G'mar Chatima Tova!

            When I was younger, middle or early high school age, there was a short lived cartoon called God, the Devil, and Bob. The premise of the show was that a very Jerry Garcia-looking God is contemplating destroying the world again, but he’ll save it if one person can prove that it’s worth saving. The catch, of course, is that he lets the Alan Cumming-voiced Devil choose the one person, and, of course, he chooses Bob Allman, Grade A Schlub. In the first episode, Bob has great difficulty with the concept and asks God what exactly it is he’s supposed to do. God’s words echo those of this week’s Torah portion, “This is not new stuff! It’s written in scrolls, books, stone tablets! What do you want me to do, scribble it on a bar napkin?!”

            As we learn from Moses, the lessons that we need to guide us on daily life are not only written down in all sorts of books throughout history, they are very close to us. God is not in the heavens, not across the sea, not far off. God is in each of us, and we are here to guide each other, as much as we are to learn from Torah. And yet, sometimes, doesn’t it feel like it would be nice to have concise directions scribbled onto a bar napkin? We sit in services every Yom Kippur listing off sins, including ones we didn’t commit, and it starts to feel wearisome. It’s so repetitive. What are we even doing here?

            Well, we do it year after year, and year after year we remind ourselves of the closeness of God’s way, because we still constantly find ourselves missing the mark. We go searching for meaning in our lives, like we think it must be far off, that it will be hidden in a good job or an exotic land or at the bottom of a bottle. Maybe it’s in the oceans or the skies or the deserts or jungles, maybe it’s at the crowded Kotel in Jerusalem or the empty Choral Synagogue in Vilnius. Or maybe it’s much harder than that. Maybe God and the way to a better world is through Isla Vista and Ferguson. It’s in fighting for justice. It’s in discomfort. It’s in intersectionality and breaking down all institutionalized systems of oppression together. It’s in the tears that well up when you worry you’re not doing enough or that you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. It’s in the kind and friendly words you share with strangers, when you are mindful that “Friendly” or “complimentary” don’t cross into “cat-calling” and “harassment”. It’s in the challenge to look in the mirror and find your own flaws, it’s in checking your privilege, and it’s in opening up your world to be inclusive of those different from you. It’s in reading things that upset you. It’s in speaking out. It’s in tzedakah. It’s in g’milut hasadim.

We can only get there through true and honest t’shuva. It’s not going to be scribbled onto bar napkins for us. We can’t send someone into the heavens or across the sea to receive the directions straight from God as Moses was able to. All we can do is read and reread the directions we have, the Torah. All we can do is read between the lines to find all the extra hidden messages of faith, love, and righteousness for our time. All we can do is be honest with ourselves and God and each other at this season and make a point to do better in the coming year. So when we stand in this same place next year, t’shuva won’t just mean apologies and forgiveness, a clean soul and a fresh start. It will mean really looking back and saying, “Did I walk a little more along the Way? Did I stay on course? Am I actually any farther along this year? Did I make the world better?” And when that time comes, may we all answer: Yes.

Shana Tova! (Second round)

            The story of the Akidah centers on Abraham. It is his faith that is being tested, his burden to journey out to sacrifice his unknowing son, his reward when God stops him just in time, satisfied to know that he was willing. Little is said about Isaac in this story. Isaac’s faith is not tested, he is not let in on what’s happening. He seems to catch on a bit as they make their way up the mountain, as he says, “Father… here is the firestone and here is the wood but where is the sacrifice?” His father dodges the question, and Isaac may not know exactly what is in store, but he knows something is up. When they get to the spot God has indicated to Abraham, Abraham is seemingly able to bind Isaac without resistance. We know nothing of Isaac’s struggle against his father, his thoughts or feelings as he sees his father’s arm raised above him, knife in hand. When they turn around and go home, Isaac remains strangely silent. In fact he is so silent, and the Torah says, “Abraham returned,” that some midrash even wonders if Isaac was indeed killed on Mount Moriah … but then somehow resurrected in time for the next Torah portion, wherein he gets married.

            While Isaac is featured relatively little in a story about his own near-death experience, his mother is not mentioned at all. As we often find in our history, and especially Torah, the voices of women have been completely silenced. Abraham disappears with her son, they undoubtedly return changed men, and the Torah tells us nothing of what she may have known, thought, or said about Abraham’s “test”. The next Torah portion begins with Sarah’s abrupt death. An old midrash from Rabbi Eliezer suggests that our shofar sounds are modeled after the cries Sarah made when she heard where Abraham had taken Isaac. He says, “HaSatan went and said to Sarah, ‘Sarah, haven’t you heard what happened in the world?’ She said, ‘No.’ He said to her, ‘Abraham took Isaac his son and slaughtered him and brought him as an offering on the altar.’ Sarah started to cry. She cried three long sobs, correlated to the t’kiot, three yellallot, slightly shorter cries, like the shevarim, and three short sobs, corresponding to the t’ruot, and her soul departed and she died.”

            The sound of the shofar is a call to action for us as Jews, and as should be the sounds of pain, such as Sarah’s sobs or news of oppression. The story of the Akidah shows how fragile life can be, how even people you trust could be willing to hurt you. Of course, I am not saying you shouldn’t trust people or that everyone is out to get you or that God is commanding anybody to sacrifice anyone else. But, I am saying that life is precious and fragile for each and every one us, those that are here right now and those that are not, and as Jews, we are called by the shofar to act in ways that make life a little safer for those around us.

            This means different things to different people. Yesterday I talked about welcoming the ger and mentioned farmworker rights. That happened to be a topic that came to mind because I wrote the d’var Torah right after attending the People’s Climate March and food justice/sustainability was on my mind. I’m also currently participating in a year-long fellowship with the American Jewish World Service, and helping them with the We Believe campaign which fights for the rights of women and children, like those silenced in today’s Torah. For others, making the world better or safer may mean advocating for a campus policy change for greater inclusivity. It might mean choosing media and supporting business that promote your own values and politics. It might just mean generally being nice to everyone you meet.

            Whatever it means to you, do more of it this new year. Listen to the shofar this season, and hold that sound in your heads and hearts for the rest of the year, reminding you of the various possible directions each choice you make may lead. Choose paths that contribute to your own personal growth as young adults, and choose paths that contribute to a better world, safer lives for those around you. May you never turn a deaf ear to cries of pain, may others hear your cries as well, and may we all work together toward a world of unity and peace. Amen and Shana Tova. 

Rosh HaShana 5775 Day 1 - Inspired by T'ruah

In this morning’s Torah Reading, Hagar asks us: Can we make a place for her, or her descendants? Is there room in our communities and in our land for those who come from the outside? In Dirshuni, a collection of modern midrash written by Israeli women, Elah Tzruyah interprets two well-loved statements from the Torah as questions: “You have known the soul of the ger, the stranger” – Exodus 23:9 and “Love the ger” – Deuteronomy 10:19. She says, Do not read ha-ger, the strangers, but ha-gar – have you known the soul of Hagar? Have you loved Hagar? (p.40: Israel, 2009).

            Abraham may not have loved Hagar, but he was concerned with her well-being. He loved his son by her, and wanted to leave a space for them in his house, but was forced to drive them out at the commands of his wife and God. Tomorrow we will read the Akidah, the binding of Isaac, which contains the verse, “Take your son, your favored one, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah. Offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the heights that I will point out to you.” Rashi drashes that the reason God has to offer all these qualifiers for Isaac is because God takes for granted that the son destined to be the link to the Chosen People is Abraham’s favorite, and Abraham is having none of it. “Take your son.” I have two sons. “Your favored one.” One is favored by his mother, and the other is favored by his mother. “Whom you love.” I love both of them. “Isaac.” Oh, ok, why didn’t you just say so. What comes next leaves us plenty to talk about for tomorrow, but right now, this explanation of this verse can speak volumes. This may be about family feuds, but it is also about accepting those that are different, defending those with no real rights, and welcoming those who come from the outside.

            As someone who is only briefly visiting your community, I must say I feel very welcomed and accepted! But I do already have rights, and a pretty clear sense of them, and I’m not that much of an outsider. As a fellow Jew, we are part of the same wider community. I am not really a ger and I’m certainly no Hagar. So who are the strangers in our midst that we are not treating properly? They might be people here at the school who are simply outside your friend group, people who are just too weird to take the time to get to know and befriend. Or they might be migrant workers who provide your produce. You may never meet them, but that doesn’t mean you can’t defend their rights, welcome them as residents of our country, and accept them as resident aliens. Organizations like Farmworker Justice (one word) are fighting for farm workers’ rights, and have lots of suggestions on how you can help!

            There are lots of ways we encounter injustice to the ger, and lots of ways we ignore it. This new year, let’s not ignore it. As we cleanse ourselves of last year’s sins, don’t allow the sins of elective ignorance and perpetuating xenophobia continue into 5775. We can do better, be better, and make this world better for everyone. Our ancestor knew the soul of Hagar, and wanted to do better by her, but found himself unable to do so. We can make it up for him by embracing our own Hagars and ha-gers. May we bring ourselves in to a new year of camaraderie, solidarity, unity, by treating better those deemed as outsiders. Let us say: Amen and Shana Tova. 

Rosh HaShana 5775 at Virginia Tech Hillel

Thank you all so much for welcoming me here to your kehillah, and for coming tonight to services. There are lots of ways to mark the new year, and being in a sanctuary is only one of them. As we dip our toes into the new year, I invite you now to think, really think about what will be different in 5775.  You’ve all just started a new school year. How is being a freshman in college different from being a senior in high school? How is being a senior in college different from being a junior? Does it feel significant that the Jewish new year coincides with the academic? How does this moment feel different from January 1^st?

Tomorrow we will read the story of Isaac’s birth, and on Friday we will read of his near-death, but in some traditions, the Akidah is read on the first day and the story of creation is read on the second day. The creation story starts with the darkness, just like our holidays. After God creates light merely by saying, “Let there be light,” the Torah says, and there was evening, and there was morning, a first day. It is based upon this that the Jewish holidays start with evening, and consider the “day” sunset to sunset. In many ways, it feels so fitting for our new year to be in autumn for this same reason. The days are starting to get dark and cold, it feels like the year’s twilight hours. Soon it will be winter, utter darkness, and then spring, dawn, and summer, full day. There was evening and there was morning, a first year. Of course, this is coincidence that only works if you live in the right climate and hemisphere. The Torah tells us what day to celebrate Rosh HaShana, and it has nothing to do with the season, really.

Regardless of the accident of this timeliness, it does give us a chance to think. What is the darkness that is coming in winter? What can we create out of it? The Sefer Yetzira, an ancient and densely confusing book of Jewish mysticism teaches that all of creation exists in the Aleph-Bet if you just know how to put the letters together right. God of course knows, and that is why “Let there be light” is enough to begin the creation of the whole world. Humans do not really know, but they can learn. The myths of golems and such come from this mystic tradition; they teach us that while magic and divination is not allowed, Jews can possess their own magic to create great things, but only if they really apply themselves. It is not an easy task, and may feel like months of darkness before light and positive results of all that hard work. Not just anyone can call a golem into being. It comes only after deep study and meditation and understanding of what it means to create.

This is important for the People of the Book. Jews may be carpenters, or bankers, or computer scientists by trade, but in essence, we are people who study. Especially here in this room, as students, we are really all people who study! We love words, we rely on them to teach us, we rely on them to pray and commune with God; our aleph bet is dear and holy, we don’t discard it to keep up with the changing times of language. We honor letters and words and language. The idea that the key to the universe is locked in these letters is important for us. It lets us know that by studying and reading and writing, we are looking, seeing, understanding, and probing, as the Sefer Yetzira says we should. Once we are able to read a certain level of understanding and wisdom, we, too, can learn to engrave and carve, to create with our words, as God does. After all, we are created in the Divine image. We need only apply ourselves. This season, as we pass into 5775 and a new academic year, I challenge you all to learn something completely new, and to strive for creativity in your field. And may you find creation in your own hands.  

Parashat Shoftim - Justice Justice Shall You Pursue

            I know I haven’t written in a few months, and I’m not sure how often I will continue to write. But I’m sitting on the train back from my amazing, relaxing vacation in Maine, where I spent almost a week with my partner in near-solitude, with a car lent to us by my parents and a house lent to us by his parents, kayaking and watching movies and shutting out the world. Now I’m on the train back to the real world, and I’m listening to Ani DiFranco’s album “Not So Soft.” I received the album as a holiday gift sometime around 2004 and didn’t even realize at the time that it was already almost 15 years old. The anger at classism, racism, and sexism was still so current and felt so validating for my budding teenage raging leftism to hear. And now, another ten years later, the tones of the album are still so relevant and still feel so validating for my young adult raging leftism. So, with Ani’s melodic anger in my ears, thinking about my anxiety about my work load in the coming months once the school year starts and sadness about certain events of white male entitlement of this past year, I turn to Torah.

            This week’s Torah portion is from Deuteronomy, the final book of Moses. The parts of the Bible that lose narrative tend to get overlooked or forgotten, but this parasha, Shoftim, is full of some good lines. It contains my favorite laws regarding fairness in war, reminding us that trees are innocent bystanders and not to cut down the foliage surrounding the city your warriors are sieging (this seems like a good time to remind anyone who reads this in time that the Arava alumni are throwing a fundraiser at Central Bar in NYC on Wednesday, August 27 from 6:30-9:30, and if you cared about environmental cooperation between conflicting nations, like the Torah tells you to, you will be there!). Ahem. Also, most notably perhaps, Parashat Shoftim contains the line “Tzedek Tzedek tirdof,” or, “Justice, Justice shall you pursue” (16:20).

            Many of you are already pursuing justice. Good on you. Some of you think you are, but more likely are doing exactly what I am doing. Seeking half-heartedly to better educate yourself, getting sad and angry at the situation, thinking to yourself, “Someone should do something!”, wondering what you can do to help, then going back to enjoying your privilege and what’s left of your summer and shutting it all out because it’s just so hard. Probably no one who would read this is heartily in favor of maintaining the racist or sexist systems that in some fashion hurt us all (and in all fashions hurt others significantly more). However, every time we don’t actively pursue justice, we are aiding these systemic subjugations.

            And just in case, any readers out there might be on the wrong side of history (and I assure you, this is not a matter of difference of opinion, there is a wrong side in cases of violent sexism and racism), and are willing to support systems of oppression that pre-judge certain members of society, I remind you that this Torah portion also contains two verses that tell us at least two witnesses are needed (17:6 and 19:15) to pass judgment. Whatever your feelings on the death penalty as the outcome of a fair and honest trial, and whatever you may think was done that warrants persecution, it is at least clear that no one person ever has the right to take the life of another person, for any reason. Claims of self-defense muddy the waters and tend to be open to interpretation, but self-defense rarely involves multiple gun shots, including to the back, or strangling someone from behind to death. And anyway, self-defense starts to seem a flimsy excuse when those doing the “defending” are people in power and those dying are people without.

            Although my references should be pretty clear and not at all vague, I’ve purposely not named specific cases, because these specific cases represent a larger whole and the larger whole is completely abhorrent. Elliot Rodger’s killing spree in May and the police killings of Mike Brown and Eric Garner this summer were very different in nature, but were equally wake up calls for me. It is not enough that I have been loud and proud with my raging leftism my whole life, that I have always considered myself a feminist and anti-racist, that I got on some soap boxes and used to have a serious interest in social activism before rabbinical school consumed my whole life. We are too long overdue for real equality in this country to be self-satisfied with our own baby steps toward progress and equality. I understand real change takes time, and we are battling centuries of colonialism, white supremacy, and patriarchy, but come on. It is 2014, people.

            I’m partially writing this because I needed it off my chest, because Ani inspired me, because this week’s Torah portion suited it, because I needed something to do with this train ride, because I wanted anyone else who wasn’t jolted awake by these killings to be awake now, because I love my #LizzRants. But I also am writing and posting this, because I’m hoping it will make me more accountable to myself. This is out there now. You all know how I feel and I that I am setting a goal to get more educated, more involved in fighting systemic oppression. First and foremost, I am participating in a fellowship with American Jewish World Service and have pledged to bring more social justice mindfulness and hopefully opportunities to the Academy for Jewish Religion this year. But that isn’t really enough. Please join me in pursuing justice. Let’s hold each other accountable, educate one another, and gently remind one another when the [social] media gets bored of #Ferguson that we can’t get too comfortable and forget that racism still lurks there and everywhere. Rapists and misogynists continue to walk the streets and troll the internet despite the fading of #YesAllWomen, but the awareness it sparked is real and it hasn’t completely disappeared yet. Real change is attainable, but only if we pursue it.  Justice Justice shall you pursue. Let’s pursue it. 

Parashat Shelach-Lecha

            This week’s Torah Portion is Shelah-Lecha, the sending out of the spies. Moses sends out a scout from each of the twelve tribes to scope out the Promised Land and determine if it is inhabitable. The spies discover that it is indeed a land flowing with milk and honey (date honey, specifically, most likely), and that there is good fruit to eat there, including grapes so large it takes two people to carry the bunch! But they also discover that the land is already inhabited, and they view the inhabitants as large and scary, and they report back to Moses that they should not try to conquer the land. All but Caleb and Joshua prepare to elect new leadership and head back to Egypt. The work was hard and the pay poor (read: non-existent), but at least there were no giants! They even cry out, “Oh! It would be better to die here in the Wilderness than to die by the sword in the land!” So, G-d declares that that is precisely what will happen. In case you thought the Israelites wandered for forty years because Moses’s fragile male ego didn’t allow him to ask for directions, this parasha confirms otherwise (take that, gender stereotyping!). G-d commands that the Israelites should wander for forty years to allow for all the unfaithful to die out, as they claim would be better than trying to enter the land. Then, all the children who did not try to overthrow Moses’s leadership will be able to enter the Promised Land.

            Often, I disagree with the accepted view of our tradition’s so-called “villains”. I think Esau was misunderstood, Korah gets a bad rep, and even sneaky Laban who treated his children like his cattle was really only playing by the rules of his day and giving Jacob his comeuppance. However, I have to concede to our tradition that the ten spies and the people who sided with the them, are cowards and stupid. G-d has already performed great miracles for them, leading them out of Egypt, parting the Sea, raining down manna and quails so they have enough to eat in the wilderness, and making G-d’s constant presence known through the pillar of smoke by day and fire by night. How could these people still be afraid that the land G-d promised them will be somehow inaccessible to them? That they will all die by the sword fighting for this land? Did NO ONE even consider, that maybe there wouldn’t even be any fighting? I mean, I know I mentioned last week that there are parts of the Bible where G-d commands the Israelites to kill all the Canaanites, but I’m pretty sure that hasn’t happened yet when the spies are sent. Maybe there’s enough land for everyone and no one needs to fight over it!    Of course, we know, as wise Torah scholars, that they do need to fight over it, and probably the scouts knew that too, even before being told. Sadly, that’s the way society worked back then, and even more sadly, it is too often still the way things work. People conquer new lands, and push out the old inhabitants. I’m not advocating for this; I’m just acknowledging that it happens, and that these spies had every indication that their venture would be successful, in spite of the big scary giants that already lived in the land.

            Most of us probably have not seen any great miracles like the parting of the Sea or manna from heaven, and even if we are spiritual people that feel we can have conversations with G-d, probably have never really seen or heard G-d’s presence in such a direct way as the Israelites have, with their guiding pillars of smoke and fire, and their revelations on Mount Sinai. So, when faced with a difficult task, it’s far more reasonable for any of you to feel frightened or inadequate than it was for these spies. But if you know, deep down, that it is the right thing for you to do, then that it the same as G-d commanding you to do it. And even if it is daunting, do not shy away from your calling, or you will squander your life in the wilderness.

            I have encountered some difficult moments throughout the decade I’ve been on my journey toward becoming a rabbi, times when I was unsure I was doing the right thing or that I would be good enough at it. But all along, there was a tug in my soul letting me know it was what G-d wanted of me and for me; the rabbinate is my Promised Land. There have also been really wonderful moments, where I didn't need a tug in my heart or soul, because such joy was already right in front of me, and a lot of those moments have been here at Temple Beth Emeth, and especially with the Hebrew school and Youth Group. I want to thank you for being an important part of my journey, and leave you with a wish that you all find your calling and that you run toward it, not away from it. May it bring you a heart flowing with metaphorical milk and honey: joy, peace, and fulfillment. Amen and Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Be’ha’alotekha - Welcoming the Stranger

            This week’s Torah portion, Be’ha’alotekha, is a full one! The menorah lampposts are built in the Tabernacle, the Priests are further purified, their orders to serve Aaron the high priest in his service to G-d is further explained, silver trumpets are made in case there is ever need for a rallying call in time of war, and marching orders are determined. Then, of course, there’s the small and uninteresting parts where G-d makes it rain poultry, and strikes Miriam with white scales covering her skin.

            In all this mayhem, it may be easy to miss a very short scene, four verses long, between Moses and his father-in-law. Remember, Moses married a Midianite lady while he was in hiding after killing the Egyptian task master. The ancient rabbinic commentators claim that her father had “converted,” and began praying to Adonai even before Moses found his encampment, but in the Torah itself, we have no proof how much Tzipporah and her family blended in with Moses and his people. So when Moses asks his father-in-law to come with them to the Promised Land, it’s a strong statement about inclusivity for that time. The land of Israel in the Bible is promised to the Israelites, not to Midianites. There are even disturbing and problematic parts where G-d commands the Israelites to kill everyone already living there when they enter. So it is significant that Moses near begs the Midianite priest to join them. When he insists on needing to go home to Midian, Moses says, “Please do not leave us… if you come with us, we will extend to you the same bounty that the Lord grants us” (10:31-32).

            It’s a little bit of the inverse of Ruth’s pledge, which was read just this past week for Shavuot. After the husband and sons of Naomi die, she tries to send away her now widowed daughters-in-law. One is quick to take Naomi’s advice and goes home to her family of birth, but Ruth sticks to Naomi’s side, saying, “Where you go, I will go; your people will be my people, and your G-d my G-d.” Ruth is often treated as Judaism’s first convert, and taught as a story about welcoming new people into our communities, but we see in this week’s Torah portion, she is hardly the first. She just might be the most important, since she is the great-grandmother of the great King David, who is thought to be the line from which the Messiah will eventually come. But since Reform Jews believe in creating our own Messianic Age through Tikkun Olam, that all seems unimportant.

            What’s important is that between the Megillah read this past week for Shavuot, and this week’s Torah portion, we see an ancient and living value of treating the “others” in our midst with respect. These acts of acceptance are small forms of Tikkun Olam, and contribute to our own building of the Messianic Age, so we won’t need Ruth’s great great great great great grandchild to come redeem us. We accept newcomers to our communities and families; we  love them; we revere the wisdom they have to teach us, and soon enough, forget that they were ever “others” in the first place. True acceptance means those who seek to be truly blended, as Ruth did, are indeed blended. And those that want to keep their individual and original identity, as Jethro/Reul did, are indeed accepted as friends and family, regardless of their Jewish/Israelite status. May you all find acceptance when you need it, and always be accepting to others in your community. Amen and Shabbat Shalom!