped you make sense of your past.
Let’s think a few days ahead. Rosh Hashanah is called Yom Ha'zikaron (Day of Remembering). In one sense, Rosh Hashanah is all about remembering. We gather in community to tell ourselves, once again, our story. In so doing (even when that story is painful), we regain our sense of where we are and where we're going, based on our understanding of where we've been. That may be among the most profound meanings of "teshuvah" — repentance/turning back. So, it matters greatly that we remember to tell our stories and it matters even more how we choose to tell them. Without them, we are often lost. On Rosh Hashanah and as we prepare for the holidays, we remember to remember.
on another note.....Here is a bit about the movie we are screening on Selichot.
http://www.godinthebox.com/
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