Before Shabbat

The Holocaust has been a part of my consciousness as a Jew since I was 13 years old. Not a day goes by without some image or song or phrase evoking a Holocaust reference. I know – it sounds excessive, perhaps OCD. It is a wound, a scar that never goes away. This Holocaust-centric consciousness is a burden that darkens many private moments in my life. But it also daily inspires me to be an upstander, and not a bystander to world events.

As hyperconscious as I am about the Holocaust, I have always been among those who find any attempt to use the past as an indicator of the future to be facile and ultimately uninformed. History does not repeat itself, but it does often rhyme. It is true that given similar situations, similar outcomes often occur. But History is like a river. Always flowing and never the same.

Deborah Lipstadt, a professor of Jewish history at Emory, about whom the movie, Defiance was written, was just interviewed in the German weekly, Der Spiegel. She said, “What we fight today is not fascism — or maybe, not yet fascism. It is populism, from the right and from the left. I am wary of Nazi comparisons, but what I see is a kind of ugly populism whose hateful rhetoric reminds me of how the National Socialists in Germany came to power. It’s an ethnocentric populism, it feeds a dangerous mood, a sort of tyranny of the mob. Many Americans think Hitler came to power by a revolution, but he won elections. We should not forget that.”

And as Abraham Foxman, former head of the Anti Defamation League, said recently, “We used to say, you want to find out the level of democracy in a country? Ask the Jews. The Jews are the canary in the coal mine of democracy. But the reverse is also true. If you want to know how Jews are faring, take a look at the level of democracy.”

Antisemitism is certainly on the rise in Europe as well as in the United States. We know from our own experiences in Newton that even in our bubble there are people who hate Jews, drawing swastikas in public schools and writing offensive antisemitic graffiti. This is real.

But – this is not the beginning of the end. It is exactly the right time to reject apocalyptic thinking. instead, we must actively work in ways that will strengthen our local Jewish community, as well as the entire American Jewish community. Wringing our hands will not do us any good. Indulging in anxious fantasies about the bad guys and seeking to transform synagogues into armed high-security enclaves is self-defeating.

So you want to know what’s next…? Me, too. I want to know what’s going to happen out there. How will the American conscience respond to this antisemitic attack? How will the Jews of America respond? Will we be able to band together? Or will we be hopelessly out of synch and out of time like we usually are?

Yes, this is a time where cynicism can easily become the predominant way of seeing the world. It’s tempting to assume the worst. So, when we get spooked by a disaster such as Pittsburgh, it’s not just a function of our present fear, but a recognition of our cherished past. We’re shocked because something about Pittsburgh felt so un-American, so foreign.

It’s easy to forget all this while our ears are ringing with cries of a rise in anti-Semitism; … Anti-Semitism may still be alive and well and growing in dark corners, but let’s not overlook the enormous outpouring of love and concern for the Jews from across the country. This should serve as a reminder of how fully integrated we have become in American society.

I was heartened to read a powerful sermon by Rabbi Julia Appel, Senior Jewish Educator and Campus Rabbi for Hillel at the University of Toronto. She is a Beth Avodah alum. Her parents, Neal and Barbara Appel, are members. She writes: “I refuse to walk through this world afraid. I refuse to walk through this world responding to the violence done to my people with a closed tent or a closed fist. 4 Because that is how they win. I will live my one Jewish life to walking through this world with the values given me by our people, our traditions, our families: Love the stranger. Remember where you come from. Do what is right…”

Her words remind me of the prophet Micah, who taught us that God requires from us just 3 things: “To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8) When we combine Micah’s words with Rabbi Appel’s words, we have a roadmap into the unknown. The heading on the map is pointing towards dignity and courage and justice. It points to voting. We will move forward together.

This Shabbat evening service is being called #Show up for Shabbat. We will use our evening to pray and contemplate quietly as will synagogues all over the USA. This will be an important service to attend.

“… [L]et me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.” FDR spoke these words at his inauguration in January of 1933. The nation was in a dark place, struggling to gets its equilibrium in the midst of a terrible depression.

FDR understood the power of fear and how it subverts attempts to change and do things in a new way. His mandate was to move beyond the binary good guys vs. bad guys motif to a clarity of purpose.  At least for some overarching ideals, he saw that to be an American is to be on the same side, to be united in common cause.

These days there are few messages of common cause. Instead, we see a world increasingly divided and divisive. You’re in or you’re out. Black or white. Republican or Democrat. Have or have-not. Conservative or progressive. Battle lines are being drawn.

All around us are social media and specialized news sources that cater to specific ideologies. We tend to stick with the news sources that most closely support our worldview. We hunker down and circle the wagons.

We embrace a cultural worldview that provides us with order, meaning, importance and, ultimately, self-esteem. The effectiveness of this strategy depends on the agreement of others who share our beliefs. Meanwhile, the existence of other people with beliefs and values that differ from our own can subtly undermine the protection this worldview provides. So, according to the theory, when these beliefs are threatened, we will go to great lengths to preserve and defend them.

Pointing out and accusing the Other – the one who disagrees with us – is a powerful tool. It provides us with an immediate enemy upon whom we can hang our mistrust. This fear that our way of life is threatened by people with whom we disagree or who look different than we do is growing, here and all over the world.

In Israel, this phenomenon is growing at a geometric rate. Religious Jews vs. secular Jews. Ashkenazi vs. Sephardic vs. Russian vs. Ethiopian Jews. Jews vs. Arabs. Two-state vs. one state. Democracy vs. nascent autocracy.

I should not be surprised by all of this, but it hurts nonetheless. I am so disappointed to be living in a time where fear has become a tool to maneuver public opinion. Anxious people respond to conspiracies and mobs and the Other with a predictable hardening of boundaries.

That’s why this past Tuesday night I was so proud that we sponsored an evening of conversation with J Street between two men of differing outlooks on Israel. Dr. Mike Makovsky, the president and CEO of the Jewish Institute for National Security of America, is a mainline political conservative regarding Israeli and American politics. Jeremy Ben Ami, the president and CEO of J Street, is a mainline political progressive regarding Israeli and American politics. They disagree on a lot of issues. But they don’t objectify each other. They are keenly aware of the need for dialogue and a fair exchange of ideas.

Ben Ami and Makovsky proved a few things. They showed that civil discourse is possible, that two men from different sides of the struggle could enter into conversation. They showed that it was possible to listen to the Other without becoming defensive or apoplectic.

The most important takeaway for me and I hope for the entire audience was that when people are willing to speak with open hearts, we are able to discover a middle ground. There were things they both agreed on. That doesn’t minimize the differences, but it does underscore the danger of battle lines and how they obfuscate our common humanity and, in this case, a common love of Israel. If we can agree on even a few issues, then we have a common ground. This is the beginning of true communication and the end of manipulative fear-mongering.

“Nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror” remains a clear and present danger in this country – and in Israel. And it’s only getting worse. The only way to mitigate against this pernicious toxic cloud is to allow the light of truth and common cause to shine through it.

I know it’s far-fetched and perhaps only a dream that there could be civil discourse between 2 people with profound political differences. But I saw it happen in our sanctuary. I hope to see more of it. “You may say I’m a dreamer/But I’m not the only one”.

Shabbat Shalom

When reading Talmud or various Jewish commentaries, one thing is clear, over and over again: Jews love to argue. The traditional mode of Jewish study maintains an emphasis on dialogue and disagreement. Jews often study in havruta-in pairs with each member of the havruta challenging and asking questions of the other. A person who walks into a traditional house of study is struck immediately by the noise level-havrutot (plural of havruta) read the text aloud and often argue at some volume, pushing one another to come to a better understanding of the text at hand.

One of the rules of this argumentative style of learning is to always respect your study partner. One is not locked in debate with a fellow learner in order to prove who’s smarter. The experience of havruta is embraced for the sake of heaven. To put it another way, arguing different positions with respect and honor is considered a sacred act performed with God’s urging and God’s blessing.

It used to be that within the Jewish community this foundational belief that there is a multiplicity of opinions on virtually anything was paramount and entirely accepted. The resilience of the Jewish tradition has been in its ability both to foster dissent of thought and encourage consensus of action. That does not mean that every community acts in the same way, but that communities while acknowledging disagreements, can still mobilize to do important work together.

Of course, Jews have been known to vituperatively go at it with their fellow Jews. History books include many examples of loud and painful schisms. Medieval rabbinic Jews vs. Karaites. Followers of Shabbetai Tzvi, the false messiah vs. Jews who did not accept him. The Hasidic movement beginning in the 18th century and the mitnagdim who bitterly opposed them. The Orthodox community and the first Reform Jews of the 19th century. The Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto who called for an armed uprising, and the Jews who were vehemently opposed.
These internal struggles throughout our history have been deeply scarring. It can take a very long time for the wounds of opposition to heal.   Whenever we can hear perspectives that are not ours, and strenuously disagree, while still valuing the notion that we share a deeply personal bond, this is success. And whenever we disagree and disrespect each other, belittling the thoughts and the essence of the person with whom we disagree, then this is failure.

The sacred roots of havruta are being lost. There seem to be ever-wider rifts between us. There are few conversations and debates now, and more finger pointing and anger. I specifically don’t remember the subject of Israel ever being so dominantly divisive amongst American Jews.

Part of this is surely the “new normal” of political rallies. We see and hear people being insulted and booed at, accused of being liars and cheats, pointed out as being un-American because they believe differently than the party in power. We also see the use of the “us” vs. “them” paradigm, who’s on the right side and who is on the wrong side. In such an atmosphere there can be no constructive dialogue, just endless and tedious name-calling.

We have to listen more carefully to each other within our family circle. We have to support a true diversity of opinions and also unite when we collectively agree that something is harmful or dangerous. We have to work hard at bringing down the temperature of our differences and acknowledge what we can do together and what we cannot do. This is tremendously difficult, but not impossible.

On October 23rd at 7pm at TBA, we will be hosting a havruta: Mike Makovsky, President and CEO of the Jewish Institute of National Security of America, and Jeremy Ben-Ami, President of J Street. Jeremy and Mike are on a speaking tour, modeling civil discourse and respect for each other’s commitment to the same goal – a secure, democratic homeland for the Jewish people in the State of Israel – while discussing their different approaches.

This discussion is a true model of what we can accomplish – respectfully. We can loudly disagree without calling each other names or accusing the other of being an antisemite or unpatriotic, or anti-Israel, or a fascist, and so forth.

This is how peace comes. This is how understanding comes. One conversation at a time, spoken in words of dedication to the truth and not to the sharpest arrow. Come be a part of this effort to listen and to understand, to agree and disagree, as the case might be, for the sake of heaven. For the sake of our children.

The primary indicator of Autumn’s arrival is all about the tree outside the Administrative entrance to our temple. It starts to turn colors – glorious colors! – at least 10 days before all the other trees. This is at least partly due to the halogen light that shines through the leafy boughs, speeding the transition.

As I walk towards the entrance, I see it, as if for the first time. And it’s always such a shock and surprise. It resonates with almost the same intensity as the first day of school, or when I sound the shofar. We’re here, for the first time – again.

For all the encounters of a lifetime and the new experiences that are often so exciting, there is something about the cycle of the year that I love. The cycles of life are reassuring: so definite, so clearly demarcated. To know something about what’s coming – the next holiday, the solstice, an anniversary – is solace for living in a world where we can know practically nothing else about the next day or even the next hour.

The regular rhythms of life keep us rooted. It’s one of the themes in Marc Chagall’s work. If we don’t have an anchor, we might float away!

The cycles of life are not just anchors. They actually provide opportunities to engage in the sacredness of life itself. Not just the big moments, like b’nai mitzvah or weddings, but moments like seeing the Fall foliage for the first time. Or the first time you pull out a sweater to wear. Or after your annual physical. Or carving your pumpkin.

The point is, we return to these moments again and again. As much as we may have changed over the past x years of our lives, these things stay the same; comfortable, familiar, blessed. By acknowledging them, paying attention to them, we give thanks for still being around to appreciate them.

In the Jewish tradition, there is the custom of reciting 100 blessings a day. For Jews who daven every day, this really isn’t so hard. In fact, the Aish.com website breaks it down mathematically. But for post-modern Jews, it’s a lot more challenging. The fact is that looking at the common things that cycle through our lives gives us opportunities to reflect, show gratitude, and then give thanks:  for the miracle of our senses, the capacity to love, to age in health, to be cared for, for life itself.

The leaves are falling, and soon the trees will be bare. The winds will howl and winter will come: cold, snowy, slippery. And just as you begin to despair you will see a crocus, daring to show it’s tiny, fragile bud. And you will say, thank you; thank you for reminding me that the world continues to turn, the seasons change, and that I am blessed to be a witness.

I know good old Brett. I never met him, but I recognize him from a mile away. He is the quintessence of the frat boy, one of the guys. Brett’s a poster child for the clean-cut white American, borne to privilege, borne to the assumption that he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants to do it. Why shouldn’t he? He has money, brains, class, culture, and power. You know why he was such a petulant, tantrum-throwing brat at the hearing? No one says no to Brett. Not a lawyer. Not a coach. Not a terrified young woman. Not Senator Klobuchar — especially not a woman! How dare anyone call him on his behavior? He can do anything he wants! He was coached well by Trump and associates.

Brett is an insecure guy, a manchild who hides behind his race and his religion. He was bred for success. And succeed he has. Brett has convinced enough Americans and their elected officials that he deserves a seat on the Supreme Court. And, by God, he’s going to get it. The status quo stills breathes, still destroys anyone who might disagree or offer another interpretation of the truth.

I know Kavanaugh, the one who mocked the guys who weren’t athletes, who didn’t go to prep schools, who weren’t white and Christian. He was the one who rated the girls, who drank the beer, who puked and screamed. He was the one we always knew would be a hotshot at the country club, making coin, acting like the self-righteous snob that he is.

Shame on the people who would look at him — with awe, envy, admiration — and see a Supreme Court judge. See him for what he is: a man capable of lying about his life, under oath, without hesitation or compunction. But lying — bold-faced lying — is now the sine qua non of our president; why not his latest nominee?

Brett — you’ve won again. Have a beer.

Trump — what have you done to my country?

This week’s Before Shabbat is the last installment of the season. It goes on hiatus for the summer, and back again in September. As for me, I go on hiatus for July in the town of Orleans.

I had a friend who, as a badge of honor, never took a break from his work. Oh, maybe an afternoon here or there. But for the most part he never strayed far from the office.

I admired that dedication, that “duty first” mentality. It looked like the right thing to do. Somehow, the self-sacrifice seemed sanctified.

Only: he wasn’t happy. The world maligned him. His wife didn’t understand him. His kids didn’t respect him. The people at work were idiots. The administration was short-sighted. Yes. He was miserable. And no wonder…

We need time to think, time to replenish our souls with rest and love. Time to be with friends and time to be on our own a bit – a walk, a drive, a swim. All this time I’d admired my buddy and his dogged self-abnegation, until it dawned on me that he was poisoning his soul, choking his neshama to death.

Taking some time doesn’t have to be an elaborate 3-month trip around the world. It can be a weekend, even a day spent in pursuit of something that nourishes your soul. After all, even God takes a day off!

A growing body of scientific evidence explains what many of us have learned from unpleasant experience: Push yourself through too many hours or days of work and your brain starts to push back. Ideas that once flowed easily dry up, and tasks that you should be able to perform quickly become excruciatingly difficult–you need to give your brain, and yourself, some rest.

It would be easy to evaluate current events and then conclude that as long as there is such indiscriminate inequality in the world, no one deserves to take time off. There’s too much work to do. But we do no one much good if our souls are starved for spiritual oxygen. There are no awards for unhappiness, no extra credit for being dour.

“Life is too short” is a common axiom. And it is true. Take some time off this summer. Take time to appreciate your life. Burnish your soul to let the pure, divine spark within you shine brightly.

This world is so in need of light. That’s our task: to light up the world and lead the way.

What are your plans for getting away? For the summer? For a weekend? Let me know. Be healthy and purposeful in your recharging. I hope we all reconvene with strength and fullness of heart and spirit.

Shabbat Shalom

rebhayim