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Eyes on Our Prize
September 2, 2010

     Two Jewish stories from different eras convey the same theme. The first, a midrash, tells of a couple who were among the group of Israelites crossing the Sea of Reeds on their way toward the Promised Land. While they were walking across the seabed, they were complaining about their muddy feet and noting their marital dissatisfactions. They hardly realized that a miracle was taking place around them.
     The second story, written by the Nobel Prize winning author, S. Y. Agnon, concerns a young man attending Yom Kippur services in his grandfather’s synagogue. He is distracted by a variety of things, including his search for his tallit. At the end of the story, the young man observes that the saddest thing is that for him, this Yom Kippur came and went “without a prayer, without anything.”
     It’s so easy for all of us, and I fully include myself, to get preoccupied by all kinds of details during the High Holy Days. Am I sitting in a good seat? Is my tallit slipping off my shoulder? Do I have the honor I want? Is it too hot or too cold?
     I have no intention of discounting the importance of any of these considerations. But the outcome can be, if we aren’t careful, that we fail to appreciate the magic of these moments.
     Here we are, having lived through a year and looking forward to another year. Here we are, singing familiar prayers with family and friends. Here we are, heirs of a glorious tradition of words, music and customs that give contour and direction to our lives. Here we are, part of a vibrant and nurturing congregation. Here we are, challenged by our Creator and by each other to find the strength to begin to heal hurting relationships. Here we are, possessing the uniquely human capacity to reflect on our lives and to try to do better this year than we did the last.
     To be Jewish is a gift. To be human is a gift. To be alive altogether, perhaps the most profound and mysterious gift of all.
     Hayom t’gadleinu! We will sing those words together as part of the High Holy Day service. Today You enlarge us! Today we look through a different lens than usual. Today we regard our own potential and that of our family and friends in the most inviting way. Today past, present and future commingle.
     Deanna and I wish the entire Temple Israel family a year of satisfaction and accomplishment. Let’s all appreciate the profound blessings that emerge by virtue of our being together as a sacred community. We will continue to cross seas, and even oceans, together. When Yom Kippur is over, and well into the year, we’ll know that something significant has begun to occur.

Pouring It On Thick
August 19, 2010

     Few were invited, but who among us has not seen some pictures from the Clinton-Mezvinsky wedding? In particular, the photograph of the smiling couple, with the groom wearing a kippah and tallit, has made the media rounds. On a recent Shabbat morning, I asked those present at services to share their reactions to the wedding, first in small groups and subsequently, for those who wished, before everyone assembled.
     It resulted in an impassioned and important conversation with a variety of opinions expressed. Some felt that the groom’s appropriation of Jewish symbols, given that the bride is not Jewish, was problematic and even hypocritical. Others saw that as an indication of the groom’s sincere connection to Judaism and of the possibility that Jewish practice will be included in the ensuing marriage. Some saw this exclusively as a negative event, evidence of our increasing assimilation. Others saw evidence of an opportunity for spreading Judaism’s message and influence. Many mixed feelings were also shared. Among those who didn’t speak publicly during the service, many continued the conversation afterward and several have sent me emails.
     At the conclusion of the discussion, I made two points that I would like to share in this column. First, in keeping with that morning’s Torah portion opening with the command to choose the path of blessing, I observed that we don’t control every choice that’s made in this world. Specifically for this discussion, we don’t fully control the choices that our children make. While we may have legitimate expectations of our children, and while we are completely in our right to state those expectations, we cannot guarantee what they will choose in a wide variety of realms. When children make choices that are not in keeping with our expectations, we ourselves have a choice. We can shut the door or we can leave the door open. Many people’s experiences have shown that when we leave the door open, there is greater likelihood that blessings will ultimately emerge.
     That leads to my second point. In her book, Double or Nothing, Professor Sylvia Barack Fishman explored marriage trends in the Jewish community. She described the importance of creating “thickness” for children and young adults in a Jewish context. “Thickness,” a term often used by sociologists, means broad, deep, multiply reinforced values and experiences. Professor Barack Fishman’s research demonstrated the impact that living a life of Jewish “thickness” as a child, teen and young adult has on a person’s adult Jewish life.
     “Thickness,” among other things, is about joyous Shabbat dinners, exciting Jewish learning, giving tzedakah and identifying with Jewish causes. “Thickness” comes from Jewish summer camps and rockin’ Seder experiences, from singing in a Jewish chorus and hiking Masada with youth group peers.
     “Thickness” doesn’t guarantee that every choice made by every Jewish child will be consistent with their parents’ ideal hopes. Based on empirical research and observation, however, it seems that it does increase the chances that Judaism will play a decisive role in the homes that these Jews will create as they mature.
Complex challenges rarely have easy solutions and the challenge of inspiring a generation to live passionate Jewish lives is as complex now as ever. On the cusp of Rosh Hashanah 5771, I urge us to work together to find creative ways to “pour it on thick.” As we continue to see a new generation bring their unique Jewish souls to bear on their relationships and on our world, we will know that our efforts have begun to bear fruit.

No Sleeping
July 15, 2010

      When I was a junior in college, I backpacked through Europe with a friend. To conserve our limited financial resources, we decided to sleep overnight in a few Italian train stations. This was not as easy as we might have imagined. In Florence, we were prodded all night long by police officers saying, “No sleeping!”
     Never mind that I didn’t understand, at twenty, the legal difference between my sitting upright all night on a bench and lying horizontal, especially if my eyes were closed either way. The phrase, “no sleeping,” delivered with European panache, became part of my personal soundtrack.
     When I think about what it means to be a committed Jew and human being in the 21st century, I frequently recall the policemen’s words as an apt directive. With all of the particular and universal challenges we face, we can’t afford to let things slide.
     Notwithstanding the low-key summer months that are upon us, I’d like to emphasize three areas that require our ongoing vigilance.
     Insofar as our brothers and sisters in Israel don’t get a long vacation from the existential realities they face, we need to remain supportive of Israel’s efforts to ensure her security while reengaging talks aimed at a peaceful outcome to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Support, in my understanding, involves keeping abreast of news developments and advocating for Israel when we feel her position is misunderstood or misrepresented. It also involves visiting Israel if possible. Toward that end, we are planning two trips so far – one for our teens in February and one for our congregational families next August.
     The oil disaster in the Gulf is likewise not taking a vacation, though it is destroying the vacation plans and the livelihoods of many visitors and locals. It relentlessly reminds us of the danger of economic opportunity pursued at the expense of proper concern for the environment. All year round, summer months included, we can take small measures to be more energy-efficient. Temple Israel’s Green Committee continues to meet and offer new initiatives for our congregation. Be on the lookout for updates of their progress.
     Finally, the summer months, no less than the rest of the year, provide opportunities for us to expand our Jewish knowledge and commitment. We are offering classes in the weekly Torah portion and Jewish Short stories and have engaging Shabbat services each week, including Friday night services held outdoors when the weather permits. As many of us have discovered, the summer is also a great time to catch up on reading and an opportunity to read books of Jewish interest, specifically. Our Temple Israel library has many outstanding books, including new biographies as part of the Adele Eckstein collection.
     The Psalmist described God as one who “neither slumbers nor sleeps.” (Psalm 121) Our theological reactions to that statement would be interesting to entertain. For now, however, I would simply look to that image as a potential source of comfort and motivation. We can’t achieve the degree of vigilance we ascribe to God, but we can see it as our task to confront challenges and embrace opportunities with all the energy we can muster.
     “No sleeping” altogether, of course, is neither realistic nor healthy for a human being, not to mention that even God got to rest at the end of the first work week. In that spirit, I wish everyone a summer that is restful as well as productive. Let’s not lose track of our essential obligations. And if you happen to find yourself in Florence, try to find different sleeping arrangements than I did.

In a recent article, the author, Michael Chabon, argues that the notion that Jews are special – more intelligent and more morally upright than other people – is untrue and has potentially damaging consequences. Referring to an Israeli critique of Israel’s handling of the flotilla incident, he goes on to criticize the oft-repeated claim that Jews overall have an extra measure of seichel, generally translated as cleverness or common sense.

As Chabon sees it, Jews are no more innately intelligent or ethical than any other people. He finds it troubling that we want to “play it both ways,” asserting our uniqueness and then chafing when others judge us by a different standard. He concludes that we’d be better off if we saw ourselves, and sought to be judged by others, the same as everyone else.

I find his arguments, laid out in “Chosen but Not Special,” (New York Times, June 4, 2010) only partly convincing. Based on my own informal observation, Jews do often want it both ways and there might be merit in trying to level the playing field.

However, I take exception to his article in two respects. First, I don’t think that the double standard by which Israel is judged will magically disappear if Jews abandon their sense of their own uniqueness.

Second, I think Chabon loses sight of the nature of our claim to being special, as have many Jews. The Torah doesn’t speak of the Israelites as innately wiser or more compassionate than other people. Two key passages that deal with the issue emphasize that our uniqueness stems from our compliance with God’s will as concretized in the Torah’s laws. “Now then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all the peoples.” (Exodus 19:5) Subsequently (Deuteronomy 4), Moses tells the Israelites that their observance of the laws will be proof to other people of their wisdom and discernment.

Over the centuries, many Jews have come to think that we are special by virtue of possessing some cluster of innate superior traits. That is not only a departure from the Torah’s description of our uniqueness; it also has the potential to make us feel less responsible for our actions than we should.

I propose that we rediscover the Torah’s approach. Rather than glorify the “Yiddishe kop” as some genetic prize, we would do better to unpack the potential for holiness inherent in our commitment to Jewish tradition.

If we are unique, it is by virtue of our adherence to the Torah, with its ethical and ritual precepts, not due to an extra dollop of seichel.

When we discussed this topic on Shabbat several weeks ago, someone made a comment with which I’d like to conclude. Wouldn’t it be nice if every community strove to be unique by virtue of acting with wisdom and compassion? Of course, if everyone did it, it would cease to be unique. But that would be a small price to pay for universal wisdom and compassion. And if it did happen, then we could claim that Isaiah’s vision had been fulfilled, that we indeed became a light unto the nations – not because we’re brighter, mind you, but because we worked hard to bring God’s light into the world.

Israel and the Next Generation
May 21, 2010
     A recent New York Times article, “On Israel, Jews and Leaders Often Disagree,” described the diverse viewpoints that exist within the Jewish community regarding Israeli politics. The article featured a number of American Jews, age sixty and older, who said they are afraid to criticize Israel’s actions lest they be perceived as “anti-Israel.”
     The part of the article that I found disconcerting was not about disagreements among older Jews, but about the diminishing connection that younger Jews feel with Israel altogether. The most troubling trend vis a vis a Israel is a slide toward apathy among Jews born after the Six Day War. Younger Jews tend to have less of a visceral appreciation than their older compatriots for the importance of Israel’s survival to the Jewish people and the value Israel brings to the world at large.
     Differences of opinion regarding Israeli politics need not be damaging to Israel, provided they are based on fact, expressed with concern and don’t degenerate into personal attack. I worry more about the sheer number of young American Jews for whom Israel is barely a blip on their radar screens.
     Unless we are prepared to allow this trend toward disengagement to grow, the Jewish community, now more than ever, needs to provide a range of opportunities for young people to experience a feeling of connection to Israel. From preschool on, children should be exposed to the Hebrew language and the multi-faceted culture of Israel. We need to create an atmosphere wherein the diversity of Israel’s musical, culinary, literary and human tapestry enters the hearts and souls of our children. Whether they become “right-wingers” or “left-wingers” matters less than whether their love for Israel takes flight altogether.
     Our educational programs at Temple Israel do a fine job of instilling this connection within our children and we are always seeking to improve our efforts. If we see it to it that our children learn Israeli songs, become familiar with the Hebrew language and get a sense of Israeli politics; if we provide opportunities for our children to visit Israel especially during their teen and college years; if we demonstrate through our own concern and engagement that Israel’s value to the Jewish people and to humanity is vital and eternal, then we are likely to see a new generation whose feelings for Israel will be profound and lasting.
     There’s one major opportunity for increasing engagement with Israel that’s coming up quite soon. On Sunday, May 23, we all have a chance to march up Fifth Avenue or to watch from the street as part of the Salute to Israel Parade. New York City features the largest Israel parade in the United States and we are lucky enough to be a stone’s throw away. I can’t exaggerate the impact that this experience can have on adults and children alike. Being with thousands of other participants as they sing, dance and march on behalf of Israel tends to intensify the love for Israel felt by each participant.
      The Israel Affairs Committee is generously covering costs for round-trip bus transportation from Temple Israel to the parade, as well as t-shirts, for all participants. The Parade Committee, under the direction of Rebecca Sassouni, has worked hard and created numerous incentives for adults and children to participate. Please call the office to reserve a spot and march with us as we demonstrate our love and support for Israel!
     I believe with all my heart that a strong, secure and creative State of Israel is vital for the Jews and vital for the world. I know that so many in the Temple Israel community share that sentiment. Let’s all do what we can to ensure that the next generation feels the same way. Let the connection to Israel deepen in each soul, in multiple ways, each and every day.

What is the Right Thing? Shavuot 5770
April 29, 2010
     Some decisions are easy. You land an enviable seat on the IRT as it rumbles up the Upper West Side and, subsequently, you watch someone walk on with a cane, laboring with each step. If you’re in good physical shape and a decent person you offer your seat, knowing that it’s the right thing to do.
     Many decisions, however, are more complicated. They involve balancing different, often opposing considerations and often rise to the level of policy decisions that affect entire communities and even nations. We may want to do the right thing, but we don’t always know what that is.
     On the first night of Shavuot, which falls on Tuesday, May 18, we will devote the traditional evening of study to exploring several ethical dilemmas from a Jewish perspective. Once again the evening, consisting of learning, prayer, singing and a delicious dinner, is being generously sponsored by Jacqueline and Dr. Hilbert Eshaghpour.
     During the first session, we’ll examine issues pertaining to the allocation of medical resources. Jewish sources raise questions about prioritizing health care, questions that have practical ramifications for contemporary discussions. What factors, if any, do age, financial circumstance and severity of illness play in determining how healthcare resources should be allocated? How might Jewish tradition influence the conversation?
     In our second session, we will feature a panel of three legal professionals who will discuss the ethical dilemmas they face as judges and lawyers. How do they balance competing interests in their deliberations and advocacy? What are some of the most difficult ethical issues they have confronted and how have they managed them? What role has Judaism played in guiding their professional work?
     Our third session will feature a discussion between adults and our teenagers on the topic of confidentiality. Ordinarily, we try to keep confidences that people share with us. Under what circumstances might we be obligated to break a confidence? To share information that might ordinarily be considered gossip? Do we need to let someone know if we are about to do this? Jewish tradition has much to say about the parameters of confidentiality, gossip and obligatory reporting. We’ll consider our tradition’s insights in the context of real situations that arise.
     Shavuot is the holiday that recalls the giving of the Torah, often referred to as etz chayim, a tree of life. In Deuteronomy 30:11-14, we are given a profound statement about the accessibility and applicability of Torah to our lives: “Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach. It is not in the heavens, that you should say, ‘Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, ‘Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?’ No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it.”
     In light of this classic passage and others like it, I believe that our charge as Jews is to apply Torah in its widest sense to the most pressing issues of the day. Join us on May 18 as we engage tradition and modernity, thereby preparing to receive Torah as profoundly as we can.

MORE
April 1, 2010
     With the Passover Seders behind us and hopefully some good leftovers to enjoy, we have some time to reflect on our own Seder experiences. Who was at our Seders? What was the dynamic like? Who said what and who didn’t talk much at all? What situations and perspectives were reflected around our Seder tables?
     In some respects, each Seder experience is a microcosm of the broader Jewish community. When we consider the diverse ages, viewpoints and circumstances represented around our tables, we gain insight into the opportunities and challenges facing the Jewish people overall.
     I’m optimistic about our future, but only if we present Judaism appropriately to the next generation. I have four suggestions which, in keeping with the rabbinic tradition of acronyms, spell out the word MORE, as in more commitment to Judaism by more of our children and grandchildren, more of the time.
     “M” is for modeling. It’s not enough for us to provide our children and grandchildren with a Jewish education. They need to see that it matters so much to us that we learn and participate ourselves. A few weeks ago, a group of adults chanted Torah and Haftarah following more than two years of intensive study in our Adult Bar and Bat Mitzvah program. Their children, grandchildren, spouses and friends were inspired by their example. Wow! Mommy did this. My husband did this. My good friend did this. It must really be important.
     “O” is for an open heart. We need to live and teach Judaism with love. Threats and curses don’t work in the long run, if at all. The kohanim, when they ask God’s blessing for the people, need to do it b’ahava, with love. Aaron, Moses’s brother, was famously described as loving human beings and bringing them closer to Torah. We’ve all seen too much righteous indignation expressed in the name of Judaism and religion in general. Better that we should encourage each other with an open heart.
     “R” stands for reasons. Often we don’t take enough time to discuss the “why’s” of Jewish tradition. I know from my experience teaching our religious school students that it’s easy to focus on imparting skills, sometimes at the expense of discussing the significance behind prayers and rituals. Skills are important. They allow children and adults to participate more confidently in communal services. But skills without understanding do not provide a stable foundation for a lifetime of commitment. To the extent that we want to nurture a generation of lifelong engaged Jews, we need to have deep conversations about why we do what we do and the range of possibilities for what our central prayers, texts and rituals might mean.
     Lastly, “E” stands for ethical. Religious communities worldwide are reeling from the effects of the unethical behavior of their leaders and constituents. When so-called religious people act unethically, they give their religious traditions a bad name, thereby making it less likely that a new generation will want any part of the whole enterprise. The rabbis had an expression for someone who stays within the letter of the law but acts inappropriately – naval bir’shut hatorah, a boor within the confines of the Torah. They understood that Torah needs to be interpreted ethically and that adherence to the commandments should refine a person’s character. We must do everything we can to demonstrate that commitment to Judaism ideally leads to ethical behavior.
     The four children described at the Seder may have different perspectives, but they have several things in common. They’re all part of the family, they’re all sitting at the table and they’re all watching carefully what goes on.
     For their sake, and for the sake of the adults they will become, we need to provide MORE Judaism – Judaism that we model with an open heart, with full exploration of its reasons and rationale and with forthright commitment to the ethical behavior it demands.

Elijah and Tarantino at the Seder
March 18, 2010
     Are you looking for interesting ideas to spice up your Seder? Here’s one. Invite Quentin Tarantino to the Seder table. He may be less likely to show up than Elijah. But discussing his latest film might be an interesting way to explore Jewish attitudes toward revenge as they apply to the Passover story and other realms.
     In his film, Inglourious Basterds, Tarantino presents a revenge fantasy aimed at the Nazis. Trying not to spoil it for those who haven’t yet seen it, I will simply say that the film presents a suspense-filled, often violent and occasionally funny window into what might have happened to Nazi Germany had events taken a different turn. If you haven’t seen it, there are still a few days left before Passover.
     Purim, which we recently celebrated, has elements of revenge expressed in its narrative. Haman intended to hang Mordecai and instead was hanged on the gallows he had prepared. He sought to kill the Jews, but instead the Jews ended up killing many of the inhabitants of the Persian Empire. The book of Esther uses the phrase, na’hafoch hu, meaning “it was reversed,” to indicate how events were overturned.
     How about the Passover story? Pharaoh intended to subdue the Israelites but in the end, the Egyptians were the ones brought to their knees. Pharaoh ordered that the Israelite children be cast into the river; ultimately, the Egyptian soldiers drowned in the Sea of Reeds. The rabbinic expression, middah k’neged middah, one measure deserves another, is invoked to describe these turns of events.
     Tarantino’s film deals with the story of the Nazis and the Shoah, which is obviously different in many respects from the Passover and Purim stories. The major difference, clearly, is the outcome - Hitler succeeded to a large extent where Pharaoh and Haman did not. Hal’vai, if only Hitler’s plans had been foiled in reality as they were in the film! If only the story of European Jewry had ended like the Passover and Purim stories.
     I wonder if Inglourious Basterds was consciously based on any Jewish precedents. Sitting around the Seder table, we can wonder aloud about parallels we might draw. We can also raise questions about the parameters of revenge. The rabbis discouraged excessive joy over the downfall of the Egyptians, which is one reason why we shed “tears” at the recitation of the Ten Plagues by removing drops of wine from our cup. Would the rabbis have felt the same way about our reactions to the Nazis? Somehow I don’t think so.
     I wonder how our commemoration of the Shoah will continue to evolve. What lessons will we encourage the next generation to derive from the Shoah? What place will anger and revenge hold in our approach to the Shoah?
     Then there are questions about the nature of revenge. Many who watched the film cheered when they saw violence done to the Nazis. Would those same people cheer if they watched that in real-life? Would those same people inflict the violence themselves? What are the costs and benefits of revenge?
     I imagine that Jews and non-Jews, those who survived the Shoah and those who were not involved, would have a range of reactions regarding these questions. Given the complexities of the Jewish experience from ancient times until today, there are far more than four questions to be asked at a Seder.
     So invite Tarantino if you like and by all means, don’t forget to invite Elijah, traditional protector of the Jews and harbinger of the Messianic Era. If you’re wondering how a revenge fantasy and a redemption fantasy can coexist within the same holiday, within the same people, you’ve just asked the next question.

Laughing and Loving on the Edge
February 18, 2010
     When your parents are no longer alive, you feel especially vulnerable. In the past several weeks, a few people have made that observation to me about their own experiences and, unfortunately, I’ve felt it myself. Like many feelings, it’s not rational. After all, we know that anything can happen to anyone at any time. But the death of one’s parents, as one person recently put it, feels like the removal of a protective covering.
     We have many experiences, large and small, that reinforce our sense of vulnerability. Some are universal; others vary from person to person. The words, “dust you are and to dust you will return,” spoken by God to Adam before God sent him and Eve out of the Garden of Eden, express the fragile nature of the human condition.
     Once a year, into our maelstrom of uncertainty, the holiday of Purim arrives. With the twists and turns of the story of Esther, the Bacchanalian revelry customarily observed and the emphasis on giving gifts to the needy, Purim offers joy and generosity as responses to vulnerability. Knowing that the fate of our entire people was remarkably reversed, we sing, laugh and help those less fortunate than ourselves.
     Notwithstanding the wish expressed in the popular Hebrew song, Ani Purim, Purim only comes once a year. Yet Purim’s two-pronged emphasis on celebration and responsibility offers an inspiring pattern for us to face the vagaries of each new day. Often, we either forget to enjoy what we can or we forget to help those who need help. The Purim model reminds us to do both – it’s a great Jewish response to life’s invariable variables.
     I’m now coming up on my mother’s second yahrzeit. She died on the Fast of Esther and was buried on Purim. That coincidence inevitably makes Purim a challenge for me, personally. At the same time, it reinforces for me the connection between the inevitability of loss and the importance of living with joy and love. Besides, my mother would be upset with me if I sat around moping on Purim (or any other day).
     I hope we’ll all let loose this upcoming Purim, February 27 and 28, children and adults together. I hope adults will take advantage of the costume contest. I hope we’ll enjoy the seudah and show together. I hope our singing and dancing will be more spirited this year than ever before. I also hope that in keeping with the spirit of Purim, we’ll bring some laughter and loving-kindness into each day.
     We’re not likely any time soon to discover the secret of literal immortality or to expunge life’s uncertainties altogether. Therefore, for the indeterminate future, the spirit of Purim will come in quite handy. Let’s apply it, individually and collectively, as best we can.

All Life Long
February 4, 2010
     I’m a lucky man. Over the course of a week, I work with preschoolers, third and fourth-graders, middle and high school students and adults of all ages. Interacting with people representing the full life span gives me ample confirmation that Judaism can be, as we say every night in our prayers, hayeinu v’orekh yameinu, enriching our lives and the length of our days.
     It’s inspirational to dance and talk Torah with preschoolers, pray and discuss theology with third and fourth-graders and engage in debate about Jewish ethics with teens. But the goal of all of this, I truly believe, is the emergence of adults who will remain Jewish learners, practitioners and wrestlers all life long.
     This Shabbat, two members of our congregation will celebrate the anniversaries of becoming B’nei Mitzvah. At our Havurah service, Dr. Milton Rosen will lead a Torah discussion in honor of the 77th anniversary of his Bar Mitzvah and Marty Werber will chant Haftarah in honor of his 50th. Both are, to build upon a phrase increasingly used in Jewish circles, exemplary life-long learners and passionate Jews. They are marvelous examples for all of us of the value of constantly growing in Jewish learning and commitment, all life long. Everyone is invited to join with them at the service and the Congregational Kiddush.
     Presently, a group of women and men who have been studying for over two years are preparing to participate as adult B’not and B’nei Mitzvah at an upcoming service to be held on March 20. Following the impressive accomplishments of the women who led services last year on Shabbat Kol Isha, a group of men are preparing to lead on Shabbat HaGever, which will take place on May 21 and 22.
     On Tuesday nights, a group of adults have been studying sources pertaining to Jewish self-definition and boundaries, including attitudes toward lineage and conversion. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, groups of adults study Jewish history, Bible, Talmud and current events. Some have joined those groups recently; some have been participating for decades. The list of activities and classes goes on.
     The idea behind all this is beautifully encapsulated in the mission and title of TILL, Temple Israel’s Institute for Lifelong Learning, which oversees this wide array of programming. A glance at our bulletin and website will reveal the range of opportunities we offer to all ages at Temple Israel.
     Purim, which takes place this year on Saturday, February 27 and Sunday, February 28, is often associated with children. Indeed, as always, we have lots planned for children, including age-appropriate megilla readings and a Sunday performance by renowned ventriloquist, Jonathan Geffner.
     But even Purim should be celebrated all life long! This year, we’re making a special push for adults to come in costume on Saturday night. A panel of expert judges, schooled in the most au courant fashion trends, will be awarding prizes to those whose costumes excel in several categories. Preceding the ventriloquist’s show will be a Purim Seudah, a festive meal filled with songs and fun, to which everyone is invited. Mind you, adults who want to see the ventriloquist will not be turned away! Take a look inside this Voice for information on our full array of Purim activities for adults and children.
     Maimonides wrote that if a parent only has resources to teach one person Torah, the parent should learn before educating his or her child. Thankfully, we have the resources to teach ourselves and our children. I hope we will all seize opportunities to dive right in – to learn, to grow, to wrestle, to celebrate – all year long and all life long.

All Are Responsible
January 7, 2010
     When I was in second grade, around this time of year, my classmates and I were asked to write down our number one New Year’s resolution. I proudly wrote that I promised not to commit adultery. At the time, I thought I was vowing not to be fresh to adults. My teacher thought it was humorous, though I wasn’t sure why, and she displayed it on the main bulletin board at the entrance to the school.
     The start of a secular New Year gives us another opportunity, several months after Rosh Hashanah, to assess our commitments and responsibilities. I’d like to suggest three areas that we ought to consider.
     In the aftermath of the Climate Conference in Copenhagen, we should focus on our responsibility toward the long-term viability of our planet. Naturally much needs to be done on an international level. But I hope we will increasingly appreciate the impact each of us can have as individuals, since it adds up. How we drive, eat and manage our resources affects the type of world we will leave to subsequent generations. Starting with the Biblical reminder that we are “sojourners in the land,” we’ve been encouraged to remember our responsibility toward the earth, overall.
     At all times, we should remember our responsibility toward others in need. At Temple Israel’s most recent Midnight Run, on a particularly cold night, over 40 adults and children drove into Manhattan to deliver food and clothing to the homeless. Many of the people we met that night are professionals who have come upon hard times. Here too, Jewish tradition, starting with the Torah’s command that open our hands to those in need, insists that we act responsibly.
     We should always remind one another of our responsibility to educate a generation of Jewish children to grow to be knowledgeable, commitment Jewish adults. It takes a village to raise Jewish children and Temple Israel is one such village. When religious school families participate in Shabbat Hamishpacha or other programs; when our preschool families experience Friday morning Oneg Shabbat; when families of our teens share Friday night dinner together, complete with singing, socializing and ping pong, we move incrementally closer toward the goal of raising lifelong Jews.
     Abraham Joshua Heschel famously wrote that while not all are guilty, all are responsible. He understood that our responsibilities run wide and deep. Not being fresh to adults was a good start for a second grader. Over time, we all realize how interconnected we are - to our people, to all people and to our planet. For Jews, this realization has been expressed by the phrase arevim ze bazaeh. We are connected, and therefore responsible.
     During the upcoming decade, I hope we will witness positive changes in a variety of areas, borne of the multiplicity of responsible acts performed by an ever-increasing number of people. What a great opportunity for each of us to part of that. Happy 2010!

Even Five Minutes
December 17, 2009
     “Take any class you can with him. Even five minutes of his teaching is worth it.” That was the advice given to me about Professor Yochanan Muffs, who taught Bible at the Jewish Theological Seminary for over four decades. I was very glad to have had the opportunity to take two classes with him.
     Dr. Muffs died a few weeks ago, prompting an outpouring of responses from many people who studied with him over the years. As a young teacher at Camp Ramah half a century ago, he captivated campers by pretending to be Jeremiah, dancing around and gesticulating while reciting the prophet’s words. As a teacher of rabbinical and graduate students, he presented far-reaching scholarship in an affirming and playful manner. His articles, on topics including God’s humanity and the prophet as God’s loyal opposition, are widely regarded as brilliant and compelling.
     Tragically, Dr. Muffs suffered from Parkinson’s for many years. When I studied with him, always with a small group in his office to accommodate his physical needs, he often was unable to teach for more than a few minutes before his condition would prevent him from completing the lesson. But however long he could teach, I found his lessons both illuminating and fun. He said things I will never forget, including his reference to the chapters in Leviticus about animal sacrifices as a “divine cookbook.” He said that Psalm 104 described God as a zookeeper. He referenced Biblical passages and other ancient texts with ease and flatly admitted when he didn’t know something.
     Most profoundly, he showed how a person could embrace life joyfully in the face of profound personal challenge. One of the classes I took with him focused on the Book of Psalms. When we got to the often-recited words, Ashrei yosh’vei veitekha, “Happy are those that dwell in Your house,” Professor Muffs asked us what we thought that meant and we suggested a few possibilities.
     He then got up out of his chair, which was very hard for him to do, walked over to his shelf and pulled out a book of ancient poetry. He read from a poem that described a moment of prayer taking place in a beautiful courtyard with a small garden and a flowing stream. He asked us to imagine how happy we would feel if we were surrounded by such beauty. He suggested that this may have been the sort of thing the author of this Psalm had in mind.
     Weeks later, I prayed in the same minyan that Dr. Muffs attended. During Ashrei, I made a point of looking over at him. His eyes were closed and he had a huge smile on his face.
     From Yochanan Muffs, students learned that study could be scholarly and personal, that prayer could be moving, that the limitations of the physical body don’t always have the final word when it comes to the soul.
     During the last several decades, Dr. Muffs’ students didn’t get to see him dance through a Jeremiah lecture. More often than not, we saw him rushing to get through five minutes of class before his body began to tense up and then struggling to work through the paralysis.
     The person who recommended him was correct. Even five minutes of being with Dr. Yochanan Muffs was an inspiration. How enriched we would be if his lifelong example could affect our learning, thinking, praying and living. He was penetrating, affirming, daring and playful. Just a dash of what he had in abundance could begin to turn the tide.

The Jewish Helicopter Parent
December 3, 2009
     Before I went off to camp one summer, my mother, of blessed memory, labeled all my clothes and put them in a trunk. It so happened that I had graduated college by then and was about to be in charge of a group of 96 twelve-year olds and 18 staff members. When I told my mother that I was embarking on a summer of serious responsibility and didn’t need her to pack me up, she asked, “So you won’t be needing clothes?”
     The term “helicopter parent” is a relatively recent one, referring to parents who hover over their children, trying to prevent any sort of mishap or misfire. The inclination to protect children is natural for parents; after all, protection is a basic function of parenting throughout the animal kingdom. But increasingly, psychologists are warning against the dangers of over-protection. Parents who try too hard to shield their children from failure may be doing them a disservice.
     The first time Deanna and I attended a high school conference for our oldest son, we were surprised to hear the teachers give a defense for each grade our son received even before we said a word. It seems that the teachers’ past experience with parents advocating for their children’s grades led them to this proactive approach.
     The stereotype of the Jewish mother or father notwithstanding, Jewish tradition encourages parents to allow their children to become independent. Parents’ responsibilities toward children include teaching a child a trade and even how to swim. I think that most parents, if asked, would identify raising independent children as a major goal. Yet our actions don’t always lead in that direction.
     A difficult challenge that I encounter as a parent is finding an appropriate balance between offering guidance and fostering independence. For any parent there are many factors that influence the equation, including the age and personality of the child, the disposition of the parent and the nature of the issue at hand. It may seem counterintuitive at times to give a child space. It’s not easy to step back and allow a child to make mistakes. Yet making mistakes is part of the learning that leads to independence and children need space in which to try, err and try again.
     Clearly, giving a child space doesn’t mean abandoning one’s parental responsibility altogether. Offering guidance and support is a crucial element of parenting. The key is to find the balance, and the balance is always shifting.
     When Isaac sent Jacob back to Rebecca’s homeland, he sent him with a blessing and specific instructions: “Go find a wife from your mother’s family.” But neither Isaac nor Rebecca followed Jacob, tempting as it might have been to do so. And the Torah says explicitly, vayeitzei Ya’akov, Jacob left, he went forth.
     He went forth to dream his own dreams and to navigate his own adventures. He came back, not with one wife, but with two, plus two concubines. He was taken advantage of and had to figure out how to respond and how to support his family. All this time, his parents were miles away.
     Our father Jacob, a passionate, complicated, flawed young man, grew to be a passionate, complicated, flawed old man without his parents hovering over him. And yet, he always retained their blessing and understood the basic contours of his destiny as imparted by them.
     There was no stopping my mother from packing my trunk on that beautiful summer morning over twenty years ago. But she knew enough not to follow me up to camp.
     I hope that all parents will absorb the explicit and implicit lessons of our tradition when it comes to raising children. May each parent learn to instill without hovering, to support without smothering, so that each child can go forth, as Jacob did, with a trunk full of advice and blessings, ready to face the new day.

There’s a World Out There
November 5, 2009
     My last visit to the optometrist confirmed that a person can be nearsighted and farsighted at the same time! The brilliant solution? Progressive lenses that allow the wearer to see close-up and distance with equal clarity. It got me thinking that in a profound sense, Jews can benefit from a progressive lens, one that allows us to see things close up without losing perspective on the larger picture.
     I’d love to see us approach our lives as Jews by navigating between two lenses – one which focuses on the uniqueness of our heritage and one which recognizes our affinity with, and responsibility toward, the rest of the world. Here are three examples of how that might work.
     Like all human beings, Jews have an interest in food. I believe, however, that to a unique degree, we have a framework for elevating the act of eating from the mundane to the sacred. Keeping kosher is a major part of that framework. Some people pay little regard to the laws of kashrut while others emphasize every detail.
     Kashrut, approached a certain way, can isolate us from the rest of the world. However, if we view kashrut as part of an overall effort to sanctify eating, then we’ll remain connected to other people. A comprehensive Jewish approach to food indeed includes kashrut and the recitation of blessings, but it should also emphasize a response to hunger, which affects all people. With an awareness of the many ways in which we sanctify eating, we can maintain our distinctiveness and our connection, both lenses working together.
     On November 7, we will honor those in our community who bear witness to the Shoah. We will formally acknowledge the courage with which they have rebuilt their lives and the emotional sacrifice they have made in sharing their stories. Our program of Shoah Education is based on our conviction that Jews have the right and obligation to teach about the reality of the Shoah, especially given how widespread Holocaust denial has become.
     Increasingly, Holocaust museums and educational centers have explored ways in which awareness of the Shoah can have a positive impact on contemporary situations. Shoah educators have worked with law enforcement officers and middle school children, using the lessons of the Shoah to confront bullying and far worse. The group, Generations Against Genocide, spearheaded by the children and grandchildren of survivors, marshals insights gained from the Shoah in response to contemporary genocides.
     Without in any way diminishing the singularity of the Shoah, these educators and advocates have attempted to reach out beyond the Jewish community. The effect is a symbiotic one, increasing awareness of the Shoah while confronting contemporary problems. Both lenses can work together.
     Finally, we can use this approach in the way we pray. As Conservative Jews, we ought to be mindful of Jewish traditions that govern liturgy and ritual while considering contemporary approaches to making prayer more accessible. In addition, we should avail ourselves of opportunities to pray with people of other faiths.
     On Monday, November 23 at 7:30 pm, we will participate in the Annual Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, this year being held at Temple Isaiah. Often when I participate in interfaith worship, it helps me appreciate the power of prayer which, in turn, affects the way I relate to Jewish prayer. Prayer can underscore our uniqueness as well as our shared humanity, if we navigate creatively between lenses.
     The optometrist will often ask which lens provides clearer vision, number one or number two. Sometimes the answer is in between. The survival and excellence of Judaism in the 21st century will require us to get used to a progressive lens.

God Loves
October 22, 2009
     Several meetings were called by Town Supervisor Jon Kaiman to plan an appropriate reaction to the last month’s anticipated arrival of representatives from the Westboro Baptist Church. Great Neck North High School planned strategic and programmatic responses. Several rabbis, including me, crafted a letter to members of our respective congregations. All preparatory discussion led to the same conclusion and action plan, namely a call to the community to avoid any confrontation with members of this manipulative, hate-pedaling group.
     The Friday between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur arrived and a small delegation from the group stood for approximately half an hour on the corner of Middle Neck and Old Mill. Some who were present reported that there were teens and adults standing on the opposite corner, singing Jewish songs and denouncing the group’s members.
     While this took place, about forty people welcomed Shabbat at Temple Israel, in the usual place at the usual time. At the end of the service, I said a few words about our response to the group. I said that while it made sense not to engage the group at this time, since they thrive on such engagement, we are duty-bound to respond to the overall message of the group in two ways.
     First, we need to support organizations that denounce hatred and teach tolerance. We are fortunate to have in our community an institution devoted precisely to these tasks. The Holocaust Memorial and Tolerance Center of Nassau County is devoted to teaching about the Holocaust with an emphasis on the danger of intolerance. The Center brings tolerance workshops into schools, making sure that this issue hits home in the real lives of students.
     The 17th Annual Tribute Dinner, at which our own Howard Weitzman will be among the honorees, is going to take place November 17. I encourage everyone to attend the dinner and to support the valuable work of this organization.
     There’s a second response I believe we need to put forth to counter the vitriol of groups like this. Many of the signs they hold at their demonstrations feature statements that begin with the words “God hates” and end with a particular group of people. For every sentence they begin with the words “God hates,” we need to start sentences with the words “God loves.”
     Granted, anyone can use the Bible to find evidence of God’s anger or judgment. Moreover, I’ve never met God (nor, I suspect, have the haters). But I prefer to emphasize God’s love for humanity, expressed in texts like the Psalmist’s refrain, kee l’olam chasdo. God’s love is forever.
     I want us to let the world know that we believe that God loves everyone regardless of religion, sexual orientation or color and that we are bidden to do the same. If I didn’t believe that, I couldn’t be a practicing Jew for more than five minutes. I hope others feel the same way.
     Hopefully, this group will stop their “hate tours” entirely and therefore never come back to Great Neck. If they do come back, however, or if a similar group comes around, I propose that we hold up hundreds of signs that say, simply, “God loves.” Kee l’olam chasdo.
     And whether or not they reappear, I hope we’ll live every day with the understanding, deep in our bones, that each one of us is an emissary of that love.

Think Twice
September 24, 2009
     Freedom of speech is a critical right, but people can sometimes be a little too free with their speech. Lately, it seems that not a day goes by without someone saying things that are beyond acceptable bounds. The president is told, “you lie” by a congressman, a breach of etiquette recognized on both sides of the aisle. A tennis player tells off a judge so graphically that it requires multiple “bleeps” to show it on TV.
     Sometimes we think it’s better if we don’t actually say the words, so we write them in an email. Then we’re reminded, when a person references it subsequently, that writing an email is a form of publishing. I think “reply all” in particular is becoming the scourge of our generation. I’ve seen friendships flounder as a result of messages sent to numerous individuals without proper reflection.
     People have always spoken rashly, which is why many cultures have valued silence or, at the very least, careful consideration before speaking. Rabbi Israel Salanter said the following about himself: “Very little of what I think do I say. Very little of what I say do I write. Very little of what I write do I publish.” When we write an email, we leapfrog from thinking straight to publishing, sometimes without adequate deliberation. Speaking in front of the television camera has a similar effect.
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