Hineni - "Here I am!" - Rosh Hashanah Morning 5783

Thirty-six years ago, on a Rosh Hashanah morning similar to this one, a small group of families assembled at the Masonic Temple on Eutaw Place[i] to welcome the New Year for the very first time. The congregation didn’t yet have a building of their own, but as they gathered, prayed, and celebrated those first High Holy Days, they dreamed about the synagogue they one would day become.

 

Almost a year later, in the summer of 1987, Marvin Steinberg, the second president of the newly named Bolton Street Synagogue, asked in the second issue of the newly named Chavarim,[ii] four questions, or as he called them in Yiddish, the fier kashes:

·        Where will we be this time next year?

·        How many members will we have?

·        What will we be doing?

·        Most important, what will we be?

As Mike Green, our resident historian,[iii] shared recently: “It’s the Fourth Question that seemed to have defined us for the past 36 years.”  That question: “What will we be?” is central to our identity as a synagogue.  It is my belief, that this question can only be answered, when all of us stand up, when all of our voices are heard, when all feel called to act!

 

One who felt called to act, was a shepherd who lived long ago! [iv]  That shepherd was tending his sheep, minding his own business, when across the way he saw that a fire had sprung upon an old bush.  The shepherd ran over to put out the fire, when he heard his name reverberate across the hills, “Moses, Moses.” To which he uttered one of the most powerful phrases in our entire Torah: “Hineni.  Here I am.”  Moses was called to serve his people; to take them out of Egypt.  It was his time to stand up and act. 

Now, it's hard to translate Hineni into English.[v]  Hineni is not being physically present.  That is Ani Po, “I am here,” a phrase often uttered during attendance taking at religious school.  Hineni means much more: “I am mentally, spiritually, and emotionally present.” Hineni is significinat because it only occurs 14 times in the entire Jewish Bible.  Hineni isn’t a flippant answer, it means “Here I am, ready to serve”

 

Our synagogue’s foundation is built upon Hineni.  We would not be here today if our founders, many of whom are in this room, did not stand up and proudly proclaim, Hineni, “Here I am.”  From our very beginning, Bolton Street Synagogue was all about sweat equity.  We are who we are today because members of our congregation stepped up and did their part to help us flourish. 

At our founding, we had no religious school.  Cathy Lyman Fox, Donna Speer, and of course Mike Green, answered the call to create our very first classes, Aleph Blue and Aleph White.  Dozens of you, then and now, Jewish and non-Jewish, adults and teens, experienced teachers and those who had never entered a classroom before, heard the call to teach our kids.  You proclaimed: “Hineni, Here I am.”

 

In our early years, services were often led by members of the congregation.  Someone like, Mark Giuliano, who has joined us monthly for years playing piano, guitar, and banjo, adding so much joy to our services.  There so many of you, then and now: who lend your voices, play your instruments, lead our services, or give divrei Torah.  You proclaim, “Hineni, Here I am.”   

 

We could name dozens of others who pitched in with their time, energy, and talents.  I can’t name you all or we would be here for an hour!  For thirty-six years, you proudly stated: “Hineni. Here I am.”  We are better for it, we are stronger for it, because of each one of you!

 

As you can imagine, Hineni isn’t always easy.  And some of our Biblical examples are down right challenging.  Take the most famous, the first utterance of Hineni.  God calls Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac and Abraham answers, “Hineni, Here I am!”  Like me, you are probably angered by a God who would ask a parent to sacrifice their child.  You might also be dismayed by Abraham’s actions or inactions.  So lets look at this story differently, through a modern midrash told by Rabbis Rachel Bearman and Paul Kipnes.  This story is told through Sarah’s eyes:[vi]

“My heart began to pound as I realized Abraham had misunderstood.  God was commanding an offering to help transit leadership to Isaac.  A sacrifice of the finest of our flocks was called for, not a sacrifice of Isaac…

 

I hoped Abraham would figure it out himself.  But in case he did not, I had to intervene.  So I went back to bed and with my eyes closed, I planned my next step.

 

Abraham got up early, gathered his supplies, and took off with Isaac.  He didn’t even try to wake me.  No explanations; not even a kiss goodbye.

 

As soon as they were gone, I gathered my supplies and took our finest ram.  I followed carefully, hiding in the shadows.  At dawn on the third day, as they slept, I hurried up the mountain, releasing the ram into the bushes.

 

The rest happened so quickly.  Abraham was holding the knife, about to sacrifice Isaac.  He seemed to be in a trance.  So in my voice that he often called ‘angelic,’ I called out, ‘Abraham, Abraham.’

 

That broke the trance.  Realizing what he was about to do, he dropped the knife.  He looked up, saw the ram that I brought for him to sacrifice instead, and stepped toward it.”

Sarah takes matters into her own hands.  She recognizes quickly that Abraham has made a terrible mistake, misunderstanding God’s command.  What moves me is the interplay between Sarah and Abraham.  What we miss in this modern retelling is Abraham’s response.  When Sarah calls out in her angelic voice, it is Abraham who responds to her with: “Hineni, here I am!”  That is the power of relationship.  Abraham hears Sarah.  It is her voice that helps him change direction.  It is Sarah who awakens him to act!

 

For Hineni centers on relationship.  We answer Hineni when our family, our loved ones, our friends, and community call out in need.  When we are in deep relationship, we answer Hineni.  When we can make an impact on the people and community that surrounds us, we answer Hineni, Here I am!

And yet, living through this pandemic has been so challenging.  We’ve seen how difficult it is to connect and to reconnect!  So many of us feel separated from community. Perhaps you’ve run-into a member of the synagogue and realized that you haven’t seen each other in months?  Maybe you came regularly for services, study, or volunteering, but now with covid, you don’t enter the building in the same way.  You once knew how to get involved, how to share your talents, but now you might feel unsure.  Maybe you joined our community during the pandemic and are still figuring out what it means to say, Hineni!

This summer, in response to these questions, we launched Gesher – the Bridges Project.  Fifteen members of our congregation said Hineni and stepped up to become Bridge Builders.  They have begun to reach out to new members and older members for a one-on-one conversation.  Perhaps you’ve already gotten together over a cup of coffee, or a walk in the park?  We know how busy we all are, how much we have on our plates, and it might be a stranger who reaches out, but we hope that you will answer Hineni to that invitation.  These conversations, hopefully dozens this year, are not and I repeat are not, to pressure you to join a committee!  Gesher is about building relationship, learning about one another, creating connections, and together to answer Marvin Steinberg’s most important question: “What will we be?”

 

For we Jews, know what it’s like to live through some difficult times.  Some 2,500 years ago, the country of Judea was defeated by the Babylonians.  The society was decimated, the Temple destroyed.  It was at this moment, at the lowest of the low, that the Holy One shared these words with our ancestors: “I responded to those who did not ask, I was at hand to those who did not seek Me; I said, ‘Hineni, Hineni,’ ‘Here I am, Here I am,’ to a nation that did not invoke my name.”[vii]

Our people were fragile, worried, pessimistic.  They didn’t know where to turn or what to do, and yet the Holy One who reached out.  That’s what so powerful about these words.  Twice God answered “Here I am, Here I am” to a question that was never asked.

 

Now, I’m not asking you to be God.  I am asking you to emulate this act of courage.  It’s hard to stand up.  It’s difficult to put ourselves out there!    Too often we wait to be called. Too often we wait to be asked.  This passage from Isaiah asks, no demands, that we step-up through our own volition.  Don’t wait to be asked, share your self, your passions, your skills, your talents! 

 

For we are a congregation that stands up and helps.  Dinah Winnick recently shared that once without being asked she brought a homemade challah to the oneg and dropped it off in the social hall prior to services.  Afterwards, she was dismayed to see another challah on the table, until she realized proudly that it was her challah that was being eaten!  To all of you who provide your gifts without being asked, you too proclaim: “Hineni, Here I am”

From the very beginning, we hve striven to do the work of Tikkun Olam, repair of the world.  I think of the fierce passion of so many of us, then and now, who work to provide food for the hungry, a home for the homeless, who tirelessly spend your energy fighting for racial justice or Marriage equality, who without being asked stepped up to advocate for a better world.  You proclaim: “Hineni, Here I am.”  

Thirty-six years ago, a small group of families gathered for our very first Rosh Hashanah service.  They dreamed about the congregation they hoped to become!  This dream continues to become a reality because so many answered, then and now, “Hineni, Here I am!”

Just as our founders were called, just as year after year, decade after decade, each member of Bolton Street Synagogue was called, so too today, on this New Year, are each of us called.  Perhaps you are called by God, perhaps you are called by tradition, perhaps you are called by guilt, but hopefully you are called by this community, and by the still small voice that is found deep within your own soul.  As you are called, may you answer that deeply powerful word: “Hineni, Here I am!”

We know that it’s not easy.  We know that we are tired, busy, and scared.  We know that life today is different than it was before.  And yet, we need you, each one of you, young and old, new member, and old member, to stand up and once again say Hineni.  We need you to share yourself, to share your passions, to share your presence, and to volunteer.  We need you to answer Marvin Steinberg’s most important question: “What will we be?”  Don’t wait to be asked, don’t wait to be called.  It is time for all of us to say, “Hineni, Hineni, Here I am, here I am!” 

 

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[i] I’m in much gratitude to Michael Green, Ken Karpay, Sharon Krevor-Weisbaum, and Elaine Richman for sharing their memories about the founding of Bolton Street Synagogue and our first Rosh Hashanah

[ii] “Message by the President” by Marvin Steinberg, Chavarim July-August 1987, ed. Elaine Richman

[iii] Chavarim January – February 2022

[iv] Exodus 3:1-15

[v] I’m in much gratitude to Rabbi Norman J. Cohen, my teacher and mentor, for his reflections found in his book, Hineini in Our Lives

[vi] https://www.midrashicmonologues.com/post/where-was-sarah-during-the-akedah (Based Upon Genesis 20)

[vii] Isaiah 65:1-2

Hold the Torah Close - Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5783

 

Shana Tova!  As has become our tradition, I’d like to begin these High Holy Days with a story as told by Rabbi Edward Feinstein with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago, there was a city with two synagogues.[i]  The first synagogue was gigantic, a gorgeous Moorish building of beautiful granite with very large windows.  Most breathtaking was the Ark.  Two magnificent gold covered doors sparkled in the sunlight.  Inside that Ark were two dozen Torah scrolls covered with the finest blue velvet.  And they were crowned with silver breastplates and ornaments that would befit royalty.  The building was lavish, yet there was a problem.  There were no people.  No one came for services.  No one gathered for Torah study.  No children frolicked in the classrooms.  Not a soul descended upon that stately building, except for the rabbi.

Each Shabbat, the rabbi would enter the sanctuary, open the Ark doors, peer inside, and make sure everything was where it should be.  And then, the rabbi would gaze at the empty sanctuary and quietly whisper, to no one at all, Shabbat Shalom.

The other synagogue was the complete opposite.  Across town sat a small, old, decrepit building.  It was dark and dank.  The roof was always leaking.  It was too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter.  No one would call that building beautiful.  But, unlike that shul across town, this synagogue was filled with people.  The sanctuary was overflowing during services.  Standing room only during Torah study.  A swarm of children in the religious school.  The community felt real devotion to each other and to the Torah.

Yet, there was a major problem.  The congregation could not afford a Torah scroll.  They were embarrassed that they didn’t possess the needed funds to purchase a scroll of their own. Instead, they created a fake Torah scroll of two wooden dowels with a small piece of parchment in between.  It was kept in a very small threadbare ark.

No one, and I mean no one, loved Torah more than this congregation.   Each Shabbat, the fake scroll would be pulled out and an older congregant who was almost blind would read from memory the words of that week’s portion.  Afterwards, the community would debate!  They would discuss every word of Torah and make relevant connections to their lives.  Torah was their essence!

As happened every week, the rabbi of the large synagogue entered the sanctuary one Shabbat morning and heard a noise coming from the Ark.  “Oy!” said the rabbi.  “Is it a mouse?  Or a snake?”  The rabbi slightly cracked open the Ark doors and was thrown backwards.  Out of the Ark poured letters, thousands of letters.  Alephs and Bets, Gimmels and Dalets, even Shins and Tavs.  The letters began to line up like Army troops ready for battle.  A very large Aleph commanded the other letters!  “Left, right, left right, left…” The letters of the Torah began marching out of the Sanctuary!

“What’s happening?  Wait, STOP!!!”  The letters of the Torah turned back towards the Rabbi.  “Why are you leaving?  We’ve given you everything!  We made sure you were protected in the Ark.” 

“Yes,” said the Aleph. “You protected us.  But rabbi only YOU did!  There are no people here.  No one reads our words.  No one grapples with our text.  No one dances with us.”   

“Rabbi, you locked us away in that Ark.  We aren’t meant to be locked away. We are meant to be studied. We need a community that will love us!  

“Don’t leave us!”

“Rabbi, your community left us a long time ago!”

The letters turned and marched out of that large, beautiful synagogue.

The last letter, a little Tav, beckoned the rabbi to follow, and so the rabbi did.

Across town, the small, little synagogue, was just finishing the Torah service.  As the older congregant lifted the Torah scroll, the doors of the sanctuary burst open!  Thousands upon thousands of letters spewed into the synagogue and jumped into the fake Torah scroll.

The older congregant felt that something was different.  “It’s a miracle, our Torah is real!”

The congregant scooped up the scroll and held it close.  Then the congregation started singing and dancing with the Torah.  They were filled with such joy!

“STOP!  STOP!”  The entire community turned towards the rabbi.  “This, this is too much!  First the letters fly out of the ark, then they march down the street, and now, this!  You have stolen my Torah scrolls!”

“Rabbi, look around!  Look at this community and how much they love Torah!”  And so, the rabbi looked around and things looked strangely familiar.  The rabbi remembered, long ago, when the big congregation was overflowing with people!  As a young rabbi, the community would gather to listen closely as the Torah was read, grapple with its teachings, and seemingly dissect its every word.  Each Shabbat, young and old once danced with the Torah!  What happened?  Where did the people go?  When did Torah get locked away? 

The old congregant placed the Torah in the rabbi’s arms.  It had been a long time since the rabbi held the Torah close.  And it felt right.  The Torah needed to live and to be loved!  And so the rabbi, filled with joy, began to dance and so did the congregation.

The following Shabbat, the congregation arrived to see the rabbi sitting in the center of the front row.  The rabbi listened diligently to every word of the Torah reading and participated during the rich discussion that followed.  And when it was time for someone to lift the Torah scroll, the congregation called upon their new rabbi.  The Torah was lifted and then the rabbi and the congregation began to dance and held the Torah close! 

This evening, we as a congregation welcome the New Year for the 36^th time!  It was thirty-six years ago, that our little shul, Bolton Street Synagogue, was founded.  Our congregation’s first building was in so many ways, like that little synagogue in this story.  The building was dark, damp, too hot or too cold, yet it was filled with people who needed and yearned for community.  And like that small shul, we too didn’t have a Torah scroll of our own.

It was Wally Orlinsky, past president of Bolton Street Synagogue, who helped us acquire our first Torah scroll.  That Torah scroll came from Europe.  It was once lovingly read and cared for by a synagogue in Czechoslovakia.  It was the Nazis who forcibly took this Torah scroll and thousands of others, boxed them up, and transported them to 40 warehouses in Prague.  The Nazis wished to create a Museum of an Extinct Race.  After the war, Holocaust Scroll #605 was rescued and later provided to us as our first Torah scroll.  Its words are badly damaged that we are unable to read this scroll during services.  And yet, at every Bar, Bat, or B’nai Mitzvah we share this story.  We ask our young people to proudly carry this Torah, reminding us of l’dor va’dor, from generation to generation.

And yet, how often does the Torah seem locked away behind the Ark doors?  The Torah might seem inaccessible, an innate object removed from your daily lives. The Torah might be lovingly cared for by me, your rabbi, but seem out of reach for most of you.  How often do you get to pick up the Torah, look at its words, let alone dance with it?

Torah is not easy.  Its words are centuries old written by people who lived in a very different time from our own.  Torah can seem patriarchal, xenophobic, violent, and its focus is on a God which we might or might not believe in.  Perhaps you feel that the Torah is irrelevant or so far out of reach from your own life.

As a rabbi, that breaks my heart.  Jewish tradition believes Torah is everything.  The mitzvah to study Torah is so important that it is considered equal to every one of the other commandments.  The Talmud teaches that a synagogue (a place of prayer) can be destroyed in order to build a beit midrash (a place of study).  The Torah provides us with a link to our past and a path to our future.

Torah must be our own.  We are taught that our generation stands upon the shoulders of the giants who came before us.  These students and teachers provided us with the foundation, but we stand on top.  Our opinions, our interpretations, are equal to theirs.  We must grapple with Torah, question Torah, and add our perspective of Torah, just as they did.

Thirty-six years ago, our founders birthed a new synagogue centered on community, justice, and Torah.  Thirty-four years ago, we acquired our first Torah scroll, reminding us of both the connection to our dark past and the journey towards the future.  Today, we have a choice: to keep Torah locked away behind the Ark doors, locked away from our hearts and minds or to commit to Torah: to learn Torah, to teach Torah, to question Torah, to love Torah.  This year: sing and dance with us on Friday evenings.  Study Torah during services.   Join us for Simchat Torah to see the Torah up close.  Grapple with its words on Saturday mornings as part of Taking Hold of Torah.  Read a book, take a class, delve into the sea of Torah!  For Torah must not be locked away.  It must live in each one of us.

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[i] This story is my own interpretation based upon two versions of this tale, “Lifting the Torah” as retold by Rabbi Edward M Feinstein in his book Capturing the Moon and a sermon written by Rabbi Jason Rosenberg “Dancing with Holiness”

Yom Kippur Sermon: Don't Give Up Hope on Israel

One of the first lessons you learn as a rabbi is that there’s a third rail in Judaism: “It’s called Israel!”  My fellow rabbis like to joke that no good comes from speaking about Israel on the bima.  No matter what you say, everyone will be angry!  Those on the right and the left will give you menacing stares, write angry e-mails, and you’ll rub everyone the wrong way.  Oh, and you’ll get fired!  Lovely!  So here we go…

With all this uproar and anger, why would I wade into this conversation?  Wouldn’t it be better to talk about something, anything, else?  Alas, I MUST speak about Israel.  Israel has been on my mind.  I’ve heard from many of you about your own worries around Israel.  I too have struggled with recent news.

 

I’d like to start this conversation by describing my own experience with Israel: my love of Israel, but also my current questions.  I hope that by sharing my story, it will help you think about your own personal connection to Israel! 

Israel has been a part of my life, since the very beginning.  Literally, one of my first memories is connected to Israel.  When I was five years old, I remember distinctly making my first Israeli flag at Sunday School.  Blue and White construction paper were cut out and pasted together to form the Magen David (the Jewish Star).  We waved these flags as we sat down on our “El-Al” plane with a mock passport in hand.

Eight year later, I journeyed to Israel for the first time for my Bar Mitzvah.  I remember standing stoically at the Kotel, the Western Wall, alongside my parents and grandparents.  I watched as my grandfather got teary eyed when he spotted Gordon Street written in Hebrew letters.

As soon as I came home, I knew I would be back!  This time for longer.  A semester at Hebrew University in Jerusalem and later my entire first year of rabbinical school.   That year and a half in the Holy Land allowed me to experience Jewish time.  I watched as everyone scurried on Fridays to get home in time for Shabbat dinner.  I was in awe as the streets emptied during Yom Kippur or when each family placed a lit Menorah in their window during Hanukkah. 

Many Friday evenings, I traveled to Kol HaNeshama, one of the Reform synagogues in Jerusalem, praying with Israelis and singing familiar songs.  I met friends who became future Israeli Reform Rabbis.  I was honored to watch these pioneers create a vibrant Liberal Judaism in Israel.

I love Israel.  I love the history and connection to our past.  I love the diversity of Israel, the smells and the sounds: the ringing of the church bells, the call of Muslim prayer, the davening that wafts through the windows of the synagogue.  I love the brashness of the no-nonsense Israeli.  I love the can-do attitude and the hope for a better tomorrow.

Yet, recently, that love has turned to confusion.  The news coming out of Israel has been challenging and at times infuriating.  Not long ago, Rabbi Dov Haiyun, a Conservative Rabbi from Haifa, was awoken in the early morning hours as the police arrested him and detained him. The crime?  Illegally officiating at a Jewish wedding.  Liberal rabbis have officiated at weddings for secular Israelis, Russian Jews, and same-sex couples, even when they were not recognized by the State or the Chief Rabbinate.  This was the first time that a rabbi was arrested for performing a wedding, punishing my liberal colleagues and using this as a scare tactic.

Not long after, the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, voted in favor of the Nation-State Law.  This law focuses exclusively on Israel’s Jewish character, superseding the values of pluralism, democracy, and freedom that were at the heart of Israel’s Declaration of Independence.  There are already repercussions. After seventy years, Arabic is no longer an official language of the state.  The Druze, a small non-Jewish sect, which is deeply loyal to Israel and serves bravely in the army, now feels betrayed.  This is a blow to all who care deeply about both Israel’s Democratic and Jewish values.

At the same time, the Knesset passed a bill, making surrogacy legal for straight couples, but illegal for LGBTQ families.   And then there is the never-ending occupation; the fighting in Gaza; and the pessimism that Israel and the Palestinians will never achieve peace.

I’m saddened by this news.  The Israel I care about is under attack.  I shudder to hear stories of those who are mocked, treated unfairly, and arrested for living their Judaism.  I am hurt that Brian and I would be unable to build a loving Jewish family in Israel, the Jewish State, solely because we are gay.  I’m troubled that the values I hold most dear: democracy, egalitarianism, respect for all citizens, pluralism, diversity, and justice are now under siege.  I love Israel with all my heart, yet it’s hard to love when the values I care most about are trampled upon.

If it makes you feel a little bit better, and it makes me feel better, this is not a new problem.  This is an age old problem.  We Jews have constantly argued with one another.  For millennia, there has been a battle for the very soul of Judaism, the soul of Israel. 

Long ago, the prophet Zechariah lived in the sixth century BCE, just as the Jewish community was returning home to Israel.  After seventy years of exile in Babylonia, the Jewish community began to rebuild what had been destroyed.

A question was asked: “What should a rebuilt Israel look like?  What should be the vision of our new country?”  In Babylonia, the people had mourned for the destruction of their Land and their Temple by fasting and weeping.  Now that they returned home, should they continue these Jewish practices? 

Zechariah replied with a sharp answer: You are asking the wrong question!  It’s not about fasting or lamenting or focusing solely on the Jewish rituals of the past, “No, this is what Adonai says, execute true justice, deal loyally and compassionately with one another.  Do not defraud the widow, the orphan, the stranger, and the poor; and do not plot evil against one another” …. “These are the things you are to do: Speak the truth to one another, render true and perfect justice in your gates.[i]”

Those who returned from Babylonia stressed Israel’s Jewish identity above all else.  Zechariah disagreed staunchly with this assessment and shared a distinct moral vision for the country.  A rebuilt Israel must also embrace justice, decency, and compassion.  Israel must become a beacon of morality, a light to the nations.  The battle of Zechariah’s day was over the essence of Israel’s character.  That is our battle today.

We might not hear about it, but Zechariah’s vision is alive and well in Israel!  Unfortunately, the attention given by our news sources, tv and print, focuses only on the negative as well as the rise of Israel’s right.  There is another side!  Did you know that weeks ago over 100,000 Israelis gathered in Tel Aviv in support of Gay rights and in opposition of the new surrogacy law?  Did you know that 22,000 people gathered at the Pride Parade in Jerusalem?  These are huge numbers for Israel.  That would be more than 4 million people protesting in Washington or almost a million people marching at a Pride Parade in Baltimore.

Close to my heart, is my friend, Rabbi Tamara Shifrin, who leads Achavat Yisrael a Reform Congregation in Rishon Le’Tzion.  The congregation has been around for seventeen years and has grown and flourished under Rabbi Shifrin’s leadership.  A few months ago, Garin Torani, an Orthodox Community attempted to take over her synagogue building.  Luckily, she and her congregation didn’t back down and received support from the municipality.  All is well, yet she’s worried about the future.  I’m proud that she recently joined an organization called Elifelet that supports Refugee Children in Israel.

And there is Woman of the Wall, a group of Jewish Women who gather each month at the Kotel donned with kippot and tallasim to pray and dance with the Torah.  They are spit on, drowned out with blare horns, and have been arrested for “not keeping the peace” solely because they are expressing their right as women to join in prayer and read from the Torah.  For thirty years, each month, they have gathered and they won’t stop until there is equality for all!

And most impressive is our Reform Movement in Israel, especially the Israel Religious Action Center (IRAC), which fights against discrimination and abuse in all facets of Israeli Society.  When an extremist group created a job website that only allowed Jewish employers and Jewish job seekers access, IRAC joined with the Mossawa Center and filed a lawsuit that later won in court!  At cross examination, Anat Hoffman, the Director of IRAC was asked: “Why does the Reform Movement care if we discriminate against Arabs?  Isn’t your focus on providing services to Reform Jews.”  Her answer: “We are committed to equality as a religious value.  It is as important to our movement as religious services on Yom Kippur.”

I know the news coming out of Israel is upsetting.  It sometimes feels easier to walk away.  And many in our community have done just that.  More and more liberal Jews feel that the Israel of their youth is no longer the Israel of today.  They feel lied to, betrayed by the Jewish Community for not telling the full story.  They’re angry, sometimes and often rightly so, but that anger causes them to leave Israel behind.

And there are those who close their eyes to Israel’s mistakes.  Sometimes it’s easier to put on blinders and ignore the challenges.  We love Israel, yet, in that undevoted love, we fail to call out Israel’s warts.  Like our country, Israel is not perfect.  Israel must be reminded that she has a duty to support all Jews and all her citizens.

I have felt both these reactions, sometimes too often.  There are times when I just want to walk away.  I want to say enough is enough.  There are other times, when I want to defend the indefensible and hide all of Israel’s problems.  But neither of these reactions is helpful.  It doesn’t further my relationship with Israel and I believe won’t change anything at all.

Rather than walking away, we can effect change!  There are millions of Israelis who care about the values of democracy, equality, pluralism, and peace.  There is a growing Reform Jewish community that just ordained it’s 100^th rabbi this past year.  New synagogues are sprouting up and more Israelis are entering these communities for weddings and B’nai Mitzvah!  There are organizations such as the Israel Religious Action Center, the Israeli Movement for Progressive Judaism, Women of the Wall, the New Israel Fund, T’ruah, B’tzelem, and dozens of others that fight for progressive Jewish values and equality for all.

Our Israeli brethren need our support!  Recently, Rabbi Shifrin reminded me (once again!) that she needs us.  Israelis who fight for justice and equality, who care about peace and pluralism need to know that we are by their side and that we stand with them in support of this vision.

So here’s what you can do, if may be small, but it will make a difference: Travel to Israel!  And when you do, visit a Reform Congregation.  Add Progressive Israeli organizations as part of your annual giving.  Stay informed.  Write to the Israeli Embassy and sign petitions when you are upset.  Get involved in organizations that work for peace.  Stand with our allies in Israel!  Don’t walk away.  Don’t give us hope. 

As the prophet Zechariah teaches: “the fast will become an occasion for joy and gladness, but only if you love honesty and integrity.”  On this fast day, on this Yom Kippur, may our actions bring about joy and gladness in Israel.  May we help build an Israel that is overflowing with justice and mercy, honesty and integrity, an Israel that celebrates all Jewish heritage and the heritage of all her peoples.  And let us say, Amen.

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[i] Zechariah 7:3, 9-10 and 8:16

Kol Nidre Sermon: The Teshuvah of #MeToo

It was a few weeks[i] after the Inauguration, in early February 2017, when a good friend, a rabbinical school classmate, shared a picture on the Rabbis Facebook Group.  There stood a cartoon woman stood in a pink pants suit with her back to us.  Surrounding here were dozens of comment bubbles, such as: “Your clothing is distracting the boys,” “That’s a man’s job,” “She was asking for it,” “Aren’t you cute.”  At the bottom of the picture were the words: “Nevertheless She Persisted.”  My friend posed this question: “Woman Rabbi Edition.  What true comments have you experienced?”  With that introduction, there was an outpouring from my fellow rabbis.  1,000 comments in a little over two days, mostly by rabbis who happen to be women.  Here were a couple that rattled me to my core:

 “Great legs, Rabbi” 

 “I’m sorry, but do you know a male rabbi who can do the wedding?  We’d just prefer a male rabbi.  It’s nothing personal.” 

 “Calm down Rabbi, you’re getting emotional”

 “Are you the rabbi’s secretary?”

“If my rabbi growing up looked like you, I would have gone to synagogue much more often.” 

“There just isn’t any more money in the budget.  Can’t your husband earn more?” 

“Honey, Sweetheart, Sugar, Baby.”

 “You don’t look like a rabbi.”

These are my colleagues and friends.  To hear such demeaning, ugly, and hurtful comments about their bodies and their gender was deeply upsetting.  We went through the same rabbinic training together.  They are bright, thoughtful, and charismatic leaders.  Yet, the truth is, my rabbinic colleagues still face discrimination and disrespect solely because they are women.  Even in our Reform Movement, rabbis who are women are paid significantly less than their male counterparts. 

And we know, this is just the tip of the iceberg.  This past year, every #MeToo has left me struggling and upset.  And it continues, in the news this week!  I’ve been shaken by the many stories of trauma: of psychological and physical abuse.  Too many in our community have experienced uncomfortable words, inappropriate touching, and unwanted glances. 

During Yom Kippur, the prayer leader, the Cantor or Rabbi, stands before the community and shares a personal confession called the Hin’ni.  This prayer is an admission of inadequacy of self-doubt in the face of the daunting responsibility of leading the community. Tomorrow, I’ll recite these words: “Hin’ni.  Here I am.  So poor in deeds, I tremble in fear, overwhelmed and apprehensive.  Although unworthy, I rise and seek favor, for my community had entrusted me in this task…  Accept my prayer as though it were offered by one more worthy of this task.”

Tonight, I offer my own Hin’ni.  Here I am.  I recognize that I am a man.  As a man, I have privilege and power.  Hin’ni.  Here I am.  Who am I to give this sermon?  I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman.  I don’t know what it’s like to be silenced or face discrimination because of my gender. 

Hin’ni.  Here I am.  I am nervous.  I may say the wrong thing.  I might offend.  I might stir up an emotion or trigger a past experience.  Nervous as I am, I ask for your forgiveness.  If I say the wrong thing, I ask for your willingness to teach me.  I believe that the alternative is to say nothing at all.  And if there’s one thing that I have learned from my colleagues, is that even I, especially I, as a man, must not stay silent. 

Hin’ni. Here I stand, I am called to give voice to our transgressions of humiliation and abuse.  For #MeToo is everywhere, including our wider Jewish Community.  Yes, men of every nationality, background, and religion have made the headlines, but there is a surprising number of stories reported about Jewish men. [ii]  We know about Harvey Weinstein. The list also includes the likes of Al Franken, Dustin Hoffman, Mark Halperin, Woody Allen, Israel Horowitz, Brett Ratner, and Anthony Weiner.  We’ve seen major figures in our Jewish Community from Professor Steven M. Cohen of the Hebrew Union College, Israeli Activist Ari Shavit, to local rabbis in both Baltimore and Washington who have faced accusations.  That is a lot of Jewish men with some serious accusations.

Those who are guilty must repent for their sins.  They must seek forgiveness and change their ways.  Yet, there is something deeper going on in our society.  As the famous Kabbalist, Rabbi Isaac Luria teaches: “The people of Israel may be likened to a body of which every Jew is a living part.  The vitality of the whole depends upon the health of every organ and limb.  That is how deeply we are connected to one another.  Each individual sin inflicts damage on the entire body.  All of us share in the responsibility of healing the body of Israel”[iii]

The transgressions of humiliation and abuse are a poison upon our society.  These sins don’t just affect one person, they affect us all.  We are all deeply intertwined with each other.  It’s not enough for us to point fingers at those who have been accused and blame them.  It’s not enough for us to wipe our hands clean.  Each of us, in some way is responsible for allowing these horrible actions to continue, with little repercussions at all. 

Or to put it differently, there’s the story of my colleague and rabbinic school classmate, Rabbi Leah Berkowitz, who a few months ago attended a Jewish Federation Gala.  The comedian that evening signaled her out publicly.  Here’s her account and her response to him: [iv]

“’Are there any female rabbis in the room?’

This isn’t like when you ask if anyone is from Cleveland. Everyone in that room knew who I was. It was just me. In a brightly colored dress. Dead center.

If I had chosen to not raise my hand—like I could have done in a comedy club—any number of people would have ‘outed’ me. So I raised my hand.

‘You’re a rabbi?’ you asked. I nodded. ‘Well that’s great! I support that!’ Great, I thought. The comedian supports my professional ambitions.

But you didn’t stop there. You gave me the once-over. ‘Wow, you’re really pretty,’ you said. ‘Are you married?’

‘No, I am not.’ I smiled through gritted teeth. You couldn’t read my body language, but I was shooting daggers at you with my eyes. I didn’t like where this was going.

‘Oh,’ you said. ‘Maybe I’ll divorce my shiksa wife and marry you!’

Some people laughed. Later some people told me they were offended and wanted to write an angry letter. One of my congregants—the one being honored—told me he nearly stood up and shouted, ‘Leave her alone!’ But he didn’t. We all just sat there.”

We know how easy it is to laugh it off, ignore what’s happening, or to just sit there stone faced.  We know the repercussions of remaining silent.  Nothing will change unless we stand up against misogyny and any inappropriate behavior. 

Even the litany of sins that we recite during Yom Kippur are expressed in the plural.  We don’t say: “I sinned, I transgressed.”  No, we say: “We sinned, we transgressed.”  Later tonight, we’ll chant these sins together: “We betray.  We steal.  We scorn.  We act perversely.”  Reciting in the plural reminds us that all of us are culpable, all responsible for the sins of society.

Tonight, I recite a confessional for the sins of #MeToo.  Here is a new litany of sins written by Rabbi Mary L. Zamore:[v]

“Al Cheit Shechatanu, for the sin we have committed before You…

By not believing the victims

By being silent while women were bullied, harassed or undermined

By claiming to be ready to listen when we were not

By claiming equality exists for all

By not supporting the victims

By accepting the sexist comments made every day

By blaming the victims

By explaining away harassment

By promising change and not fulfilling this promise

Al Cheit Shechatanu…

For the sin we have committed before You, we ask forgiveness.”

It seems that only now are we acknowledging that there is a problem.  We have a long way to go.  We all share responsibility for these sins, but those of us who are men, myself included, have a particular role in this.  Men have influence over other men.  What are we as men doing to address this?  Are we laughing at the sexist jokes or saying that it’s not ok?  Are we speaking out when we see bad behavior?  Are we being exemplars for our sons and grandsons?  Are we recognizing our mistakes and apologizing for our behavior?  Are we always acting like mensches? 

Rabbi Rachel Bregman reminds us that sexual violence thrives when power is unevenly distributed.  As she writes: “Ultimately, #MeToo is a call to fix a deep wound that is a symptom of a much larger systemic disease: Men have privilege, and the power that comes with it.”[vi]

Our Jewish tradition is based upon centuries of cultural norms and Jewish practice that describe specific gender roles in Jewish life.  It’s time for us to reflect upon the gendered Judaism we have inherited.  Even as a liberal community, we must continue to expand the roles and responsibility of leading our community, to make sure that all of us share privilege and power.    It’s easy is to quote male rabbis or to teach the stories of Abraham or Moses.  What about modern female rabbis and scholars, as well as biblical heroes such as Deborah, Miriam, Esther, and Sarah?  It’s time to reframe the Judaism bequeathed to us, and to expand the voices in the room so all our thoughts and perspectives are heard.

As your rabbi, I want to make sure that our Bolton Street Synagogue is a place where all are respected and valued.  I want all of us to be present for each other and support each other during times of challenge and pain.  And I believe that we do that by listening. 

Sh’ma Yisrael.  Hear O Israel is our quintessential prayer.  Hearing, listening, being truly present for each other is a key foundation of what it means to be a Jew.  We take in each other’s words and provide encouragement.  We express our empathy and kindness. We hear each other’s stories without commentary and without judgment.  We listen without blaming the victims or refusing to accept their account. 

In the Torah, two letters of the Sh’ma (an Ayin and a Dalet) are larger and more prominent than the others.  The rabbis teach that these letters form the word “Eid” which means witness.  What would it look like to be a witness for each other?  To believe the victims, to be truly present to them, and to support them unconditionally.  What would it look like to be an active witness?  Perhaps it’s just to listen or perhaps to stand with a friend against a perpetrator. As a community, we listen, we bear witness, and together begin teshuvah, that long road towards change.

We know that change does come slowly.  It might not happen overnight and perhaps not even in a generation.  But things are changing for the better.  Women are bravely standing up and courageously sharing their stories.  Women and men are risking their futures by not staying silent, modeling for us all, what it means to speak truth to power.  It’s their bravery and outspokenness, as well as our willingness to listen, to be a witness, and to decry all misconduct, that will help us change this world for the better.  It might not be a Herculean change, but it’s effects will be.  A dream where every, woman, man, and child, will be respected, valued, and honored for who they are.  

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[i] In gratitude to my dear friends and rabbinic colleagues Rabbi Jessy Dressin and Rabbi Heather Miller for their guidance, advice, and help in writing this sermon.  You are my teachers, my chevrutah, and my friends.

[ii] Rabbi Daniel Brenner “Are Jewish Men Pigs” in Medium.com, January 19, 2018 (https://medium.com/@danielbrenner/are-jewish-men-pigs-7bd05fd79b05)

[iii] Mishkan HaNefesh: Yom Kippur, p. 83

[iv] Rabbi Leah Berkowitz “Dear Male Comedian” in Jewish Women’s Archive May 23, 2018 (https://jwa.org/blog/dear-male-comedian).  Thank you to Rabbi Berkowitz for allowing me to share her story.

[v] “A #MeToo/#GamAni Confession for the High Holy Days” by Rabbi Mary L. Zamore (adapted) http://ravblog.ccarnet.org/2018/08/metoo-gamani-confession-high-holy-days/   

[vi] Rabbi Rachel Bregman “4 Critical Ways Jewish Institutions Cane Learn from #MeToo” in The Forward, March 15, 2018 (https://forward.com/scribe/396625/4-critical-ways-jewish-institutions-can-learn-from-metoo/)