Hanukkah and the Miracles of Every Day

It’s Hanukkah—holiday of light, candles, dreidels, latkes, sufganiyot, presents, and above all—miracles. When moderns hear a story like the one told about the Maccabees recapturing the Temple, finding one tiny bottle of kosher olive oil that would last only a single day, yet burned eight full days, some of us must be wondering—did that really happen, and should our skepticism overtake us, would that be the death of Hanukkah as we know it?

The Bible records what we would refer to as miracles, but never refers to them with the word nes, the Hebrew word we commonly use for miracle. The Torah is much more comfortable talking about otot, signs, or nifla’ot, wonders. Almost all the wonders of the Bible have been analyzed from a scientific perspective. And so the splitting of the Red Sea was due to a possible if unusual tidal phenomenon; the earth swallowing of the rebel leader Korah and his band of trouble makers might have been an earthquake; and the manna that daily fell from heaven and fed the Israelites for 40 years can be traced to a certain kind of edible secretion of insects found in the Sinai desert and gathered by the Bedouins until this day.

Interesting—but also, a little disheartening. When reading the Bible scientifically is motivated by an interest in explaining away miracles, or rendering the wonder less wonderful, then such an approach misrepresents the Torah’s meaning. The miraculous tales of the Bible do not necessarily ask us to believe in them literally, but only to recognize the hand of God operating within the world, and to be filled with a sense of wonder over what it is we see.

The rabbis’ ambivalence with supernatural miracles is reflected in a Talmudic tale (Shabbat 53b for those of you who would like to look it up), in which a nursing mother dies leaving behind her destitute husband and baby. The man was in no position to pay for a wet nurse to continue feeding his child, but Heaven suddenly altered his body so that he himself could feed his child in the exact manner as the deceased mother had. A miracle! Two rabbis respond to the miracle. Rav Yosef says—Wow, what a great man he was for Heaven to have performed such a miracle! Abaye responds by saying—On the contrary, this man must have been defective for Heaven to have altered nature in his behalf. In other words, don’t be so impressed with the supernatural; there are sufficient wonders within the natural world that should move us to be filled with awe and reverence for God.

G. K Chesterton, a prolific 20th century English writer put it as follows—“The whole order of things is as outrageous as any miracle which could presume to violate it.” So, in the end, what to make of that little bottle of oil that burned for eight days? If it happened, it was a miracle. But the real miracle is that the Jewish people, after 2000 years, still tell the tale and move others to look for the miracles in life. I hope you’ll find some otot, signs and nifla’ot, wonders, in your own life today, and every day.

SAY THANK YOU--IT'S GOOD FOR YOU

It’s official—gratitude is good for you. Don’t take my word for it, though, just check out the November 23, 2010 issue of the Wall Street Journal which featured an article entitled, “Thank You—No Thank You: Grateful People Are Happier, Healthier Long After the Leftovers Are Gobbled Up.” The article cited evidence by researchers who have determined that people who are grateful make more money, less prone to alcoholism, far more resistant to viral infection, exercise more and sleep better. OK—I’m sold, but as the infomercials would put it—Wait, there’s more.

Kids who are grateful also fare better. These kids suffer from fewer headaches or stomach aches, earn better grades, set goals higher than others, express greater satisfaction with family and friends, and my favorite—are less materialistic. Our mothers taught us to say “Thank you,” but who knew it was such great medicine?!

My answer is that Jews knew and we’ve known it for a long time. Although people tend to identify prayer with petition, a lot of prayer revolves around thanking God for what we have—and those prayers take place at least three times a day. The fundamental characteristic of the religious personality is gratitude. Religious people sense this gratitude and attribute the blessings in their lives to a power greater than they.

I had my high schoolers engage in an interesting exercise recently. I asked them what they were grateful for and I recorded their answers. I then told them that I would not stop recording until they could cite 100 things, people, circumstances for which they could be grateful. They did it—and I loved to watch them smile and laugh as they threw me their answers. Just thinking about all the blessings in our lives makes us more content.

This probably sounds like a Thanksgiving piece and to some extent it is. But it is also a Hanukkah meditation. Hanukkah, celebrating a military victory of the Jews over the Syrian Greeks, could have as easily been a holiday to focus on the people who lost their lives in that war. But we know that it is a celebration of the miracle of that time, and by extension, the miracles in our own lives. And who set the record straight on Hanukkah more than any other rabbi or sage? It was Eleanor Roosevelt. Mrs. Roosevelt said, “I’d rather light a candle than curse the darkness.” At this rather dark time of year—typically the darkest of any time during the year—what do we do as Jews? We light candles. What a powerful lesson and we have our tradition to thank for making us people who would rather focus on the light than the darkness.

If you will truly have a happy Thanksgiving or a happy Hanukkah, it will probably be because you live with a sense of gratitude in your heart. And to that I’ll say: Todah LaEl—thank God.

BLESS, MY SOUL

I like blessings. I like to give them and I like to get them. Who wouldn’t welcome a blessing now and then? There is a tradition to bless our children every Shabbat, a practice that my wife and I have followed since the birth of our three great kids. We don’t really hear of our ancestors blessing their children on such a regular basis, but this week, we do witness Isaac blessing his children, and of his timing for such a blessing, we might as well say—Finally!!

You see, when our father Isaac chooses to bless Esav, his first born, he does so at an advanced age and when his eye sight was already impaired. He tells Esav, lo yadati yom moti, I do not know the day of my death. Isaac—did you have to wait so long to bless your eldest? Ovadia Sforno, an Italian commentator of the 15th century, notes that a blessing that is delivered just before death is a blessing of superior quality. He reminds us that Jacob blessed his children just before death and Moses blessed the Children of Israel just before his death. Both choose propitious times to deliver a blessing, and Isaac seems to do the same. But why would a blessing before death be any better than a blessing recited with sincerity at any other time? Sforno teaches us that as one approaches death, the soul and the body begin to separate as the soul prepares for departure. And so a blessing that comes from the soul at the point of death is, in a sense, a blessing of deep spiritual quality, for it is already distanced from the constraints of the physical shell that contains it. It is no wonder that Isaac says to Esav, tevarekhekha nafshi b’terem amut, let my soul bless you before I die.

We don’t need to wait until the point of death before we bless our children. A blessing that comes from the heart is precious beyond gold no matter how often it is recited. But you know, there are souls that are in shape and there are souls in need of exercise. And a soul that has been given proper attention, via prayer and Torah study, will invariably be a soul more prepared to deliver a blessing of enduring worth. We need not wait until the time of death to have souls that are prepared to fully bless others. So let’s think about this… Are our souls in shape? Do we need to exercise them more? Are we delivering those blessings to our loved ones as regularly as we should?

I hope the answers to those questions are yes, and if not, I hope you will be able to answer yes to these questions, real soon.

OPEN YOUR EYES, BUT NOT YOUR MOUTH

This past Thursday, Juan Williams, a news analyst with National Public Radio, was fired from his job after statements made on the Fox News Channel. Among the offending views expressed was the following:

“… when I get on a plane, I got to tell you, if I see people who are in Muslim garb and I think, you know, they are identifying themselves first and foremost as Muslims, I get worried. I get nervous."

NPR has long been concerned with Williams many appearances on Fox News, a station whose right-wing leanings are at odds with NPR’s more liberal stances. NPR actually requested Fox News to stop identifying Williams as an NPR host when he appears on the network. Williams apparently crossed the line this week in revealing his own fears or anxieties and suggesting that the war against terrorism is not readily distinct from opposition to Islamic doctrines that run counter to the western ideology that characterizes democratic and free nations.

In parashat Vayera, there are at least three incidents where that which is seen is either not identified for what it is or in some way completely invisible. Three strangers show up at Abraham’s tent, and neither he nor Sarah understood that these were messengers from God. Hagar, spent and despairing in the wilderness, lays her child down to die for lack of water, failing to see the well that is only feet away from her. Finally Abraham stops short of sacrificing his son to God, coincidentally discovering a far better alternative, a ram caught in a thicket just behind him. In all three cases, not seeing the reality for what it is, brings the viewer to error. Sarah ends up not taking the messengers seriously, Hagar is on the verge of giving up her’s and her child’s life, and Abraham almost sacrificed his beloved son to God.

Seeing the truth is only the first part of arriving at the truth. After we see the truth, we have to be able to verbalize it. All attempts to dictate how we speak about what we see are violations of free speech. A communication distorted is the first step on a road to error.

Before God brought destruction upon the two wicked cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, He says, “…shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, since Abraham is to become a great and populous nation and the nations of the earth are to bless themselves by him?” (Genesis 18:18). God probably knew what would happen if He mentioned his intentions to Abraham. Abraham would challenge the wisdom and the justice of it all, and that is exactly what happened. But it was in sharing the plan with Abraham, and the subsequent debate, that the righteousness of the plan became ever more transparent. Honest perceptions will not always be pleasant perceptions, but in speaking them aloud we at least give others the chance to challenge us and thereby refine our views. We should be suspicious of all those who try to shut us up. It was actually a good week for free speech, but not such a good week for NPR.

A MAJOR MIRACLE FOR 33 MINERS

 

I don’t think any of us could help but feel emotionally moved by the rescue mission that took place in Chile this week. The drawing up of 33 Chilean miners, trapped a half mile below the earth for 69 days, was an exhilarating, moving, and deeply emotional experience for all involved.

One need not be a half mile below the earth to feel trapped or gripped by despair. In the case of the Chilean miners, their families were equally trapped above the earth, cut off from the ability to save their loved ones. Both the men below the earth and the families above have had to exercise tremendous faith, day by day, to continue to believe that they would be reunited at some point. They had to have faith in the people designing the rescue and supplies shafts, the workers who constructed the implements for salvation, the company that financed the operation, the government, foreign industries that assissted, neighbors and friends and family who continued to support them throughout the ordeal, and I would imagine that many found their strength in God.

The difference between having faith in all these various people and having faith in God, is that the people had specific roles to play. God did not. We can’t call Him the general contractor or the overseer. God is the One who helps us through ordeals, but that could mean the ordeal of successfully rescuing the 33 miners, which in the end it was, or it could have been the ordeal of losing them, which thankfully it wasn’t. An interesting headline in the Wall Street Journal read that the rescue effort was 75% science and 25% miracle. I disagree. I think that the rescue effort was 100% science and I believe that is was also 100% miracle. There is something profoundly riveting of people around the world joining together to help and assist one another, and in this contentious and competitive world in which we reside, this may be one of the clearest concretizations of miracle that we ever are witness to on earth.

The details of salvation are more often than not in the hands of you and me and others or other factors over which we exercise little control. But God, as the power who assures us that we can stand up to whatever challenge comes our way, is with us in multiple circumstances, joyous and sorrowful, to help us endure, grow and ultimately thrive.

It has always been of great interest to me that in our parashah, God instructs Abraham to Lekh Lekha, to go forth from his native land and from his father’s house to a land unnamed and unknown. God does not say that He would bring Abram to Canaan—He is actually silent on where the land would be. Couldn’t God have been more specific? Well, maybe not. You see, the devil is in the details, but God is in the generalities. The challenge is always to invest those details with a heavenly direction, a godly purpose, and a divine passion. And when we all work together, human beings make miracles. We did this past week, in Chile.

THE BALD AND THE BEAUTIFUL or BURNING TEMPLES AND BATHING BEAUTIES

There are some reservations these days about whether we should be observing Tishah B’av or not. Israel is reborn and Jerusalem is more beautiful than ever—what’s with all this mourning?

In fact, there are many good reasons to continue these mourning traditions, including a day to reflect on how the errors of the Jewish people brought about this destruction. But among those good reasons is one which is rarely mentioned and that is a day to celebrate the resilience of the Jewish people. Our temple was destroyed, the city in which God presumably resided was left a smoldering ruin, and many of us were exiled or taken captive to another land. This should have been the end of us, but for some reason, it wasn’t. We redefined Jewish worship, made our spiritual lives independent of a single city, latched onto Torah study with a vengeance, and emerged 20 centuries later a sovereign nation once again. That’s pretty cool. And there is a message in there for all people.

One of those people may not be anyone who ever studied about Judaism, but one who carries the spirit of Judaism in her heart. Her name is Kayla Martell. She was recently crowned Miss Delaware. Kayla is unique because she is bald. She suffers from a rare disease known as alopecia areata, an autoimmune hair loss condition for which there is no known cure. She is healthy in all other respects, but given her hair condition, entering a beauty contest would not be the first thing on most women’s minds. Not Kayla. She has entered many beauty contests. She wore a wig for the Miss Delaware pageant, but is as comfortable without the wig. She is also the founder of Caps for YAPS (YAPS standing for Youth Alopecia Patients), an organization which has now collected more than 2,000 caps and scarves for young patients afflicted with this disease.

In discovering more about Kayla, I began to wonder what is it in the human spirit that allows us to face loss and failure, and in spite of it all, persevere and thrive. She could so easily have crawled into a corner and hide, yet she competes for the crown to rest on that bald head of hers. And what is it with the Jewish people—homeless for two thousand years, exiled from one place to another, blamed and persecuted for a crime they never committed, yet stronger and more self-confident than ever before?

I’ll tell you the secret behind Kayla and the Jewish people—it is the power and energy of God. And so each morning, we thank God for oter Yisra’el betifarah, crowning Israel with beauty. The Jewish people are beauty queens, our beauty, as is Kayla’s, is in an indomitable spirit that will forever strive for life in spite of all the challenges we face.

SINAT HIMAM AND TALKING POLITICS

Right now, the Jewish people are in a certain time of year known as bein hametzarim, “Between the Straits” or “in the narrows.” It is a three week period that began with the minor fast of Shivah Asar b’Tammuz, commemorating the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem by the Babylonians in 586 BCE, and ends with the major fast of Tishah B’av, commemorating the destruction of the two Temples, the first by the Babylonians and the second, later by the Romans. The Gemara in Yoma 9b states that the Temple was destroyed because of sinat hinam, senseless hatred. I often think of that phrase as redundant because so much hatred is senseless. Hatred moves us to say and do stupid things. And when an entire population crescendos in the number of stupid statements uttered or acts committed, some revered structure, a Temple is bound to be burnt to the ground.

Sinat hinam is never more prevalent than when people talk politics. It is as if politics were a license for one or more parties to become uncivil, if not downright brutal. The shame is that argument is healthy and essential to a democracy, but when people are either intimidated to speak freely or humiliated for having spoken, debate fails to do what it is intended to do—clarify our thinking on issues that matter to us most. So, in the interest of identifying sinat hinam among us and thereby rooting it out of our own political exchanges, I offer the following three tips—

1.   Remain calm and relatively objective. The idea in debate is to create light, not heat. Shouting, name calling, or profanities, prevents the issue at hand from being fully examined. Engaging in such crude tactics will dash the opportunity to further understand the point being debated. This leads to the second issue which is…

2.   Address the issue without attacking your debating partner. You need not tell the other person that his or her views are personally offensive or hurtful, because your debating partner is not what is being discussed. Moreover, you should never humiliate your debating partner by questioning his or her intelligence, or knowledge, or sincerity. These attacks are all irrelevant to the matter at hand. So stick to the issue. And finally…

3.   Remember that your fellow debater is not the enemy to be vanquished but a person whose view point you ought to, in the very least acknowledge. Be civil, polite, and respectful. Avoid sarcasm. Thank God you’ve got someone who will talk to you about so potentially divisive a topic as politics. But should you choose to point your verbal gun at your debating partner, you will bring the debate to a close summarily. Debate isn’t about killing each other; it’s about gaining clarity of thought. That requires civility throughout.

We should not fear political discussions. I wish we had them more often. Sadly, there are so many people who just don’t get it. Sinat hinam is of no use in any community unless, of course, you intend to destroy that community.

EATING BLOOD AND LOVING IT

Many years ago, in the era prior to cell phones, microwave ovens and color TV, I used to help my mother kasher meat. If that sounds odd to you because, you might reason, isn’t meat just kosher once you buy it, the answer is it is, but that’s because today it has already been soaked and salted. Not so in the 1950’s. Back then, you would wash off the meat, submerge it in tepid water for half-an-hour, remove it and cover it generously with kosher salt, both sides, replace the meat on a perforated board, propped up at about a 20 degree angle, and let it sit there for one hour.

The whole purpose of these actions was to drain it of all blood, for as we learn in the Torah—

 

Lo tokhlu al hadam…Don’t eat anything with its blood… (Leviticus 19:26a)

The blood is regarded as the life of the animal and we dare not consume the flesh with the life intact.

The respect that Judaism nurtures for life is famous. These seemingly simple rituals point to bigger ideas that make a difference in how we live. In respecting life as we do, Jews should never turn their heads away from another person’s pain, or take animal life viciously, or treat subjects like abortion or euthanasia lightly, and so forth. And actually, the whole issue of rumors and whether we become accessories to their distribution also falls into the category of not eating blood. Rumors which kill others emotionally and spiritually, and could kill others even physically, should never be spread by anyone, especially Jews.

So here’s something to think about. The next time you receive an e-mail about someone who has been mistreated or hurt, a university that has made some outrageous decision, a country that has become particularly abusive, take a look at that e-mail and ask yourself a few questions:

Do you know who wrote this?

Do you know if it was ever distributed in a reputable publication?

Is it dated?
Are its claims substantiated by references to established research volumes?

If your answers are “No” to any one of the above questions, chances are someone has just sent you a slanderous, defamatory, piece of gossip, based on nothing except the author’s prejudices. Material like this is designed to spill blood, an individual’s or an institution’s. It makes no difference—the intent is murderous and the author wants you to eat the blood.

Don’t do it. Take the article, submerge it in your trash file, and don’t send it on to anyone else. Unless you can yourself verify the truth of that article, in distributing it, you become an accomplice to an immoral act and violate the Torah’s prohibition against eating blood.

CAN A JEW BE CRITICAL OF ISRAEL?

I was recently charged with never uttering a critical word about Israel. That made me chuckle because as far as I am concerned, I’m always critical of Israel. And that’s good because being critical is about reflection, assessment, objectives, success and failure and all the criteria that would make for a fair and honest evaluation. Above all, criticism underscores one of the ideological foundations of Israel—the fact that it is a free society and that people can say pretty much whatever they want to with impunity.

I think the problem is really most people haven’t the foggiest idea of what true criticism actually is. They think criticism and immediately think complaint, disapproval, or accusation when, in fact, true criticism involves that and that which is praiseworthy, commendable, or laudable. Sometimes critics see plays that they actually like. When they shower compliments on some production, it’s not because they have temporarily abandoned their professional duty—approval is actually a part of criticism. In fact, you can almost be sure when the critical perspective has been abandoned in listening to a perspective or review which contains nothing but complaint, disapproval or accusation. That’s not real criticism unless, of course, you’re reviewing hell.

Most of what passes as criticism of Israel these days is thinly veiled anti-Semitism. That statement itself would raise the ire of many claiming that anytime criticism is voiced, the critic runs the risk of being called anti-Semitic. But the fact is that when criticism emanates from a worldview which sees Israel as a European colonial power, an intrusion into the Middle East, an apartheid state, deserving of annihilation, that’s not criticism. You better love the object of your critical eye. If you don’t, your words will not be criticism but they will be hostile and hateful.

Israel is a beautiful country with a host of imperfections and shortcomings. The Orthodox are given way too much money in return for so many refusing to serve in the army; minority parties are given way too much power due to Israel’s peculiar democratic structure; and in this land of milk and honey, there are still way too many children who go to bad each night without so much as a glass of milk. Forget about the honey. And yet, at 62 years of age, surrounded by a persistent and invidious Arab belligerence, Israel has achieved technological, pharmaceutical, and medical breakthroughs that few other countries can lay claim to. It’s an amazing and magical little country. To walk its streets and alleys is to feel the energy of thinking and vibrant people, as well as a loving and compassionate God.

I’m critical of Israel. But being critical is not, by definition, being negative. Sometimes you can actually like what you see. I see Israel and I love her. If you ever go to Israel, you’ll fall in love with her too. Be a critic.

THE KOSHER CONTINUUM

Many of us grew up an old Yiddish adage which went something like this—Shver tzu zain a Yid—it’s hard to be a Jew. Why is it so hard? Well, there are a lot of dos and don’ts, and on top of that, the general public—what shall I say?—hasn’t always liked us. But this viewpoint should not go unchallenged. So here goes: for those of us who live in North America today, living Jewishly has never been easier.

Take kashrut, for example. Let’s say a Jew’s diet fundamentally involves two broad parameters—no shell fish or pork and no mixtures of meat and dairy. In either case, observing these parameters cost neither time nor money. Some might say that it is a hardship to give up foods or combinations which they find so appealing, but let’s be real—if giving up a ham sandwich is your definition of hardship, then you should be thanking God for the hardships you have to endure in your life.

All right, you counter, maybe those aspects of Kashrut are easy, but that’s not all what kashrut is about. And yes, I would agree, but here’s the point. At some time in the evolution of Jewish thought, keeping kosher became like being pregnant—you either were or you weren’t. Let’s reject that either/or, all or nothing, black or white thinking. Perhaps you are a Jew who never touches pork. That’s great—you’re on the kosher continuum. Perhaps you are a Jew who would never mix meat and dairy—that’s great. You’re on the kosher continuum. Perhaps you are a Jew who never buys unkosher meats but you only have one set of dishes—that’s great. You’re on the kosher continuum. I reject the idea that in order to be kosher, one must do it all. I reject it precisely because there is no agreement in the Jewish community as to what “all” actually is. On the other hand, we do know what nothing looks like, and nothing is where I would hope no Jew would choose to be. Get onto the kosher continuum and then let’s talk about doing more.

Judaism, for too long, has been dominated by dogmatic thinking that has diminished Jews who are trying. Let’s free ourselves of that mode of thought and honor those who both try and strive for more. Kashrut is a beautiful system whereby God asks us to be mindful of what goes into our mouths, and by extension, how we view our place on earth. We are guests in God’s house and thus not all his creations are ours for the taking. We may take the life of one of God’s creatures but not in a painful or careless manner. Meat and dairy are, on some level, symbolic of death and life respectively, so we maintain a strict separation of these realms for a holy people must live fully and not permit death to overwhelm us. If you’re on the Kosher continuum, that’s great. But don’t get stuck doing the same thing year after year. Where nothing changes is the domain of death. Do more. Think more. Move deeper into the Kosher continuum. It’s easy to be a Jew because it’s all about you living fully, and living fully is what Kashrut moves us to embrace.

GOVERNMENT, MORE OR LESS

With the notable exception of the ultra-Orthodox, most Jews in the United States are Democrats. Some claim, particularly in the Reform movement, that it is our heritage that has determined our voting pattern. The prophetic cry to treat the widow, orphan, and stranger with greater compassion seems to fit well into a Democratic platform that expands the role of government to care for the vulnerable. How can anyone argue against this? It seems so fundamentally right.

In examining some of the deeper political rifts in America, the Jewish community needs to remember that our nation’s history began not in the late 1800’s, when the Jewish migration to America picked up steam, but a couple of centuries earlier, with the pilgrims who left an English political structure they despised. These early settlers were bound by the idea that government should be an object of suspicion and distrust. When the founding fathers established three branches of government designed to ”balance” each other, they created a government that would never advance quickly or efficiently. To the contrary, it was crafted to hamper the vision of any one branch, particularly the Executive, and in that way keep people free from the tyranny of the one (i.e., the president). People may be disappointed with President Obama’s inability to deliver on his campaign promises, but that fact alone points to a government working precisely as the founding fathers envisioned it.

Were there a debate between Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel on one side, and Franklin, Adams, and Jefferson on the other, the outcome could be disturbing for American Jews. Whereas the prophets would demand of a government that it finally correct all the ills society is subject to, the founding fathers would be wondering what planet they had come from? Didn’t they understand that no government, since the beginning of time, has been able to accomplish that? Didn’t they understand that government rarely served to free the people, but rather strapped them with unreasonable taxation and in other ways curtailed their personal, God-given freedoms? In defense of the prophets, they could not possibly have known that. They were not operating with the hindsight of the founding fathers who deliberated over the effects of 2,000 years of monarchial rule and determined it hopelessly corrupt. They thus lead the country to a new political paradigm, one in which government was legitimized only by consent of the governed. The governed would naturally limit governmental powers, thus minimizing the extent to which it could impact on or interfere with their lives. Alexander Hamilton, the country’s founding economist, actually argued against a federal income tax, citing that it would be a burden to the people.

The debate about health care in this country is not so much about making health care accessible and affordable—everyone agrees, in principle, to that. Rather the debate has to do with the more fundamental question of the role of government, especially the extent of that role in people’s personal lives. Republicans, on balance, favor smaller government for the reasons stated above. And so, the Jewish community, having framed health care as a personal right rather than a choice, and in keeping with Democratic practice, sees a deepening governmental presence in health care as innocuous. Like the prophets, we see government as a solution and work toward that perfect government. Not everyone is as sanguine as we about perfecting governmental bureaucracy.

There is something disingenuous about using the prophets as the biblical basis for the Jewish people’s natural connection with the Democratic party. The prophets, for all their wisdom, neither knew nor understood what Democracy was all about. Who knows how they would vote today? On the other hand, our founding fathers might have thoroughly enjoyed a conversation with the prophet Samuel, who was first approached by the people to create a monarchy in Israel. Samuel was distressed with this development and saw it as a rebellion against God. In the end, he reluctantly consented, presumably because God Himself tells Samuel to concede. And Samuel does, but not without a prediction of what that king would do to Israel:

This will be the practice of the king who will rule over you: He will take your sons and appoint them as his charioteers and horsemen, and they will serve as out runners for his chariots. He will appoint them as his chiefs of thousands and of fifties; or they will have to plow his fields, reap his harvest, and make his weapons and the equipment for his chariots. He will take your daughters as perfumers, cooks, and bakers… He will take a tenth part of your flocks, and you shall become his slaves. (I Samuel 8:11-13; 17)

Ouch.

But fair is fair: we also don’t know how Samuel would vote today, knowing that we trashed the monarchial system he so hated. In the end, the political debates in this country are fascinating, and when conducted respectfully, are enormously enlightening. But we would do well to keep in mind what is really being debated. It is often said that America is behind Europe in so many ways. Perhaps, but America remains one of the most robust experiments in personal freedom and human rights. We should not be dismissive of the nature of our debates over government which go to the very heart of what it means to be a free and responsible member of society.

CIVIL DISAGREEMENT

Listen, I don’t want to chastise any one for poor behavior but lately there have been a series of signs pointing to a breakdown in civilized discourse in our world. There was, for example, Representative Joe Wilson, a Republican of South Carolina, who disrupted President Obama’s address to congress by shouting “You lie.” In another instance of political rage, Representative Bart Stupak, a Democrat of Michigan, was interrupted in a speech on health care reform when a voice from the Republican side shouted “Baby Killer.” It was unclear whether the intent of the charge was that the bill, which endorsed government subsidized abortion, was a baby killer or Stupak himself, in supporting the bill, was a baby killer, but it made no difference—the shouted charge was deeply jarring and upsetting. And finally, to prove that uncivilized behavior is not the domain of any one political party, Representative Eric Cantor, Republican of Virginia, had a bullet shatter the window of a regional office, and has been the object of such virulent anti-semitic attacks, he is loathe to even reveal their specific content for feat of copycat racists spreading the hate even more than it already is.

I’m preaching to the choir when I say that such verbal abuses and acts of violence are totally out of bounds in a democracy, and I suspect that the good majority of us are as outraged as any decent citizen would be in learning of these offenses. But perhaps the time has come to examine ourselves--Have we contributed, even if only inadvertently, to a climate of intolerance and enmity in the country?

One of the sadder facts of political discourse these days is the extent to which honest and vigorous debate is curtailed by people whose political positions are overshadowed by their passion. Debate should never be about who can shout the loudest, who can humiliate most effectively, or whose sarcasm is sharpest. These are all ways we focus on anything but the issue at hand. It is people who lack an understanding of a problem who will most likely resort to destroying their opponent rather than debating the issue. Who wants to debate under those conditions? And when true debate is suppressed, we all lose, for it is within the give and take of political argument that we can actually better understand our differences and thus the issues at stake.

I don’t personally know anyone who has ever insulted the president of the United States or put a bullet through a congressman’s window, but I know plenty of people who become so enraged in a political debate that their manner moves others to bring discussion to a close. That’s a problem. A democracy that can’t discuss an issue civilly is an impoverished democracy and cannot thrive for any length of time.

Most of the Talmud is a weaving of mahlokot—debates. Sometimes those debates got sharp, but mostly they were witty and clever and conducted in an atmosphere leshem shamayim, that is, for the sake of heaven or to clarify what exactly heaven wants of us. I’ll tell you this—heaven doesn’t expect us to agree with each other, but heaven expects that when we disagree, we disagree respectfully and civilly. Let’s talk about this more to our family, friends and neighbors and let everyone know that our threshold for tolerating uncivil behavior has just dropped significantly.

GOOD CHOICE JUDAISM—A LIBERATION MOVEMENT

The most interesting question to cross my desk this week was from a college student who wanted to know if wraps were kosher for Pesah. After all, they are flat and on Pesah flat is good. So, rabbi, the question went—are wraps kosher for Pesah?

Matt (fictional name) is a serious Jew. By “serious Jew” I mean that this is a kid who really thinks about his Jewish identity. By all conventional definitions, he is unobservant for he neither keeps kosher nor observes Shabbat in the traditional manner. But conventional definitions overlook the nuances of his Jewish identity. He could eat pork, but he chooses not to. He could ignore Shabbat, but on those occasions when he is called to a minyan, he participates. There are all sorts of expressions that dogmatic traditionalists use to disparage a Judaism like Matt’s—wishy-washy, compromised, pick and choose, and the worst of all—typical Conservative Jew. In answer to these attacks, I would note that had Matt been a slave in Egypt, he would have been redeemed with the rest of us. God may just have a different view of what kind of Jew Matt really is.

So Matt, I know that you live on wraps, and they are flat, and your reasoning that they may just be fit for Pesah for that reason alone is very appealing, but sorry—they are pure hametz. I would give them up for the duration of Pesah. But stuck as you are in HU (that stands for Hametz University), let’s think of ways you can observe Pesah when navigating the campus cafeteria. Fruits are okay. Vegetables are okay. Meat, poultry, eggs and fish are all okay. I’d give up the bagels, pizza, English muffins, donuts, cake or cookies (do we really need all those cookies?), and I’d give up the waffles and pancakes too. As for rice, beans and corn, they are kitniyot—a special designation of food from which Ashkenzaim refrain and Sefardim do not—and I rule leniently on that so I wouldn’t worry about those food items. But just make sure Mom sends you a couple boxes of matzah if you can’t find any at the local super market

Anyway, that’s what I told Matt. I wouldn’t have told that to everyone because everyone is different. But this is exactly where Matt needed to be for Pesah. The dogmatics might be outraged with the liberal nature of this rabbinic advice. In their world, you either are or you aren’t, either you’re kosher or not, observant of Shabbat or not. The world is divided into either/or. But either/or Judaism is an artifice of people drawn to strict definitions. These definitions divide us; you’re either in the group or not. This approach is highly divisive and dismissive of the majority of Jews, which is reason enough to question its legitimacy. I no longer permit dogmatics to define who we are as Jews. At the time of our Exodus from Egypt, I invite you to join me in this liberation movement.

Hag Kasher ve’Same’ah—a very happy and Kosher Pesah. I trust you’ll make the best Jewish choices for yourself and your family.

A TORAH FALLS: REFLECTIONS AND RESPONSES

This past Shabbat at Midway, like so many we observe, was very wonderful. We welcomed an auditioning rabbi who shared Torah with us, we joyfully concluded the Book of Exodus, we blessed the upcoming month of Nisan, we offered blessings to a hattan (groom) and kallah (bride), and we ate the best cholent to be found on Long Island. Our spirited services were momentarily interrupted with a loud thud, at which point we became painfully aware that one of the Sifrei Torah had fallen from its resting position onto the floor. No one holding it had slipped and no one dropped it. Perhaps the chair on which it rested was inadvertently jostled, but whatever the circumstances—the fact is we were all caught unawares as the Torah toppled to the floor.

The Torah is not only a symbol of all that we hold dear, but is itself a compilation of so much we hold dear. We thus treat it with great kavod (honor). We rise before it as the Ark is opened, we kiss it as it passes by us in procession, we are honored to be called to it, and when it is worn beyond repair, we lay it to rest beneath the earth as we would a loved one who passes away. When a Torah falls, it is both jarring and upsetting, and so we as a community must reflect on the meaning of this mishap and respond to it.

THE REFLECTIONS

Was it a Bad Omen?

No, it was merely an accident. Conservative Jews are not superstitious. Actually, since we so often elevate happiness over sadness, and this past Shabbat was a very happy one, we might even say that the Torah fell on a day when the power of the semahot (the happy occasions) prevailed over this one startling event. We are not the first synagogue to experience such a mishap and we won’t be the last. Sometimes these things happen which is precisely why there is a literature (thin though it may be) on what to do when it does happen.

Did we Sin?

Sin is a pretty powerful word. The Hebrew word for sin, “het,” means missing the mark, and to the extent that we missed the mark that day, perhaps we did sin. It was not a sin that falls on any one person, but a general sin that falls on a community that must now pledge to take better care of their Sifrei Torah. That is a problem we need to address.

Perspective

The Torah is very dear to us, but we must carefully distinguish between Torah (learning, study, knowledge and wisdom) and the Sefer Torah (the scroll). The Sefer Torah fell, not our love of Torah, and we dare not turn the Sefer Torah into an object of worship. You might recall that in response to a venomous snake attack, Moshe Rabbeinu fashioned a copper snake, mounted it on a pole and presented it to the bitten Israelites whereupon they recovered. Understandably, the copper snake was revered long after Moshe’s death until King Hezekiah (king of Judah, 7th century BCE) destroyed it for “the Israelites had been offering sacrifices to it” (II Kings 18:4). Our sadness with a fallen Torah is understandable, but it is still only an object. When we make of it more than what it is, we abandon the Torah which forbids such object worship, and that sin is far worse.

Must we Fast for 40 Days?

There is a minhag (custom) that anyone who drops a Torah, or witnesses the Torah dropped, fasts for 40 days (sunrise to sunset only). The minhag suggests that we fast one day for each day it took Moshe to compose the Torah. I like the seriousness with which the minhag takes the mishap, but it seems to fall short of what such a mishap demands. If a dropped Torah in some way symbolizes our need to hold Torah with a stronger grip, then I wish to suggest a response that encompasses fasting, Torah study, Tzedakah and Tefilah (prayer).

THE RESPONSES

We Need Forty Fasters

I am declaring 7 Nisan, 5770, corresponding to Monday, March 22, 2010, a fast day for our congregation. The fast is from sunrise (7:16 AM) to sunset (7:39 PM). I am looking for at least 40 fasters to fast on that day. A full fast would mean giving up food and drink. A partial fast would be giving up food, but not drink. A symbolic fast would be giving up some food product (like all sweets or bread, etc.) for the duration of the day. Any way you choose to fast is kosher. You may participate in this fast even if you did not see the Torah fall and even if you were not present that day. We are all one community and thus may all participate in this communal act of devotion to Torah.

Ma’asim Tovim—Good Deeds

During the fast day, I would like you to contact someone you know in the community who could use a kind word, or some encouragement, or a listening ear. You might give that person (or people) a gift, but I would suggest that the greater challenge would be to give the gift of yourself—your interest, your concnern and your kindness. On the fast day, let’s make sure that we bring a smile to someone’s face or a sense of contentment to someone in need. Some of the most powerful mitzvot are unsolicited acts of love and kindness.

Tzedakah

A typically Jewish response to tragedy or sadness is to fill the world with a dose of goodness or happiness equal to or larger than the sorrow experienced. This is a time for Tzedakah. I would like to channel money into two important funds. The first is our Torah Education Fund which is the fund used to subsidize Torah learning projects for the benefit of our community. The second is Hatzilu, our marvelous local kosher food suppliers for the elderly and indigent of Long Island, Queens and Brooklyn. Their supplies have diminished at a time when the demands for their services have increased dramatically. Please make your checks payable to Midway Jewish Center and earmark them with the fund of your choice; we’ll do the rest.

Tefillah, Talmud Torah, Hagbahah, Kissing the Torah & Break Fast

On Monday, March 22, 2010, at 7:00 PM, we will hold a special Minhah or Afternoon service, at which time we will daven Minhah, study Torah, open the Ark in a special ceremony to remove and carry the Torah around the sanctuary so that everyone can give it a kiss. We kiss a sacred book when it falls to the ground and a kiss is a very nice way to make up after a hurtful episode. We will conclude our Tefillah and Torah study with a break fast.

Sefer Torah—We Won’t leave You Unattended Again

Finally, a new policy. Even though we have propped up the Sefer Torah on a chair without incident for years, we will from now on honor one of our good members with an opportunity to sit next to the Torah so that we never leave it unattended again.

In Conclusion

There is a record in the Talmud about a tragedy that befell the students of Rabbi Akiba. Twelve thousand pairs of his disciples, that is 24,000 students in all, died at one time. The cause of death was “they did not treat each other with respect” (Yevamot 62b). The kavod (respect) we show to the Torah is important, but the kavod we show to one another is even more important. Our day of fasting will be a day in which we rededicate ourselves to Torah and the Kadosh Barukh Hu by rededicating ourselves to each other and to our community.

BUILDING A MISHKAN IN MASSAPEQUA

I’m a big believer in unprovoked, senseless and gratuitous acts of kindness. Do you ever think about what kind thing you did today—throw a stranger a smile, open a door for a co-worker, listen to a colleague’s worries, or volunteer at a local hospital, food pantry or shelter? This probably sounds hopelessly trite but it is these very acts of kindness that make life worthwhile and inspire others.

Let me say something about the younger generation. They get dumped on a lot for not showing up at church or synagogue and perhaps not engaging in formal rituals the way their parents did, but I don’t think they are any less religious than we were at their age. I think they are searching for new ways to experience God. Their sense of religiosity is almost synonymous with the very acts of kindness this world lacks. The younger people get it and maybe their love for ma’asim tovim, good deeds, should in fact be the success stories that generations of Jewish leadership have been looking for. The kids have really absorbed what we have always taught them is most important: making this world a better place.

According to a recent Pew study, one in four American millennials—that’s the name for people born after 1980 and came of age around the millennium—identify themseves as "atheist," "agnostic" or "nothing in particular." And yet when it comes to a variety of faith beliefs, their beliefs are not far from those of their parents. The implication is that although they define themselves as secular, they’re fairly lousy secularists, which is what I’ve suspected all along.

I meet kids with good hearts all the time, willing to do for others, intersted in learning, honest—sometimes to a fault—and I wonder why they would not find religious services deeply appealing. Those are all the values we talk about. Oh well—I guess when we’re reading in the Torah about building a mishkan, a portable sanctuary in the wilderness, they too are thinking about building their portable sanctuaries—but in Massapequa (that’s just a figurative expression for anywhere or no where in particular—I liked the alliteration of “mishkan,” “Massapequa,” but you know what I mean).  They’re building the places where God may dwell in their communities, their neighborhoods, their families, and their businesses. I can live with that. God said to Moshe—“..make Me a sanctuary that I might live among [the people]” (Exodus 25:8). So wherever the people are found, that is where God may be found—as long as you are willing to build that sanctuary—with good deeds, kindness, sacrifice and gifts given with no expectation of reward. If you can’t find God in shul, find Him wherever you want, find Him in Massapequa, but you’ll have to do some building. Consider this piece your building permit.