Before Shabbat

It’s odd celebrating Hanukkah in a quiet, empty nest of a home. There’s no clambering for gifts, no rushing to multiple events at multiple locations. No one is getting positioned in front of a favorite menorah for lighting rights.  There aren’t a multitude of gifts on the dining room table. There are no clumps of wrapping paper from the previous nights’ festivities floating around the house. We’ve only made one night’s worth of latkes, so the house does not have that usual redolence from the magic mix of oil, onions and potatoes. And this year, for the first time in over 3 decades, Liza did not decorate the house with the multitude of Hanukkah zibben-zachen: no streamers, folding paper menorahs, little Maccabees, and so forth.

This empty nest feeling did cause a bit of the blues to enter into the Hanukkah blessings. But it was also an epiphany of sorts. If being Jewish is experienced primarily as the responsibility of passing it down to the kids, and the kids are gone, then isn’t the job done?  Why engage in behaviors mostly deemed pediatric? No wonder so many Jews leave their temple after years of belonging! It becomes largely irrelevant to day to day, week to week, month to month life.

The holidays weren’t “invented” for children only. I know, I know: I’ve heard the “They tried to kill us, we won, let’s eat!” theory of Jewish holidays. And yes, it’s a pretty accurate superficial gloss. And we do simplify them, reduce them to a sweet, savory sauce. But they are so much more. They are complex expressions of gratitude and longing and fear and courage.

An empty nest doesn’t have to be devoid of spirituality and community. It can be a place of connection and engagement. This is the challenge of 21^st-century Jewish life: to embrace the various dimensions of Judaism and Jewish life as mature adults, to care about choosing Judaism for ourselves and not for our children. There really is more to it than dreidels and toy Torahs.

A temple thrives when every generation feels engaged. A temple thrives when folks find in it a means by which to navigate a harsh and often hostile world. And if the Jewish tradition gives us anything, it’s instruction on how to have faith and even flourish in a world that has not exactly rolled our the red carpet for us.

Whether your nest is full, or whether it’s empty, we need you as a part of the community. Your input. Your presence. Your passion. You!

Bring your light to your temple. The more light, the brighter, the warmer the flame. It’s beautiful. It’s powerful. That’s an adult Hanukkah message.

Into how many more pieces can an already broken heart break? How many more times will we awaken to the news of innocent souls being slaughtered? How many more times will we get into bed, agitated by profound injustice and unspeakable loss, and lay awake endlessly reviewing the horrors of a story we cannot get out of our heads?

This week ends and we are so close to the chasm. The carnage of Paris continues to haunt us. But we mustn’t forget Boko Haram, who murdered 32 people the other day in Northern Nigeria.  In the perverse universe of destruction, Boko Haram has killed more people (6,644) in terror attacks during 2014 than any other group. Another group of killers attacked in Mali this morning where the death toll is now in the 20s…

And then we get word of the killings in Israel. And one of the five murdered is Ezra Schwartz, a Jewish kid from Sharon, a Maimonides grad, and a longtime Camp Yavneh attendee. The sadness we feel for all victims of senseless violence is suddenly weighed down by an immediacy of intimacy. Maybe you didn’t know him, but someone you know did. You look at his photo and realize that maybe you saw him somewhere. Or you know someone to whom he was related. It becomes personal.

The sense of powerlessness through all of these killings is overwhelming. How does one stop a nihilistic movement of people who don’t value life? How do we even talk to them, reason with them, when clearly they have no interest in dialogue?

I don’t pretend to know how to tackle these issues, nor do I expect anyone else really knows what to do right now. But here are a few things that do make sense to me.

1. Learn about these groups and their ideologies. The more I understand, the less I end up overwhelmed by these forces beyond my control. I know I can’t prevent terrorism, but knowing the players keeps me from feeling clueless and ignorant about my world.
2. Do not use these incidents as a reason to disparage all Moslems. It’s tempting to label every Moslem as a terrorist or sympathetic to terrorism. But it’s just not like that. Boko Haram, ISIS, al-Qaida and others may use religious terminology, but a) they are each very different and b) they aren’t religious movements. They are about vengeance and hate and greed. They are about the basest human drive that seeks to destroy for the sake of destruction, the drive to show one’s power through terrifying people, raping girls and women, kidnapping, murdering, blowing up ancient temples and statues — essentially the opposite of human decency. They may call out Allah’s name when committing a crime, but that truly has nothing to do with the nature and beliefs of the vast majority of Moslems.
3. Do not lash out at refugees. I know we’re all feeling impotent in the wake of all of these acts of terror. But we mustn’t respond by lashing out at this defenseless whipping boy. Suggesting that in the midst of the madness in Syria that refugees are bad guys because one ONE! Of the terrorists used the crush of Syrians fleeing for their lives to infiltrate France is pathetic. To further suggest all Moslems wear identification badges is indecent. Yes, prudence is necessary when vetting refugees. And we will continue to be prudent. But to block refugees from any country due to being Moslems is a shanda.
4. As horrendous as this recent round of terrorism in Israel may be, it would be foolhardy to conflate it with ISIS. To confuse the two is to create even more obstacles for any kind of resolution to the Israel-Palestine conflict.
5. Don’t give up. It is tempting to run for cover and pray that the world will just go by and leave us alone. But it doesn’t work that way. More than ever, this is one small planet – Ezra’s death underscores that point. All of send our condolences to Ezra’s bereaved family.
6. And don’t give in to what is called in Hebrew sinat chinam, which is the denial of another’s right to exist, the belief that he or she contributes nothing valuable to this earth. That attitude is an affront not only to the other person but also to God in whose image this person is created.

Antoine Leiris lost his wife and mother of their 17-month-old son in the Paris attack. As such he has the right to scream and rant and we have the obligation to listen. But he did not rant. He wrote a piece in response to his deep loss which appears below, to which I can only say “Amen.”

“On Friday evening you stole the life of an exceptional person, the love of my life, the mother of my son, but you will not have my hatred.

So no, I will not give you the satisfaction of hating you. You want it, but to respond to hatred with anger would be to give in to the same ignorance that made you what you are.

You would like me to be scared, for me to look at my fellow citizens with a suspicious eye, for me to sacrifice my liberty for my security. You have lost. The player still plays.

I saw her this morning. At last, after nights and days of waiting. She was as beautiful as when she left on Friday evening, as beautiful as when I fell head over heels in love with her more than 12 years ago.

Of course I am devastated with grief, I grant you this small victory, but it will be short-lived.

I know she will be with us every day and we will find each other in the heaven for free souls to which you will never have access.

Us two, my son and I, we will be stronger than every army in the world. I cannot waste any more time on you as I must go back to [my son] who has just woken from his sleep.

He is only just 17 months old, he is going to eat his snack just like every other day, then we are going to play like every other day and all his life this little boy will be happy and free.

Because you will never have his hatred either.”

I spent my childhood surrounded by Christmas. Christmas lights, Christmas trees, Christmas ornaments, and Christmas music. Every store I entered. Every supermarket. Every restaurant.

Everyone who saw me wished me a Merry Christmas. “What are you doing for Christmas?” “Have you been naughty or nice?” “ Is Santa coming to visit you?”

In school, we had the requisite Christmas trees and red and green and Christmas concerts. There were no other Jewish kids in my school from kindergarten through 4^th grades. Just me.

Being the only Jewish kid around at Christmas time was a painful and lonely experience that never got easier. I tried not to get too gloomy. I sang all the Christmas songs, carefully mouthing the name of Jesus rather than singing his name aloud.

I was a stranger in a strange land. That’s what it felt like every Christmas of my childhood. The whole scene didn’t belong to me, and I didn’t feel quite safe enough to say so. Of course, being the son of a Holocaust survivor did not exactly help me adjust to the situation. I was raised in a Christian country.

I’m not asking for sympathy or reparations. The fact that I am Jewish and the majority of Americans are not is simply a fact of demography. But I did sometimes wonder: did it have to be so ubiquitous, so over-the-top? Was there not someplace besides the synagogue where I could find some relief, some recognition that I was different?

It is so laughable to hear Americans claim that Christmas and thus Christianity are under siege in our country. The red cup I get at Starbucks that has no ornaments or trees on it is the smallest acknowledgement that there are others in this country that don’t accept Jesus as the Christ.That maybe to say “Happy Holidays!” instead of “Merry Christmas” is, in fact, a more American gesture because it is more inclusive.

Each and every American has the right to be accepted for who and what they are. The disabled have the right to expect that they will be able to get to a bathroom and find a stall that can accommodate a wheelchair. Minorities have the right to get a job even if their skin color is not white, even if they speak with an accent. Gays and lesbians have the right to get married. We who are different than the majority just want to be treated with dignity and sensitivity.

Being inclusive is not the end of Christianity. Starbucks and their red cup is not an attack on Christmas ( by the way, on YouTube there is a clip https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OD9Fd2wtX20&ab_channel=ctownlegend  from a guy ranting about how unChristian Starbucks is; his name is Joshua Feuerstein…? That’s got to be an interesting story). Being inclusive is just the right thing to do. It is the open arms of acceptance, which is the true theme of the holiday season.

My friend Marcus and I were in rabbinic school together. He was a rebel, a guy who reflexively said no if anyone said yes. No one could tell him what to do. He was raised in a predominantly Jewish community in New Jersey that unceremoniously fled en masse for the suburbs when the first black family moved into town. (We don’t like discussing this, but Jewish families were certainly in the first waves of white flight). He says that he was the only white kid whose family stuck around. Within four years, he was the only white kid on the block. This, Marcus says, is the crucible in which he learned to be his own man.

Marcus exercised his rebellious philosophy at various times in rabbinic school. His biggest ‘no one can tell me what to do’ was his girlfriend, Nonnie. Nonnie was not born Jewish. She came from a hippie family that lived for a time on a commune and who worshiped the sacredness of the cosmos in a pretty eclectic way that included cannabis and ‘shrooms. Nonnie was what demographers call unchurched. She rarely went to Jewish/school events with Marcus. Then again, Marcus rarely went.

When the dean of HUC took Marcus aside a year before ordination and told him that to be ordained Nonnie had to convert, he was, as you might imagine, a tad exercised. Marcus fought and cursed, but in those days the notion that a rabbi could have a non-Jewish significant other was ludicrous. But Nonnie converted, albeit without much joy. They got married, had a kid three years later and divorced two years after that. It still makes Marcus angry that he was forced into a series of actions he opposed.

According to Professor Steven M. Cohen, a sociologist at HUC known for demographic studies of American Jewry, “in-marriage” has historically “been central to what it means to be a Jew.” Its modern importance, he explains, is amplified because of the ongoing population decline among non-Orthodox Jews, which he attributes largely to intermarriage.

Cohen also argues that American Jews put “rabbis at the top of the symbolic hierarchy.” As a result, “it is logical for rabbinical schools to hold rabbis to higher standards.” While Cohen affords some merit to the suggestion that intermarried rabbis could serve as models for interfaith communities, he cautions that “we don’t know for sure what the impact of having intermarried rabbis will be upon those families.” We do know, he says, that “intermarried rabbis will have no chance of teaching the next generation the importance of marrying Jews.” Or at least, so he said in 2009. http://goo.gl/oHnmWs

Nearly all of the country’s rabbinical colleges have firm policies that prohibit the admission and ordination of students who are in committed relationships with non-Jewish partners. Even as interfaith couples are increasingly being welcomed into congregations of all denominations, they are effectively barred from pursuing the rabbinate. http://goo.gl/8vUEWQ

But as Bob Dylan adjures, “the times they are a’changing.” The Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, which ordains rabbis for the denomination’s more than 100 congregations across the country, just ended their policy prohibiting applications from students in interfaith relationships. Says Rabbi Deborah Waxman, Ph.D., president of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, “We believe that the only strategy that will work in today’s world of choice is one that engages rather than polices, one that actually welcomes and provides role models for intermarried Jews rather than one that disowns them.

And Keren McGinity, a former member of TBA opines, the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College’s new policy to welcome and graduate Jewish students who are in committed relationships with partners of other faith backgrounds is an excellent, forward-thinking decision. http://goo.gl/U9U35I

But Jane Eisner, editor of the Forward, disagrees with McGinity’s assessment and she disagrees with the RRC as well. Eisner, a friend and fellow Wesleyan grad who spoke here for the Margaret Miller Memorial Lecture series, hangs onto the atavistic belief that intermarriage is the biggest crisis for American Jewry. She writes that letting interfaith people get too involved, too close with Jewish life is dangerous. She says that “… at some point… inclusion leads to diminishment. At some critical point, boundaries become so porous that they no longer function as boundaries, and standards become so vacuous that they lose all meaning. This decision brings the Reconstructionist movement to that point, and to the degree that it places pressure on other denominations — and history suggests that it will — then it risks damaging our religious, moral and spiritual leadership at a time when we need it the most.”

http://goo.gl/xx5nCO

It would be wonderful to find a true whipping boy for the various phenomena that plague postmodern American Jewry. If we could just say intermarriage is the cause of our troubles we can spend a lot of money trying to fix it, lest we damage “our religious, moral and spiritual leadership” beyond repair. But as Rabbi Waxman says, “For those of you still fighting, the battle was lost years ago. The Pew report, citing that 58% of marriages since 2005 are intermarriages, has disabused all of North American Jewry of the notion that Jews intermarrying can somehow be stopped by pressure from families, rabbis, or editorials from editors of Jewish publications.”

http://goo.gl/fI8quS

Reconstructionist rabbis will choose the partners they choose. If their partner is Jewish, I hope their partner will support them in their work. If their partner is not Jewish, I hope their partner supports them in their work. Intermarriage will not make or break American Jewry. The more open hearted a temple is to welcoming interfaith families, the more likely that synagogue and their interfaith families will thrive.

The genuine threat to American Jewry, and to mainline Protestant denominations and to Catholicism is the extent to which Americans consider religious and church/synagogue affiliation relevant. More important than soccer practice, ski trips, or sleeping late on weekends. For Jews, a synagogue must be a place that provides meaning and community and connection and fun. A synagogue must be like Cheers, where everybody knows your name. That’s the real work of Jewish survival, not who the rabbi is married to. And to provide that kind of institution is hard and will only become harder.

It would be so much easier to make intermarriage the bugaboo. But it’s not. To make a synagogue relevant and worthwhile for millennials as well as baby boomers is complicated and will require more and more nontraditional solutions. Eisner’s idea that too much inclusion leads to diminishment is an outdated Conservative movement cry – that has led them over the cliff.

As Tevye said to Golda, “It’s a new world.” That must be our mantra now as we consider our trajectory as American Jews, and as a Reform temple in Newton, MA. We are going to have to be courageous and audacious as we dare to move in new ways. Looking back with yearning is not a recipe; just ask Lot’s wife.