From the Bimah: Jewish Lessons for Life

I want to start with something lovely, a little bit of serendipity. I meet from time to time with a good friend to catch up. This friend has a tradition, after our conversations, of giving me a book to read. He is a big reader, a person of ideas. So often he gives me a new book, usually hard cover, that just came out, and that he had read right away. But on this last occasion, for reasons I do not know, he gave me a book off his shelf, a used book, a paperback that he had read long ago. The book is called Have a Little Faith by Mitch Albom, who had achieved fame with Tuesdays With Morrie. I love the title. I would love to have a little faith. At first I wondered whether this book could possibly speak to our world today. It came out in 2009. That is not only 15 years ago. That is a different universe ago. All the places that I love: America, Israel, Harvard, the Jewish community in North America, were so different back then. Could a book written before October 7, before Israel’s longest war, before the scary rise of anti-Semitism, before the toxic division in our own country, could such a book speak to us now?

A hypothetical based on a real-world situation, not at Temple Emanuel, but at another Jewish organization: Imagine you are on the rabbinic search committee for some institution near and dear to your heart: shul, Hillel, federation. You read the resume of a candidate. Superb. Excellent education. Deep experience at Jewish summer camp. Has lived Judaism in a rich journey. Doing exceptionally well in rabbinical school. You go into the interview very favorably disposed. At the interview, you like this candidate. You feel a connectivity. Chemistry is good. Then you ask this candidate about Israel. The candidate responds: I am not anti-Zionist. I am just not into Israel. I want to teach Torah, mitzvah, Shabbat, chagim, tikkun olam, a Torah of love and bridge-building. And I can’t do that with Israel. Israel is just too divisive. Israel does not build bridges. It creates rallies and counter rallies. So I am not against Israel, it’s just not part of my religious identity nor will it be a part of my rabbinate. Should we hire this candidate, reject this candidate categorically, or reject this candidate with some ambivalence? Here is a lens. At the upcoming Pesach s’darim, there is that classic kneged arbaah banim, The Four Children. The voice that says “I am very into Judaism. I am training to be a Rabbi to teach Torah and mitzvah. But I am not into Israel. I am not anti-Zionist, I am just not a Zionist”—is that Wise, Wicked, Simple, or the One Who Does Not Know what to Ask? One last layer of complexity: Last year Hebrew College’s Rabbinical School changed its admissions policies so that intermarried rabbis can get admitted and ordained (a move that I enthusiastically agreed with and supported). How do you think of the non-Zionist rabbi in the larger context of the fact that intermarried rabbis are now being admitted and ordained? Are you good with both? With neither? With one but not the other, and if so, how does your thinking work? Complexity. It may be coming soon to a seder table near you.

The IDF has an intelligence unit whose name does not exactly roll off the tongue. It is called Terrain Analysis, Accurate Mapping, Visual Collection and Interpretation Agency. As Dan Senor and Saul Singer point out in their new book The Genius of Israel, which came out on November 7, 2023, the job of this intelligence unit is to analyze millions of details in millions of images gathered by Israeli satellites, airplanes and drones For example, if the war in Lebanon happens, Israel would need to send paratroopers into enemy territory. How do they get resupplied with food and other essentials? Israeli technology has captured millions of images which have to be interpreted for the light it sheds on where food and drink might be found. While this unit uses computers and algorithms to help process all this big data, computers only get you so far. Human beings need to read and analyze the data. The challenge is that this work is extremely tedious and painstaking. Another word might be boring. It takes an unusual capacity for patience and attention to detail. It’s not a job for everyone. But Israel has figured out a way to solve this problem. The title of the book is the genius of Israel, and Israel’s solution is genius. Israel has created a special unit filled by Israeli soldiers who are neurodiverse. Pairing autistic soldiers with this elite intelligence unit is a win win. It is a win for the IDF because these neurodiverse soldiers have the smarts and patience to interpret millions of details in millions of images. And it is a win for these soldiers and their families. Serving in the IDF is a badge of honor. Not being able to serve is stigmatizing. Pairing neurodiverse soldiers with a special unit that utilizes their distinctive intelligence gives these young soldiers a feeling of accomplishment, of being needed and valued. And it also gives them analytical skills that they can use when their army service is over.

No good options. All options are bad. There is a hard-to-understand Bible story, 2 Samuel 24, about what do we do when there are no good options. King David commissions a census. How many soldiers are there in Israel and in Judah? The text assumes, without stating why, that this is a grievous sin. King David’s general Joab knows this is a sin but does it anyway because the King has commanded it. What makes the sin particularly puzzling is that God incited David to do the census. God punishes David and Israel for the very census that God instigated. What is that? Once King David has the answer to how many soldiers he has, he learns from the prophet Gad that God is furious with him. Punishment is coming, and King David gets to choose from among three horrific options: a 7-year famine, a 3-month military defeat, or a 3-day pestilence. The pestilence that follows claims the lives of 70,000 perfectly innocent citizens of Judah and Israel. To King David’s credit, he owns that he has made a mistake, and he seeks atonement. The story raises so many questions: Why is taking a census is a sin? And why, if God instigated it, is it a sin? How can God punish David and the kingdom for a census God instigated? Why is there collective punishment? Why, if King David sinned, do all the citizens of his kingdom have to suffer? How does King David secure atonement? What does this rich story teach us about our world today, where there is a lot of suffering and not a lot of good options?

Dronme Davis tells a powerful story.  She was nine.  At the time, she had developed the habit of biting her nails until they were raw and sometimes even bleeding.  A teacher told her, in all seriousness, “if you keep biting your nails, one day you’re doing to meet a boy and you’re going to want him to date you and he’s going to be holding your hand and will look down and see how disgusting your hands are and he’s not going to want to date you.” Even as a nine-year-old, Dronme knew that there was something very wrong with this picture.  How could it be that her teacher didn’t see the pain that she was holding, the pain that was pushing her to self-harm in this way?  How could it be that at nine, she is getting the message that her relationship to her body should be predicated on the perception of a potential partner?  That her body exists to make someone else happy?

Please look at this iconic photograph of a chair at the Constitutional Convention. The chair has a sun which is ambiguous. Benjamin Franklin famously wondered out loud, is the sun rising or setting? https://files.constantcontact.com/d3875897501/094c58c3-688a-4ef0-a325-c75a886b067a.png Now please read this evocative article entitled “The New American Judaism” by Shira Telushkin published recently in The Atlantic. https://files.constantcontact.com/d3875897501/abe8a1a9-3ebd-45aa-b776-e060145674b6.pdf?rdr=true The presenting problem is the great rabbi shortage. There are not enough rabbis to serve the congregations that need them. In Rabbi Chiel’s day, the Seminary ordained 60 rabbis a year. In my day, 35 rabbis a year. Today, between LA and New York, the Seminary and Ziegler ordain 12. Ziegler sold its campus and its few rabbinical students meet in the religious school classroom of a local synagogue. So too HUC is ordaining fewer and fewer rabbis, as a result of which it closed its Cincinnati location, its flagship since 1875. What does the great rabbi shortage mean for American Judaism? Shira Telushkin opens with a congregation that simply could not find a rabbi and, after some time, was reduced to getting a rabbi that would do fee for service, officiating at Shabbat and holiday services, paid by the service, but not being a pastor or otherwise involved in the leadership of the synagogue. Shira Telushkin treats the great rabbi shortage as a symptom of a systemic change. Something is going on here. Deeper trends are at play. What is her analysis? Do you agree with her assessment? She entitles her article The New American Judaism, meaning, quite explicitly, that an older American Judaism (and the institutions that served it) are being eclipsed. Let’s bring the chair of the Constitutional Convention and the Telushkin article together. Does she think American Judaism is rising or setting? What do you think?

This week we enjoy the reflections of Sonia Saltzman, Noah Rivkin, Rhiannon Thomas, Michael Gardener, and Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz on their Mitzvah Mission to Israel.

The Temple Emanuel 50-person mitzvah mission to Israel last week experienced the confusing reality that diametrically contradictory truths can both be true. Normal or not normal? Is Israel a nation in mourning, as Rachel Korazim taught? Or is Israel getting past October 7, not in mourning, trying to live a normal life, as Donniel Hartman taught? Yes, and yes. Returning the hostages? Is it absolutely essential that Israel do everything possible to bring the hostages home? Or will it undermine the success of Israel’s war effort if it has to fight with one hand tied behind its back in order to secure the release of the hostages and free terrorists who will jeopardize the lives of Israelis in the future? Yes, and yes. Unity? Is Israel’s unity post October 7 real, or beginning to seriously fray? Yes, and yes. Is there a diplomatic or military solution? Do Israelis believe a two-state solution is possible after the betrayal of October 7? No. Is a military solution possible meaning that war will go on and on generation after generation? No. So many Israelis have stories of Gaza civilians whom they trusted who turned out to be Hamas operatives and gave Hamas intel which they used to lethal effect on October 7. Every Israeli knows soldiers who have died. (Two people in my brother-in-law’s Jerusalem minyan are fathers saying Kaddish for their sons who fell in battle. Such infinite grief is all over Israel, palpable.) Peace is not the answer. War is not the answer. What do you do when there is no answer? To be in Israel now is to experience profound contradiction. And yet, here is one more: to a person, all 50 of the TE travelers felt deeply anchored and at peace being in the Gaza envelope. Many expressed the view that they felt better in the Gaza envelope than in Newton because showing up for Israelis felt just right. 50 out of 50 were glad that they had come. Such unanimity is rare. In Talmud tomorrow we unpack what these living contradictions mean for us now.

February 17, 2024

This Shabbat, I’m going to share a personal story very different from the kinds of sermons I used to give when I worked in a congregation. I want to be clear it is my story. I recognize that in this room there are Autistic people and family members who have their own perspectives that may differ from mine. They are just as important and valid. We are a large and diverse community.   Three years ago, a neuropsychologist assessed our then 3-year-old son and called a few weeks later to tell us that was Autistic. I was so relieved. Our son was verbally precocious, made intense eye contact, and was very charismatic and social. He also loved being read a wall calendar or a Hebrew/English dictionary as a bedtime story, struggled with transitions and unpredictable meltdowns, and ran in circles around his preschool classroom here in Temple Emanuel, seeking sensory input he wasn’t getting. Bedtime could take 2 manic hours. Like our ancestors in this week’s parasha, my family was in an unknown wilderness, and we were ready to receive some Torah. Except the Torah the doctor delivered to us didn’t seem right. Instagram: @rabbishoshana Web: https://www.rabbishoshana.com/

Have you ever said yes to a commitment without knowing what that yes would mean to your life?  If you have taken a new job, moved to a new city, gotten married, had children, or nurtured a loved one through a rough patch, you have said this type of yes.   The address for saying yes without knowing what yes means is the famous phrase “na’aseh v’nishmah” in Ex. 24:7 in our reading this week. That is what the Israelites say after receiving the Torah at Sinai and then the supplemental civil and cultic laws and statutes in this week’s portion. This phrase is translated in different ways. “We will do and we will obey.” “We will faithfully do.” And “We will do and we will understand.”  What often gets lost in the story is four verses earlier the Israelites, having been given a full report on all of God’s commands and rules, proclaimed: “All the things that the Lord has commanded we will do.” Na’aseh without any nishmah. Ex. 24:3  What is the difference between “na’aseh” in verse 3 and “na’aseh v’nishmah” in verse 7? It sounds potentially nerdy, like who cares. But this technical Torah question may go to the very heart of what we love, care about, and work for the most: our marriage, our children and grandchildren, and the ideas and ideals and causes closest to our heart, like Israel’s security and America’s democracy.

Rabbi Michelle Robinson sits down with Annette Miller to discuss her role as Golda Meir in 'Golda's Balcony,' a play opening in Boston on February 23. They discuss inhabiting the iconic figure and what her legacy can tell us about the events of today.

The holy grail in Jewish education is “transformational.” An Israel trip like Birthright or any of our Passport experiences are supposed to be “transformational.” Going to any of our wonderful day schools is supposed to be “transformational.” Jewish summer camp--24-7 immersion, lifelong friends--is supposed to be “transformational.” The idea of a “transformational” experience is that the person is different on the other end. But the two big salvation stories in Exodus suggest that “transformational” experiences may not transform. That the very notion of a transformational experience may be an illusion. You might think that the splitting of the Sea of Reeds would be transformational. “When Israel saw the wondrous power which the Lord had wielded against the Egyptians, the people feared the Lord; they had faith in the Lord and His servant Moses.” (Ex. 14:31) And yet three days later the afterglow of the miracle has already dissipated as “the people grumbled against Moses, saying, ‘What shall we drink?’” (Ex. 15-24) In our reading this Shabbat, the Israelites stand at Sinai. God comes down and reveals the Torah. The first commandments are I am the Lord your God who took you out of Egypt. Don’t make idols. You might think that standing at Sinai, the thunder and lightning, divine revelation, is transformational. But famously while Moses is getting the ten commandments, the Israelites are already busy violating them, building the golden calf and saying that the golden calf brought them out of Egypt. These stories suggest that transformational experiences may not transform. And yet, October 7 did transform. As Rachel Korazim taught us in her recentsessions on Israeli poetry since October 7, Israel is not the same. Israelis are not the same. Putting this all together is confounding. Splitting the Sea of Reeds does not transform. Standing at Sinai does not transform. But October 7 transforms. What does it say about us, what does it say about the human condition, that positive experiences like standing at Sinai or the splitting of the Sea of Reeds do not transform, but that the horror and loss of October 7 do transform?

January 27, 2024

“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” Mark Twain I think of the Mark Twain quote whenever I ponder a signature piece of wisdom of my late mother that I resisted as a teen, but that I agree with as an adult. My mother used to say: “Lower your expectations.”  My mother’s rationale: If we go through life with high expectations, there is a higher likelihood we might be disappointed. If we go through life with lowered expectations, there is a higher possibility we might be pleasantly surprised.   I thought of my mother’s wisdom when hearing the sobering, indeed searing Israel at War Podcast with Donniel Hartman and Yossi Klein Halevi. They confront the reality that 100 plus days later, Israel is scaling back its military operations in Gaza without having accomplished the aim that more than 90% of Jewish Israelis all agreed to on October 8: Wage war in order to crush, destroy, defeat Hamas. And now, more than 100 days later, Hamas is not crushed, destroyed or defeated. Many of those who planned October 7 are still alive. Their military capacity, including missiles, is not destroyed. Their tunnels are not destroyed. Hamas, its evil and its genocidal menace, persist. How do we understand this moment?  Donniel: We need to move from a messianic Zionism (Israel can solve any problem, Entebbe style) to a more realistic Zionism which owns the limits of our power, which owns what we cannot solve. He talks about a Dayeinu Zionism. If God took us out of Egypt, but not through the Sea of Reeds, it would have been enough. If God took us through the Sea of Reeds, but had not fed us in the desert, it would have been enough. What is the meaning of this seemingly impossible text? That we should be satisfied with what is, even when what is is not ideal. Donniel quotes his father’s signature teaching that we are to thank God for being satisfied after a meal even if all we ate was an olive.   Yossi Klein Halevi: I could not disagree with you more Donniel. Your Dayeinu Zionism leaves Israel uninhabitable in the south and in the north where hundreds of thousands of Israeli are internally displaced refugees. We cannot be satisfied with an olive here. We have to crush Hamas to live.  Donniel: Great. We have to crush Hamas. But we haven’t and we likely can’t. And we are facing Hezbollah. And the Houtis. And the hatred of much of the world. And the Hague. Time for more realistic expectations.   How do we understand this very sober moment in the Jewish people’s story? This week, Shabbat Shira, we read of the splitting of the Sea of Reeds, and the Shira, the song of joyful exaltation following total victory. We would all love the Shira. But if the Shira is not going to happen, can we be good with Dayeinu?  Should we be lowering our expectations?