Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon: "That's Water, Not Wine!"

Shana Tova!  As we gather in the Meadow on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, our dress and even our surroundings are a world away from the usual High Holy Day formality.  And so, in this vein, as has become our tradition, I’d like to share a story with you this evening.  It’s a Chasidic tale, retold by Rabbi Steven Leder, with my own twist.  Sit back, take in a deep breath, and relax!

Long ago,[i] in a land far away, nestled in the mountains, was a small little village.  This village was filled with hard working, good people.  The village was small enough that everyone knew each other, and everyone took care of each other.  Now this village didn’t have much, it wasn’t known for its business, its food, or its culture, but it was known, for one reason; its claim to fame was its mayor. 

Now this mayor was wise and caring.  For many decades, the mayor governed with kindness and compassion.  The mayor brought prosperity and optimism and so the mayor was beloved by the denizens of that village.

The mayor had just one child.  The child was born in the village and the child grew up amongst all the citizens.  From a cute cuddly baby, to a tottering toddler, to a pimply faced teenager, everyone cared for and loved this child.  

And now, in a blink of an eye, that cute cuddly baby was now grown-up and had found a loving partner.  There was going to be a wedding!  The feeling of excitement permeated every corner, every shop, and every house in the village.  For, there was only one mayor, and that mayor had just one child.  It would be the celebration of the year, no, the celebration of the decade!

As word sprung like wildfire, the murmuring began.  Where would the wedding be held?  What gifts could they provide?  How to make this the most joyous event the village had ever seen?

As the murmuring increased, the villagers decided that they, as a group, could provide the wine for the celebration.  This would be the perfect gift!  And so, a proclamation was sent out by the Chief Steward to each and every citizen:

“Hear ye, Hear ye, each member of this village is asked to fill a bucket with your best wine and bring it to the Town Square.” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, a huge barrel should be built in the town square, alongside it, a ramp that will lead up to the barrel.  Each villager should pour your bucket into the barrel!” 

“Hear ye, Hear ye, on the evening of the wedding, the wedding couple and all in our village will tap the barrel and we will have the most glorious celebration our village has ever seen.”

 

And so, they all began diligently getting ready.  The Chief Carpenter and all the workers began to construct the biggest barrel you’d ever seen.  They set the barrel on top of tall poles in the very center of the town square.  Next to the barrel and the poles, they made a large ramp, leading right up to the barrel.

Over the course of the next month, every citizen, young and old, rich and poor, climbed the ramp and poured the contents of their buckets into the barrel.

Days before the wedding, the people could see the level of the liquid rising to the top of barrel and watched as the moisture began to seep through the wood.  As the barrel began to fill up, the people became more and more excited.

Finally, the wedding day arrived!  It was a beautiful sunny September day, perfect weather for a wedding.  The mayor walked the child down the aisle, and everyone oohed and awed!  The wedding couple was so happy, so filled with love, they were a perfect match!  Their vows were beautiful and everyone, and I mean everyone, commented on the rabbi’s astute and meaningful wedding address!  Excitement began to build as the couple smashed the glass and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

As the wedding couple danced down the aisle, everyone in the village followed after them!  They grabbed hands and began to dance the hora.  The couple was lifted on chairs and everyone yelled out: Mazel Tov!

And now, the moment that they had all been waiting for!  The entire village gathered around the big barrel.  The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet and climbed up the ramp.  In everyone’s hands, was an empty glass, ready to be filled with sweet delicious wine!

The Chief Steward stood on top of the ramp and gazed out at the village below.  He yelled: “Mazel Tov to our mayor, Mazel Tov to the wedding couple, and Mazel Tov to our village, as we celebrate the happiest day ever!

The Chief Steward grabbed the mallet, tapped the barrel and placed a glass underneath the spigot.  And everyone yelled one final: Mazel Tov!

The village stood silent as the Chief Steward turned the spigot and they all watched as the liquid poured out.  And what flowed from the barrel?  Nothing… but… water.

What?  How could this be?  For weeks, each villager had filled their bucket and poured the content into the barrel.  Each citizen thought, “Well, there are a lot of people filling up this barrel!  One bucket of water won’t change the taste of this delicious wine.  No one will know the difference!”

Except, that each and every person did that exact same thing.  Instead of the barrel being filled with sweet delicious wine, there was only water.  Instead of being the happiest day, that celebration turned out to be the saddest moment in the village’s history.

Now, I know the wine lovers out there are horrified that anyone would even think of mixing together different styles and vintages of wines; a Malbec with a Pinot Grigio, what a disaster!  We know that it’s not about the mixing, it’s about our bottles, yours and mine, and the way we fill them up.   I use the metaphor of wine, but choose your drink of choice, whether it’s juice, soda, or chocolate milk!

For in the Talmud, our rabbis teach: “A person must not fill up a jug of wine with water because it misleads others.”[ii]  I firmly believe that most of us, most of the time, are good people.  We aren’t trying to mislead each other, we aren’t trying to commit fraud, we aren’t trying to get away with murder, but sometimes, it’s just easier to fill up the jug with water, not wine. 

For we know: we’re tired, we’re busy, we’re a little strapped right now; we know that someone else will do it!  What’s a little white lie here or there, it’s not really hurting anyone?   Why put in the time when we can get by with just a little less?  Why not cut a corner especially when it seems like everyone else does?  No one will know the difference so why put forth the effort?

When we tell a friend that we’ll help, knowing that we won’t follow through: that’s water, not wine!    When we complain about the state of Baltimore, yet never do our part: that’s water, not wine!  When we’re out to dinner with loved ones and barely glance up from our phone: that’s water, not wine!  When we share our “thoughts and prayers” and fail to make any change at all: that’s water, not wine!   When we tell our children we’re too busy and can’t find the time: that’s water, not wine!

As Rabbi Steven Leder teaches: “If one partner in a marriage tries to add water because he or she expects the other will bring the wine, the couple will have a watered-down marriage.  If you try to parent according to that principle, you’ll have a watered-down family.  If you behave that way as an employee, you’ll have a watered-down business.  If you put nothing into your Judaism, what do you expect to get out of it?”

Our tradition recognizes the good in us.  We are told that our cups at Shabbat and Passover should be overflowing, so that the grape juice and wine spills over the edge.  When the Mishkan, the Tabernacle was built, the people brought so much gold, jewels, and precious possessions that Moses had to say: “Stop!  We have enough!”  And our rabbis discuss the limits of tzedakah because individuals in their community were giving too much money as charitable gifts. 

Rosh Hashanah is the opportunity for us to ask the question: “What’s in your bottle?”  Are you filling up your bottle with water or wine?  It’s our choice: we can pretend, act like a fraud, sit back and lets others step up in our stead.  We can complain or kvetch and mail it in!  Or we can bring our entire selves into relationship with others.  We can be present for loved and friends, we can volunteer, we can do our part to better the lives of others, we can live openly, truthfully, and honestly in word and deed.  

So, take a moment to imagine a different ending to this story…  Imagine that as the spigot turns, out… comes… sweet delicious wine.  Imagine the celebration that ensues, imagine feeling that you are a part of something greater than yourself, imagine the pride you feel in following through with your commitments and responsibilities.  We can’t control the actions of others, but we can control what’s in our bottle.  So bring the most precious, sweet, delicious wine wherever you go.  “That’s wine you say, never water!”  

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[i] There are many versions of this Chasidic story, but my version is based upon the storytelling of Rabbi Steven Z. Leder entitled “The Barrel” found in Three Times Chai ed. Laney Katz Becker

[ii] Babylonian Talmud Chullin 94a

Solidarity Shabbat: Remembering the Victims of Tree of Life Synagogue

This has been a tough week.  I’ve personally been in a cloud from the moment my Shabbat joy was shattered last Saturday.  I’ve been filled with utter sadness at the loss of precious life at the Tree of Life Synagogue.  I’ve been filled with fear.    Fear for myself.  Fear for the Jewish Community.  Fear for the future of our country.

I know that I am not alone.  The Jew’s heart is breaking.  All in our wider community are hurting.  All of us are in grief, in mourning.  That is why we are here together.

Each week, we gather to read a section of the Torah, the five books of Moses.  We began a few weeks ago with the very beginning of Genesis.  And now, we are in the midst of the story of Abraham and Sarah.  It completely confounds me that no matter what is happening in our lives, no matter what is happening in our world, the week’s Torah portion seems to fit perfectly to our communal mood and mindset.  This week is no exception.

Our Torah portion, Chayei Sarah, begins with death and mourning.  Sarah dies suddenly, and Abraham mourns the loss of his beloved wife.  The Torah teaches that Abraham grieves for Sarah in two distinct ways: he wails, and he remembers her.

We are in the midst of shiva, the seven days of initial mourning, for the eleven souls of Pittsburgh.  We’ve cried.  We’ve grieved.  We’ve wailed.  We Jews also mourn by sharing stories of the dead.  Abraham remembered Sarah by reflecting upon her very essence.  We too need to remember the dead: what they believed, what propelled them in life, and what mattered most in their world.  You may have heard their stories, but they bear repeating.

Joyce Feinberg was a research specialist at the University of Pittsburgh Learning Research and Development Center for more than 25 years.  She was an elegant and warm person who was enormously caring with a huge personality.

Richard Gottfried was a dentist who along with his wife shared a dental practice.  Richard and his wife were fixtures in the community and they volunteered together at the Catholic Charities Dental Clinic.  He was an avid runner who had recently been attending services at Tree of Life Synagogue.

Rose Mallinger was spry, vibrant, and full of life.  At 97 years old, she was the quintessential bubbe (Jewish grandmother) where family was everything.  She was mother of three, grandmother to five, great-grandmother to one.  Rose attended services every Saturday, sitting next to her sister in synagogue.  She was always quick with a friendly greeting, a hug, and a smile.

Jerry Rabinowitz was a primary care physician.  During the early days of HIV treatment when stigma was high, Jerry was known to hold patients’ hands without gloves and to embrace them.  He was known for wearing bow ties to help make people laugh.  Jerry escaped the initial assault on Saturday. and turned around and ran inside to see if anyone was hurt or needed a doctor.

Cecil and David Rosenthal – were two incredible brothers.  Cecil was a gentle giant who greeted everyone with a smile and a strong handshake.  He had a youthful exuberance and a laugh that was infectious.  He had developmental challenges and was a beloved member of the community.  David was quieter, but no less beloved.  He was a greeter, standing in front of the sanctuary handing out prayer books.  The brothers were inseparable.

Bernice and Sylvan Simon were married at the Tree of Life Congregation more than 60 years ago.  A neighbor shared that they were the sweetest people you could have imagined.  They were always giving back to people, they always stepped up, and were kind and generous. 

  

Daniel Stein was a simple man who didn’t require much.  He had a dry sense of humor and was a great guy.  He was a former president of the New Light Congregation and is remembered for his kindness.

Melvin Wax was known as Mel to everyone.  His greatest passion besides the Pittsburgh Penguins was his grandson.  Mel was generous and a sweet man who would help anyone.  At almost 88 years old, he’d always park his car a few streets away from the synagogue to leave closer spaces to those who needed them.

Irving Younger greeted each member with a big smile and a handshake.  He liked to make sure that everyone knew what page they were on in the prayer book.  He went to synagogue every day, he never missed a day.  He felt a true responsibility and a role to serve the community.

These eleven precious souls are us.  They are young and old.  They are singles, couples, siblings, and friends.  They are Jews, interfaith couples, Jews-by-choice, those with disabilities; the rainbow of our Jewish community.  They are the greeters, the Torah readers, the prayer leaders, and the board members.  They are the regulars and those who come every once and a while. They are us.

As I read their stories this past Monday, I began to cry.  I know the Rose Mallingers, the Jerry Rabinowitz’s, the Cecil and David Rosenthal’s.  I know the Bernice and Sylvan Simon’s and the Joyce Feinberg’s.  Pittsburgh is us.  Squirrel Hill is us.  We are Squirrel Hill.  I cried because we are one big family.  We lost precious lives.  We are all in this together.

As we mourn, I’m cognizant that our shiva, our initial seven days of mourning, is almost complete.  As one rabbinic colleague shared: “Today we mourn, tomorrow we act.”  What happens tomorrow?  Where do we go from here?

I find my answer by going back to the Torah.  Halfway through our portion, we meet Rebecca, the matriarch, for the first time.  Rebecca sits by her town’s well.  When Eliezer, servant of Abraham, appears, she welcomes him with open arms.  She provides him with water and also draws water for Eliezer’s many camels.

Rebecca’s quintessential feature is kindness.  She welcomes Eliezer, a stranger, into her home.  She goes out of her way to help him through his troubles.  It might seem like a small thing to provide someone with a glass of water but remember she didn’t have a tap or a sink!  The well was far away.  And camels after a long hot journey drink much water.  This was a big moment and a lot of hard work.  Rebecca lives her every moment with kindness and with a welcoming personality.

There is real fear in our community.  There is so much hatred and anger in the world.  We wish to guard ourselves by building a fortress around our community.  There is an urgency to protect ourselves with ever greater walls, doors, guards, and guns.  After this attack, the trauma, pushes us to look inward, to circle the wagons, to protect our own.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  We must keep our community safe.  With our President, Melissa Zieve’s leadership, we have already begun conversations about security and safety.  New protocols and new procedures have been implemented and will be implemented to make our community secure in the days ahead.

Yet, it’s not just safety procedures, it’s also outlook and prospective.  Do we look inward?  Do we close the door?  Or do we look outside our walls?  As a community, Bolton Street Synagogue has always stood for warmth, welcoming, and community.  Our new tagline is: “Doors Wide Open.”  Our identity is about opening ourselves up to the broader Jewish and non-Jewish community.

It’s more than us, it’s also the lives who were lost in Pittsburgh.  I shared their stories because each person whose life was lost, lived his or her days with kindness and compassion.  They focused their days living life with: generosity, kindness, caring, giving, warmth, laughter, smiles, and love.  As Rebecca’s essence was kindness and a welcoming personality, so too did the eleven who died at Tree of Life Synagogue.  We can’t put up barriers.  We can’t turn in the wagons.  We Jews need to live our lives with kindness in our hearts and with our doors open to the world.

Our Torah portion begins with mourning.  Abraham grieves with wailing and remembrance for his beloved wife Sarah.  But, our Torah portion ends in an entirely different light.  It ends with comfort.  Isaac, the son of Sarah, also grieves.  He finds comfort in his new wife Rebecca.  We learn in the Torah that: “Isaac loved Rebecca and finds comfort after his mother’s death.”

Isaac finds comfort not through vengeance and anger, not through rage and resentment, but through kindness, love, and togetherness.  It’s through relationship and friendship, that Isaac finds peace.

Even more powerfully, our Torah portion ends with the burial of Abraham.  We learn that Isaac and Ishmael, Abraham’s two sons, come together to bury their father.  Jewish tradition teaches that Ishmael is the patriarch of the Arabs and Islam.  How powerful that two brothers, of two different religious traditions, come together, to bury their father.  To comfort each other.  To support each other.

Tonight, I’m overwhelmed at the number of non-Jewish friends, family members, and allies who are here to support us.  In addition, we have a dozen members of the clergy: pastors, reverends, priests, and ministers, who are here with us in solidarity.  We know that we as a Jewish community are not here alone.  There are so many of you, who have our back.  You are here to comfort us, support us, and be our friend.  There is fear for the future, but there is also great optimism that together we can make a difference.  Together we can help change this world for the better. 

I firmly believe we do that by getting to know each other better, by building deeper relationships across religion, ethnicity, race, and community.  That’s why we invited you to be here with us tonight.  Don’t just leave after the service and never see us again.  Let this be the moment to renew our relationship with each other.  As Rebecca opened her home to Eliezer, we too open our home to you.  After the service, lets join together to talk, to get to know each other, and to break bread together.  Let this moment of sadness and grieving, lead us to comfort, to friendship, and to peace.

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/)