WHAT TEBOW TELLS US ABOUT OUR RELIGIOUS SELVES

PDFs or public displays of faith have long been a staple of American sports, particularly in baseball, where players are often seen crossing themselves while stepping up to the plate. And now the PDF discussion is taking center stage as the Denver Broncos starting quarterback, Tim Tebow, has achieved a modicum of stardom while unabashedly vocal about his faith. His unique style of thanking God is to kneel on one knee and bow his head. He may recite a prayer, I don’t know, but he clearly assumes a prayerful position for a few seconds. In fact, the action has been dubbed “tebowing,” and is increasingly imitated by other athletes and Christians. Tebow also typically begins his postgame interviews by thanking "my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." And with the interview’s conclusion, he will be sure to say, "God Bless."

Tebow was born in the Philippines to parents who were Baptist missionaries. He obviously learned his religious lessons well. And so here he is, playing in the NFL, responsible for turning the Broncos’ dismal record around, visibly religious, and for some, even die-hard football fans who can well-appreciate his skills, his religiosity generates a good deal of discomfort.

The real question here is what is it about Tebow’s religiosity that makes us uncomfortable? He is not asking us to thank God with him. He is not, at that moment, asking us to be Christian. His kneeling on the field is no more ritualistic than the touchdown dance of his teammates. What is bugging us about Tebow?

America is committed to freedom of religion and as such, our government has always been careful to never show any favoritism toward or mandate as official, any one religion. Decades of constitutional debate have lead us to consistently remove prayers, benedictions, invocations, and expressions of faith from public gatherings. In barring all, we have shown favoritism to none. But I wonder if the rule of unintended consequences has not kicked in.

Having succeeded in not showing favoritism to any one religion, we have perhaps inadvertently created an environment that is suspicious or even hostile to religious expression. Instead of allowing an atmosphere in which faith communities can hear each other’s prayers and respect each other for those varied expressions, we have demanded that our commonality rest on the absence, rather than the presence, of God. In ridding these beautiful expressions of religiosity from public view, we miss countless opportunities to develop an appreciation and respect for each other’s traditions. I, of course, do not believe in Jesus as the messiah, but I am moved by those whose faith, however shaped, has influenced them to think deeply about life, morality, goodness, and a host of other issues that are deserving of our attention, and much more of it than they ever receive.

I think Tim Tebow deserves our respect for his religious faith, as do all our friends in faith communities who seek a relationship with God. Now lest you think I believe that Tim Tebow’s faith has moved God to support his team over any other, that’s not possible. As we all know, God is a Minnesota Vikings fan. But that’s a whole other discussion. In the meantime, let’s turn to Tim and say “Go Tebow,” and God bless.

JACOB AND FANTASY PROBLEMS

My mother would have referred to Jacob as a nervous choleria—which would be Yiddish for a nervous wreck. All right, can you blame him? He’s been away from his brother Esau for 20 years and the last time they were together, Jacob had visions of Esau chasing him around the wilderness with a butcher’s knife raised above his head. Well, not exactly, but suffice to say that Esau was prepared to murder his brother over the stolen birthright. And now the time has come to return home, to face his brother, and perhaps the consequences. Oy—what to do?

 

So this is what Jacob does. He first sends messengers to Esau saying that while in Haran, he had become exceedingly wealthy, implying thereby that some gifts would be forthcoming. The messengers come back saying that Esau is on his way to meet Jacob accompanied by 400 men. 400 men? That doesn’t sound like the Rockettes, even if they were dressed in tights—which they weren’t—so Jacob’s anxiety deepens. He divides his camp into two, thinking that if Esau attacks the one, the other may escape. Then he prays to God. Then he sets aside a gift to Esau fit for an unrepentant and venal Wall Street capitalist—200 she goats, 20 he-goats, 200 ewes, 20 rams, 30 camels and their colts, 40 cows, ten bulls, 20 she donkeys and ten he-donkeys. It was like giving Esau the Bronx Zoo. Did that set Jacob’s mind at ease? No—he was up all night, wrestling with an angel, and with the break of dawn, walked away in need of a hip replacement. Finally, he divided his family into thirds. The front guard consisted of the maids and their children, next Leah and her children, and last Rachel and Joseph, placing the family dearest to him in the rear guard, hoping that they, at least, would survive the inevitable slaughter.

Jacob is a man in need of xanax. And then the moment of truth arrives: Esau and his band of 400 non-Rockette types. So what happens? Esau runs to greet Jacob, embraces his brother, kisses him, and there are tears, even flowing from “I’m-Going-To-Rip-Your-Head-Off” Esau. Esau initially refuses the gifts, though Jacob prevails upon him to accept, and then Esau offers that the two brothers travel home together, though this plan does not come to fruition for good reasons. As for the birthright—not a word about the theft is spoken: not a single word. So much worry for so little. What is the Torah trying to teach us here?

You know—you can’t predict the future. We would like to be able to predict the future, but we can’t. Some of us are worriers. Wait—if you’re Jewish, then by definition, you’re a worrier. But many of the problems that occupy our days and our nights are what I like to refer to as fantasy problems. They are the problems that we don’t have right now, but they are the problems that we think we’re going to have tomorrow. And we base many of our decisions not on the problems that we face directly, but on the problems we think we’re going to face tomorrow, or at some future date, which brings me back to a fact of life—no one can predict the future.

We get ourselves crazy over fantasy problems. We think we know what we will face tomorrow, even though such an idea defies all reason. The Torah forbids anyone from acting as a fortune teller (Deuteronomy 18:10-12). Since no one can predict the future, it is a dishonest business. And to consult such people is to waste your money. James Russell Lowell, the American poet, critic and diplomat, wrote: “Let us be of good cheer, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those that will never happen.” So true. Jacob could have used a good dose of Lowell, but the point is, we all could!

THE HEAVEN WITHIN

Jacob’s ladder has become a very popular theme among Jewish artistic works as it forms a kind of bridge between a tired biblical story and a mystical landscape that moderns are leery to cross. The imagery is vivid. The ladder rest on earth, its top pierces the heavens and angels ascend and descend, just as the biblical narrative describes. But since it was a dream, and since angels, equipped as they are with wings, need no ladders to either ascend to heaven or descend to earth, Jacob’s ladder need not be understood as a literal stairway to heaven. One might better understand it as a pathway down into Jacob’s soul. Jacob’s ascent is not really a going up into heaven, but a reaching inward to the depths of his soul. The further he explores that which already resides within his heart or soul, the “higher” he is on his metaphorical ladder. The angels ascending and descending are really a mirror image of what is going on. The angels are like a spiritual energy that goes deeper and deeper into the subconscious, probing for answers about who Jacob is and what is his purpose on earth. Facing such questions would be a true ascent or going up. And then once Jacob has explored the depths of his soul for the answers he seeks, the angels, the spiritual energy reverts to the conscious level, and that would be the descent—the return to reality. Jacob’s dream need not be about the heaven above, but the heaven within, and each of us is blessed with this internal heaven.

Jacob, guilty for having taken his brother’s blessing, fearful that his brother Esau may murder him in revenge, and now running to a land he has never visited, must be very scared. This is our ancestor—the future father of the Children of Israel? And yet, in the dream, we catch a glimpse of Jacob’s greatness. In spite of all his problems, he is not a failure. His greatness rises to the surface as the voice of God assures him of wealth, children, esteem and an eventual return to the land he loves. This is the voice of God not in the heavens above, but in the depths of his soul. The voice of God in the heavens is a commanding voice, but the voice of God within us is a guiding voice. For Jacob, it is the voice that says your life is not over for there is brilliant future awaiting you. Your next great step is to look to the future with hope, and not get mired in the complexities of the past.

The voice of God within Jacob is not an anomaly, but a reality. We are each blessed with the voice of God within us. It urges us to make decisions at every point in time that are healthy, reasonable, sometimes daring or bold, always ethical and sensitive, and always life-affirming. The future belongs to the people who believe in it. In order to get from here to there, you will not necessarily need a ladder, only a dream.

SARAH AND MASCARA

Let’s talk about beauty. Beauty is big business in America. In the year 2010, Americans spent 33.3 billion dollars on cosmetics and other beauty products (see Smart Money, April 20, 2011, Ten Things The Beauty Industry Won’t Tell You). That’s a lot of eyeliner. Sales in 2010 were up 6% over 2009 so however ugly the economy is, people are looking good. And we’re not just talking adults. Girls, aged eight through 12, spend 40 million dollars a month on beauty products while young ladies, aged 13 to 17, spend 100 million dollars a month. Wow--when I was that age, I was lucky to afford a bottle of coke and Mad magazine.

Beauty is a topic of interest this week because of our matriarch, Sarah, who was according to the Torah, a real beauty. Abraham seemed to have it all—wealth, power, and a knock-out of a wife. So concerned was he of her beauty that twice he passed her off as his sister, fearing that the Godless of the land would kill him in order to capture her—a real prize wife.

In today’s parashah, Hayyei Sarah, the Torah uses an odd description of Sarah’s age at the time of her death. It reads that Sarah’s lifetime “came to one hundred years and twenty years and seven years” (Genesis 23:1). Why the Torah inserts a math problem into the middle of a sad story is beyond me, but it wasn’t beyond Rashi who explained this rather strange formulation. He wrote that Sarah was as free of sin at the age of 100 as she was at the age of 20. And she was as beautiful at the age of twenty as she was at the age of seven. The Torah specifies each age group to give us some information about Sarah’s life. I wonder if she ever used mascara, blush, lip gloss, or body glitter.

I don’t see any moral problem in wanting to look more attractive or even spending a few bucks for beauty. But the whole issue does raise a few questions. For example, when we expect beauty of ourselves, particularly women, is that a message of any value at all? And who is determining exactly what the standards of beauty are? And would people feel differently about beauty products if they knew they were first tested on animals, to the animals’ detriment, as some are? And finally, having spent all this money on cosmetics, do they work?

The Torah is not an illustrated scroll. We do not know how beautiful Sarah was. But if she was as beautiful as the Torah claims her to be, then that beauty must have been of the most authentic beauty that exists, and that is hardly a physical phenomenon. Cosmetics cannot hide an angry soul or a bitter disposition, lipstick does not put a smile on a face nor glitter a twinkle in the eye. In actuality, cosmetics may actually have a detrimental effect on one’s natural beauty if they are seen as a cover up. If one’s beauty does not emanate from within outward, beauty products will be of no effect. Do we really want to tell young girls that they need to be more beautiful or that their natural beauty is in some way deficient? What a horrible message. Beauty is not so much in the eye of the beholder as it is in the heart of the beholden. Ladies—you’re natural beauty is all you need. Finally—a Devar Torah that can really save you a few bucks.

JEWISH AND DRUNK

My father drank. Every night as he sat down to dinner, he opened a cabinet door behind him and pulled out a bottle of Canadian Club. He filled a shot glass full of Canada’s famous 80 proof whiskey, lifted his glass, turned to everyone seated at the table and pronounced the following toast:

Mi zol d’leiben iber a yur

We should all live one more year…

and downed the spirit in a single move. I never saw my father drunk. I rarely saw him take a second drink.

Among Noah’s other distinctions is his being the first of humanity to become inebriated. Let’s not hold this against him. After the flood, he established a vineyard, sold grapes and grape juice, some of it fermented and when he drank enough of it, the erstwhile captain of the most famous ark in history fell into a drunken stupor. The Torah makes no mention of Noah repeating his mistake. But experience tells us that there are plenty of people who do, and among them, are plenty of Jews. How many Jews? Enough for there to be an active organization addressing the issue: JACS, which stands for Jewish Alcoholics, Chemically Dependent Persons and Significant Others.

It is clear from all the research on the subject that some people are prone to addiction. But at the same time, it is equally clear that people need to learn how to drink responsibly. That knowledge is gained by emulating a model. One such model is of the person who drinks with moderation. Another such model is using wine to sanctify a moment in time, that is, to say kiddush on Shabbat.

You may have heard the words “Savri Maranan?” just before the blessing over the wine with the rest of the congregation responding, “L’hayyim.” “Savri Maranan?” is Aramaic for “Gentlemen, have you formed an opinion?” and “L’hayyim” means “To Life!” What is the origin of this fun yet odd minhag (custom)? An explanation for what it is all about comes to us from the Midrash, specifically Midrash Tanhuma, Parashat Pekudei (Siman 2), in which we learn about the interrogation protocol in the case of capital crimes. After all the evidence has been analyzed and the witnesses examined, the head of the trial would turn to those charged with the task of casting a verdict and ask, “Savri Maranan?—Gentlemen, have you formed an opinion?” And if the gentlemen had found the defendant innocent, they would say “L’hayyim—For Life.” But if the defendant was found guilty, they would say, “Lamavet—For death.” The condemned prisoner would then be given wine, and lots of it, in order to numb the condemned to the punishment of death. The Midrash goes on to explain how important it is then, prior to the blessing over the wine, for the gathered to shout “L’hayyim—For Life.” We all know just how dangerous irresponsible drinking can be. For those of us who do drink, it is critical that we drink responsibly” L’hayyim—for life,” and not irresponsibly, “Lamavet—For Death.”

I once asked my father why, in his toast, he asked for only one more year of life. Why not ask for several, as long as he was at it. And he thought for a minute and responded, “One should never ask for too much.” Moderation: the guiding principal in how we drink, the guiding principle in how we live.

RAW DEAL?

\The name Abd al-Aziz Salaha means nothing to most of us, but we all remember his hands. Back in 2001, he was one of the Arabs who beat an Israeli soldier to death in Ramallah and then proudly thrust his blood-covered hands out the window to a cheering Palestinian crowd. He has been released in exchange for Gilad Shalit. Nasser Yataima was the brains behind a Passover tragedy in which 30 seder participants gathered at Netanya’s Park Hotel were murdered and 140 wounded. He has been released in exchange for Gilad Shalit. You might recall the bombing of the Moment Café in Jerusalem in 2002 in which 12 people were murdered and 54 wounded, thanks to Walid Anajas. He has been released in exchange for Gilad Shalit. 477 convicted criminals and terrorists have been released with another 550 to be released in the next two months, a total of 1,027 people in exchange for one Jew. I mention all this by way of saying that the first casualty of the Shalit deal (I hesitate to call it a prisoner swap) is justice. Actually, this is an egregious example of how emotions can move us to compromise our sense of justice, if not to undermine it completely.

Back in 2004, you might recall Israel released 430 prisoners in exchange for three dead soldiers and one Israeli businessman, a deal struck with the terrorist organization, Hizbollah. Writing for the Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, Nadav Shragi determined that by 2007, only three years later, those who had been freed were responsible for the deaths of 35 Israelis.

Trying to understand the benefits of the Shalit deal is actually mind-boggling. From the perspective of Middle East shuk haggling, the Arab world couldn’t be happier. With one Jew they were able to secure the freedom of 1027 prisoners, many who had been serving life or multiple life sentences. Will this encourage future kidnappings because as everyone can see, kidnapping is profitable? Because Israel has handed a dramatic political victory to Hamas, the violent face of Palestinian identity, has it strengthened Hamas at the expense of the more reasonable Fatah, which would not bode well for future peace negotiations? While we might say that Shalit’s victory has been won at the price of 1027 prisoners, only time will tell if that price will go up, as released prisoners return to their pernicious ways and take the lives of other sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. It’s only a conjecture, but history has shown it a probability.

So why did Israel do it? How do we explain it? Robert H. Mnookin, a Harvard professor and chair of the university’s negotiation program offers this unique perspective.

"Gilad Shalit is a known individual: what psychologists call an 'identifiable being.' His picture has been plastered throughout Israel. The Israeli press has written hundreds of articles speculating about his well-being. By contrast, the Israelis who are endangered by this deal are mere statistics—an unidentifiable group of people who may die in the future. Psychologists call these “statistical lives.” There is a long line of psychological research showing that, in making decisions, human beings will incur far greater costs to save one identifiable being from immediate peril than to enact safety measures that might save many more statistical lives."

The Wall Street Journal, October 17, 2011

You know, I’m delighted that Gilad is back with his family and returned to our people. I am not delighted by any stretch of the imagination with the price that has been paid for his freedom. But I am not an Israeli politician and I do not bear the joys or responsibilities attendant with that venerable role. And thank God for that because were I in that position, and were I to wake up one morning to learn of news of a terrorist attack perpetrated by someone I released, I don’t know how I’d get the blood off my hands.

YOU CAN GET SOME SATISFACTION

Over Sukkot, there is a tradition to read Kohelet, otherwise known as Ecclesiastes. It is a biblical work attributed to King Solomon, and as the rabbis put it, a King Solomon whose cynicism, so prevalent throughout the work, is a reflection of his advanced years and a man who has possibly seen more than one would ever care to see. In fact, some have read Kohelet and come to the conclusion that it is a depressing work. As a case in point, consider this verse from chapter three (19):

“…they [man and beast] have one and the same fate: as the one dies so does the other,and both have the same life breath; man has no superiority over beast,

since both amount to nothing”

Ouch. I wonder if the depressing valence of Kohelet is due to the absence of a strong rock beat that might mask the otherwise gloomy lyrics? For example, have you ever considered this song dark and gloomy?

I can't get no satisfaction / I can't get no satisfaction

'Cause I try and I try and I try and I try

I can't get no, I can't get no...

OK, OK…we hear you! Now it is unlikely that Kohelet was written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones, but the plaintive cry of an unfulfilled life is strangely contemporary. In fact, Kohelet could be, in some sense, a precursor to modern day existentialists were it not for Kohelet’s profound belief in a God who is very much in charge of the world. But absent that significant detail, I would not characterize Kohelet as depressing as much as brutally honest. The realities of life ought to put a few questions in our heads about our own self-importance or the possibility of a just world. Maybe our discomfort with Kohelet stems from the fact that it sounds so at odds with what we would expect from the Bible. Then again, Kohelet is part of the Bible. What we ought to expect of the Bible is brutal honesty and in Kohelet, we get it in spades.

Kohelet recognizes that human beings are simply animals (chapter 3), which just happens to be the conclusion of contemporary anthropologists; that the wealthiest among us leave this world naked and penniless—our apologies to the Trumpster (chapter 5); and that governmental patronage makes for unjust and corrupt judgments against the innocent (chapter 5). This may cynically be framed as pessimism, but a more sobering assessment may be that it is simply reality.

Kohelet, the man, tells it like it is, and aside from his disturbing misogynistic views (to be fair, he isn’t terribly fond of men either), he ends up advising us to follow a very pragmatic and balanced lifestyle which includes keeping our promises, tempering our Temple attendance, enjoying what we have, seeking companionship, being discreet, dismissing much of the gossip around town, and most importantly, following God’s mitzvot and, as Kohelet put it, to “cast your bread upon the waters for after many days you will find it” (Ecc. 11:1). I was always bothered by that phrase because as a metaphor, it’s impossible. After you’ve cast your bread upon the water, you never find it—a bird eats it, a fish swallows it, or the waters dissolve it. Cast your bread upon the waters and it’s gone, period. But not according to Kohelet. Be generous, be giving, loosen your grasp on your material wellbeing, share with others and in time, your generosity will be requited in some way. And in this world of longing and desire, in this world of existential meaninglessness, that may just be the way to get some satisfaction.

THE BIG IDEA

One of the explanations for the fast of Yom Kippur is that in keeping with the profound sanctity of the day, we liken ourselves to angels who neither eat nor drink. Some go so far as to explain the white kittle as the dress of the angels and the fact that we stand so much on Yom Kippur has to do with the single-leggedness of angels. They actually do have a leg to stand on, but only one, and it has no joints, so they are forever standing. Just thinking about it makes my feet sore.

Nonetheless, I love this explanation, which is really odd because I don’t think, in my heart of hearts, that I actually believe in angels of any sort. But I do believe that some people demonstrate a quality of goodness and selflessness in their lifetimes which is angelic in nature. Even more importantly, I believe that human beings ought to do what angels are supposed to do which is to be the messengers of God. In Hebrew, the term for angel is malakh, and malakh is a messenger. So if on Yom Kippur we are meant to be angels, what exactly is God’s message we are to be delivering?

God’s message at this time of year is that of a poorly run airline which gets you to where you need to be, but sadly, not your baggage. In this case, however, the loss of baggage is a boon to you and all those around you. You are going to make it into the New Year, but without all the baggage you’ve been schlepping around for years—the anger, the frustrations, the disappointments, the resentments, the cynicism and the grudges. Lost. Misplaced. Disappeared. Irretrievable. We can enter the New Year with an opportunity to focus our energies on productive growth, our thoughts turned to the future, not the past.

OK—there are angels. But not in heaven. The angels are here with us on earth, in a multitude of personalities who refuse to let negative energy dominate their lives. The message of God is a big one and yet so simple. Forgive others their sins against you, and you can live freer and more positively focused than ever before in your life.

STAND STILL OR GET MOVING?

Rosh Hashanah is almost here. This Shabbat is the last Shabbat of the old year, 5771. The parashah we read is a double, Nitzavim Vayelekh, and the name of these two parshiyot contrast with each other beautifully. Nitzavim is a term that implies standing or fixed in some spot while Vayelekh is a verb meaning movement or walking. The fact that this double parashah is read just before Rosh Hashanah is eerie, for the two names essentially pose a question to us all. In the New Year, are we going to stand still or move, are we going to change or are we going to remain the same?

That question is easy to ask but difficult to answer. This is a time of year when Jewish educators and rabbis piously talk forgiveness, repentance, in short, about positive and courageous change in one’s life. Some people flippantly say that they are going to change but have no intention to do so. Others cynically say that they won’t change because after all, people don’t change. But after all the greeting cards are sent, the prayers recited, and the apples dipped, the most basic function of the New Year may remain unfulfilled: honest and enduring change.

Judaism is a tradition that believes deeply in the power of the human spirit. If we are our choices, and we choose every second of our lives, then the grandeur of our spirit moves us to make good choices with every breath we take. Do we resist those good choices? Quite often we do. Change might mean sacrificing some ego, giving up some long-cherished anger, or even losing face. But asking for forgiveness from one person whom you may have hurt in some past exchange, is worth at least two days of praying in a five-and-a-half hour service. Actually it’s worth a lot more than that.

There ought to be a holiday devoted to eating brisket. We can all get together and celebrate and that would be just lovely. But if that’s what Rosh Hashanah has become in your life, then you’re not doing Rosh Hashanah. Rosh Hashanah is the stuff that real-life drama is made of: facing our failures, confessing our shortcomings, and making amends. So what’s it going to be: Nitzavim or Vayelekh? Whether you remain the same or make the gutsy changes that life demands of us, is up to you.

L’shanah Tovah Tikateivu—May we all be inscribed into the Book of Life with abundant blessings, blessings that we may enjoy ourselves and blessings that we may be privileged to confer on others.

THE ANNOYANCE BLESSING

Let’s play a game. I want you to think of something that is really annoying. A few examples are in order. Washing dishes. If only we could eat and get out of clean-up, dinner would be much more pleasurable. Traffic jams. You’ve been stuck for over 45 minutes due to someone else’s carelessness. Finally, taxes. You earned every cent you have—why does the government have to take it away, and take so much!

You probably have your own favorite annoyances. Hang on to them because now we’re going to play the next part of this game. Put a positive spin on each situation that drives you crazy. You may have to wash dishes, but that means you had a meal, and not everyone in this world enjoys such a fundamental need. You may be stuck in traffic, but that implies you actually own, or at least lease, a car. It may mean that you have places to go to. It can also indicate that if you’re late, someone is going to care. Owning property, having a purpose, and being accountable to people, these are all aspects of a full life. And finally taxes—perhaps the most annoying fact of life. If you owe taxes, that means you’re making money. In this economy, don’t bemoan that situation.

So often, our annoyances expose a short-sightedness that we need to   address. The blessings in our lives are abundant, but due to our impatience, or values that may be temporarily askew, we indulge ourselves in our own irascibility which if not irritating to others, certainly diminishes ourselves. By becoming petty, we become small. That’s a shame because every second we live is precious.

So goes one of the curses in today’s parashah, Ki Tavo, which includes the Tokhekha or a list of maladies that will befall the Jewish people should they abandon the ways of God.

In the morning you shall say “If only it were evening!”
and in the evening you shall say, “If only it were morning!”—

because of what your heart shall dread and your eyes shall see.

(Deuteronomy 28:67)

In other words, wherever you are, you will wish you were somewhere else. Your heart and your eyes will be making you crazy. How’s that for a curse!


As soon as we become annoyed, we ought to stop and thank God, because somewhere in the annoyance is a blessing, and in acknowledging the blessing we strengthen ourselves and our humanity.

The Tokhekha always depicts God as punishing humanity for its sins. That’s a classic idea but one that has never resonated with me. I don’t believe in a punishing God and frankly, question why God would even bother. People are so adept at punishing themselves without God’s help. Let’s strive to not be counted among that group.

TEN YEARS AFTER 9/11--THE HOUSE IN YOUR HEAD

It’s difficult to believe that ten years have passed since 9/11. I remember that day. Clear skies, balmy temperature—the weather was all wrong. If ever there was a day in need of God’s metaphoric disapproval or wrath—a thunderstorm or hurricane—it was that day.
Ten years ago, we were dealing with questions about whether one can have a funeral without a body. When should we give up on the miracle of finding our loved one alive? When should we give up on finding our loved one dead? When should we give up? That was the real question; it was a question about hope.


We all go through periods of hopelessness. At those times, if we have clarity of mind, we will seek help. We seek help from a spouse, friends, therapists, or clergy. We may take medication. We explore our faith traditions with greater seriousness. We pray and hope that God will answer us.


There is a prayer, a line in Psalm 27 which I love because it is so outrageous.  "May I dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of my life…"  (Psalm 27: 4).


What a request. I’m clergy and even I don’t want to live in the House of the Lord all the days of my life. Sometimes I want to travel, or go shopping, or get a haircut—none of which takes place in the House of the Lord. But the psalmist cannot possibly be asking to live in the House of the Lord for that duration. What the psalmist is really asking is to live a life of peace, of being an instrument of God’s goodness in a world so often lacking in that presence.


In our post 9/11 world, it is easy to live life with a lingering sense of anger and bitterness, with sweeping generalizations about Moslems, with a sense of cynicism, that is the very rejection of hope itself. We can live like that and many do, but imagine yourself with that type of attitude walking around in the House of the Lord—a space of peace, and hope, and love, and inspiration to further the goodness of God on earth. It’s incongruous.


The synagogue or temple or church that you attend is very important, but the house of worship that you carry in your head is more important. The God we believe in is the One who urges us to fill this world with solutions not problems, hope not despair, dialogue not destruction, love not death.


Of the 3,000 or so lives lost on 9/11, the greater tragedy would be the silencing of the living, for when the living are silent, they are as good as dead—bodies that are absent from the world. It was bad enough that people had to mourn without their loved one’s body to bury. Let’s make sure that our bodies—our hearts and minds—are used in the next decade to spread the world with abundant and generous acts of kindness and love because that’s what people who live in the House of the Lord all the days of their lives, do.

JERUSALEM—IT’S OURS

What’s your favorite city?  New York?  Las Vegas?  Paris?  Within our collective consciousness, Jews have a favorite city:  Jerusalem.  It’s not the Big Apple.  It’s not Sin City.  It’s not gay Paris.  It is the Holy City and it belongs to the Jewish people.

As I write or say these words, I catch myself.  How selfish can I possibly be!  By virtue of what do I claim Jerusalem ours to the exclusion of others who may lay claim to it?  And, above all, why should Jerusalem matter to me anymore?  Good questions.  Here are a few good answers.

We ought to recognize the arrogance of those who would have us forget Jerusalem.  New York is an international phenomenon, but no one tells New Yorkers to forget New York.  Paris is also an international phenomenon, to be sure, but no one tells Parisians to forget Paris.  Yet somehow, Jerusalem, an international phenomenon no less than New York or Paris, must be politically shared.  Why?  Is the world afraid of Israelis making Jerusalem off limits to the international community?  That would be bizarre.  Jerusalem, the Holy City, the city whose name translated actually means the City of Peace, is open to everyone, Jews, Christians and Moselms.  It is not open to terrorists, as I hope no city would be.  On the other hand, try, if you will, entry to Mecca, the holiest city in Islam and birthplace of Mohammad.  You will find that the entire city is reserved only for the faithful and that, by Islamic definition, would be Moslems.

The world does not owe Jews anything more than the simple respect accorded anyone or any nation ready to contribute to civilization.  Jerusalem is part—and a very large part of Jewish history.  Denying our historical connection to Jerusalem is an attempt to weaken us as a people and a nation, for a nation must have a collective memory, and those memories include Jerusalem as the center of our religious life, the capital of a former Jewish commonwealth, a place of intense literary creation sacred to so many, namely the Bible, and it is Jerusalem’s destruction that we have mourned for centuries.  Those who claim that none of this matters can do so, for Jewish continuity is not their concern.

But more than Jewish history, Jerusalem is the Jewish present as well.  It is a symbol of Jewish renewal and rebirth, of Jewish guts, both in the sense of our spiritual lives and the blood we have shed in our efforts to make the Jewish past the Jewish present.  The Moslems have Mecca and Medina.  The Christians have Bethlehem and Rome.  The Jews make no claims to any city in the world, other than Jerusalem.  The world that finds this so outrageous is acting unfairly to the Jewish people.

In our Torah portion this week, Shoftim, Moshe teaches us that should a legal case be so complicated that we need a greater authority to resolve it, we should go to the judges who reside in “that place that the Lord chose” (Deuteronomy 17:10).  As later history would clarify, that place would be Jerusalem, but I love the way Jerusalem is anonymous in the Torah portion.  Why?  Because for Jews, there is no other place.  That silent understanding of what Jerusalem means to us is in part what keeps us together as a people.  Jerusalem is welcome to all people of peace.  But remember, Jerusalem is the Jewish people’s.  We should say it unself-consciously, and with the humility such a responsibility entails.

IFTAR, EARTH-SHATTERING AND POWERFUL

Many of us on the East coast have been preoccupied with an earthquake at the beginning of the week, and now a hurricane, Hurricane Irene, approaching us at the end of the week. This got me thinking about the fact that hurricanes get names and earthquakes don’t. That’s not fair—is it? Anyway, buried beneath the earthquake and the hurricane is a story that deserves widespread attention and on some level, it’s as earth shattering as an earthquake and as powerful as a hurricane.

We are in the midst Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting all day, a time when the values of humility, patience, and submissiveness to God are emphasized. It is regarded as an auspicious month for it is at this time of year that the first verses of the Quran were revealed to the Islamic prophet Muhammad. At sunset, the family will gather to break the fast at a meal known as Iftar. Prayers are recited after which there is a festive meal beginning with the eating of three dates, a custom that apparently dates back to Muhammad.

I mention all this because this year, on Thursday, August 25, 2011, the Israeli Ambassador to the United States, Michael Oren, hosted an Iftar dinner at his home, attended by some 60 people, among them imams, rabbis, and representatives of the White House. Islamic and Jewish prayers were recited at the dinner and the food served was certified hallal, which as you know, is the Islamic equivalent of kosher.

You may think the ambassador’s hospitality strange at this time. The Palestinians are seeking to establish a state via a United Nations declaration rather than face the hard work of negotiations. Hamas terrorists have again been lobbing deadly rockets into southern Israel sending thousands into bomb shelters for coverage. And with popular revolt continuing in a number of Arab countries, Israel’s future relations with those countries remain deeply uncertain. Is this a time for the ambassador to break pita with the Arabs?

I think the answer is that there is probably no better time to break pita with the Arabs, as the Israelis, embodying the best of Jewish values, remain committed to shalom, to the peaceful, negotiated resolution of this conflict. I can’t imagine the ambassador easily deciding to host an Iftar celebration. But as is the case with Michael Oren, he never takes the easy way out. What is easy right now is to become cynical and jaded about the prospects of peace. A great leader will resist that poisonous temptation and opt, instead, for its polar opposite—hope, optimism, and faith in a God who will help us reach our goals. Iftar comes from an Arabic term meaning conclusion, similar to our word for the end of the Torah reading or maftir. Let’s pray that Ambassador Oren’s Iftar will not only bring an end to the fasting, but an end to the violence and an end to the hatred, after which we can all celebrate at a meal of dates, milk and honey.