Genuine Love

All love that depends on a (transient) thing, when (the thing) ceases, the love ceases; and (all love) that depends not on a (transient) thing, never ceases. What is the kind of love that depends on a (transient) thing? Such was the love of Amon for Tamar; and (what is the kind of love) that does not depend on a (transient) thing?  Such was the love of David and Jonathan.  -Avot 5:16

Love full.

Eight Days not Seven

Hanukkah does not make sense.  Once upon a time, a dedicated and zealous group of would-be soldiers the sons of Mattathias, overtook the superior Syrian troops.  

They routed the enemy’s armies and made desperate and successful lunge to recapture Jerusalem. When they entered the shambles of what once was the glory of Israel they could only locate a single small pot of oil, with the remaining stamp of the Kohane Gadol on it.   Only that oil was suitable for the eternal flame, the menorah. It was enough oil to last one day. And as we all learned that oil burned for an additional week well beyond the day's supply.

The rabbis, of blessed memory, take pains to point out that the miracle of Hanukkah was that the small cruse of oil lasted eight full days when expected to burn for only a single day. Then why does this holiday last eight days? If the miracle was that the oil burned until more could be prepared, seven days, and then why is Hanukkah not seven days in order to commemorate the miracle??

A Parable.

Once there was a king who had a rebellious son. The father chided the boy on his perverse ways. At times he scolded his son, at times he punished him severely; other times overlooking his evil, the father grew more and more despondent. When he could no longer tolerate the boy’s behavior, the sad father expelled the son from his empire.

Wandering aimlessly for days and weeks the boy learned some profound lessons. He endured terrible loneliness and silent afflictions until the boy accepted himself and understood how awful he had behaved toward his beloved father.

But the boy could not go home. He was filled with remorse at his past actions.  His heart, as heavy as a stone, began to seek atonement. He found a great sage and asked the ancient one how we could possibly ever return to his father, having shamed him before his people and even publicly ridiculed him.

”Have you nothing good to say about your early years?” the sage asked.  

“No.  I rejected everything he stood for,” replied the tearful son.  “When my father told me to eat I fasted.  When he told me to bathe, I covered myself with mud.  When he demanded that I study I shot arrows at his favorite flocks.”

The wise  one stared at the grieving figure for a full minute before speaking:

”Then how have you become so contrite? If you are so evil, what has made you realize your wrongs toward your father?”  He continued,  “No human being is fully evil. Every person has a residue of goodness in it--what we call a gute neshama.  You may return to your father because even as you spurned him, he loved you.”

Seven days are for the miracle of lights. However the flames would never have been kindled if not for the first pot of oil on discovered by the Maccabees. So on the final day we celebrate the miracle as well as the kernel of goodness that enabled festival of lights to occur in the first instance.

Mezzuzot

Every Jew should have mezzuzot on their doors.

What is exactly mezuzah? It is not the case that we nail on our doorframe.  The mezuzah is what lies inside the case. What is inside? Most of us never open one to see. 

One day a man’s curiosity got the better of him pulled the mezuzah off his door frame and peered inside.  Inside was a message: “Help.  Call the police. I am imprisoned in a mezuzah factory!”

What is really inside? It is a hand written parchment, just like our Torah, containing sections from the holy Writ. Scribed by hand are the words of the Shma and following sections that we pray daily. Each parchment must have exactly 22 lines and on the reverse side have God’s name, Shaddai.

Mezzuzot are ongoing reminders of God’s presence in our lives and in our homes. We see them on the right-hand side as we enter into the house. Traditionally, we touch it and kiss it as we go into our home seeking God’s blessing. It is at eye level so that we cannot miss seeing it when we come into our house.

When I visited Poland years ago I walked through the old town of Krakow. I saw one doorway after another with a rectangle about 4 inches long and 1 inch wide carved into the lintels.  These once Jewish homes are mute testimony to the vibrant life that once thrived in the communities of Eastern Europe.

Those old scars in the doorways tell stories. Once there were weddings and brises in this home. People gathered around seder tables and sang and studied. Children were chased and chastised. Love was consummated. Chicken soup wafted on the breeze every Friday evening along with the scent of freshly baked hallah.

Now there is only silence.  Yet these empty spaces are witnesses.

Our mezuzah also testifies to what happens there. They are watchful reminders of a power far greater than us.  They mark our homes as Jews who are proud to be counted as God’s people.  Like the lintels marked in Egypt during the final plague, they invite the Holy One to enter and bless us.

The threshold to every house is small; it is passed and a fraction of a second. Yet the threshold is also boundary. It divides the outside world from the inner world. It separates the home from the street, an office from the hall. This space bridges two worlds and is marked by a mezuzah.

Every room in our home has a mezuzah (the only exception is the bathroom).  This creates sacred space.  It is an invitation to God that the Holy One is welcome here.  It also reminds us that our home is holy and to treat everyone in it with care, not God forbid, with abuse or neglect.

Torah and Us

The problem is us. Not them. Us.

We get in the way of ourselves. We become hopelessly tangled up in the mess we have created. Lives become shattered as wrong words pierce the soul. Feelings are hurt and forever bruised with an offhand remark that was never intended to wound.

We later wonder, “How did it happen?”  “What was the catalyst for such pain?”

”Before you can find God, you must lose yourself,”said the Baal Shem Tov.

How do we find ourselves if we do not know that were lost in the first place? 

For the Jew the beginning and the end can be found in Torah. Genesis details the deliberate actions of the Lord and crafting the universe. Generation after generation wrestles with identity, truth and looks for peace.  We see in their faces the sorrow and the burdens that they carry as we retell and relive the Text year after year. The disappointments run deep. And still God hopes in us.

“Being full of ourselves leaves little room for the Divine Presence to dwell. Egotism is inherently anti-spiritual. Arrogance can be seen as a form of self worship that comes dangerously close to idolatry,”wrote Aaron Z. 

And so we move into the book of Exodus where God reveals himself, His will and His faith in us. God never abandons hope in what we can become.  That is why He shared His most precious possession, Torah, with us.  It is our guidebook to be less prideful, more humble, more inwardly loving and outwardly caring.  With clearer vision from its sacred words we see life for what it can be, not just what it is.

Moving forward into the book of Leviticus we learn how to talk to God and listen more intently to one another.  It teaches us how to reach into our inner core of being and be open, vulnerable and honest.  We learn the value of sacrifice.

In the fourth book of the Torah, Numbers, we learn about our worth. This book teaches the incalculable value of our people. Every person is holy and our nation is holy. You will find idea this stated in our prayers over and again. One Hasidic Sage commented, “Man is the language of God.”   

In the final book of the Torah, Deuteronomy we learn the power of loss and love.   A wise person once said, “If everyone of us was told we had only five minutes to live, the telephone lines would be hopelessly jammed because all of us would be rushing to tell someone how much we really loved them.”   Deuteronomy is Moses’ love song to his nation as he is about to die.  The book is filled with deep wisdom reminding us of the precious knowledge contained in these books.

With Torah we are rich.  We are one.

Hanukkah

The Festival of Lights. Even the name itself rings lustrous. Brightly burning flames, the aroma of frying latkes, shadows playing over the wall: they jump, fall and the rise again. We never know where they will go next.  In the deep recesses of winter we light the colored candles that radiate great hope when light becomes dimmest.

The Hanukkah stories are well worn. We are very familiar with the great wars, triumphs and amazing heroism of the Maccabees. We recall Mattathias, an old man standing up to a tyrannical power, and the handsome, winning bravery of Judah Maccabee  The stories are remembered and retold from year to year, generation to the willing ears of the new generation who listen wide-eyed with anticipation of what is coming.  These stories have all the components that summon our attention: they speak of a daring and courageous history where courage and light purge the land of Israel from impurity. Once we were fierce warriors. It was a different world.   

A child peers into the brilliance of the dancing flames and sees those epic battles relives them. Remember how many times we experienced and saw brave warriors in our minds, vanquishing all the enemies of the Jews! It is the moment of consummate triumph when we turned back the Greeks, the Pharaohs, the Hamans and even the Hitlers of history.

Which was better -- when mommy told us the stories as we lit the candles?  Or when we anxiously turned the pages of the book, or watched the movie?  It was a great and promising story from beginning to end. There is a clear demarcation of those that were wicked and bad and the other side, which was brave and righteous.  The good guys with God on their side prevailed.

What about the family playing dreidel that night? The gathered family and friends to celebrate, nosh and schmooze around the Hanukkiah?  When we push through all the cobwebs of the mind and remember those halcyon days they bring a smile to our face. Even now lips begin to curl upward in anticipation. We cannot help but recall the bubbling sound of frying potatoes in the kitchen. And the table set for eating, mixed together with a sulfurous odor from the Hanukkah lights.

Hanukkah was always warm. Steamed, fogged windows framed with light patches of water droplets.  Little fingers that drew pictures on the windows during those evenings when darkness came early.

The evenings were long. Filled with the sounds of voices, air that was so thick that it penetrated every fiber of our bodies, songs, games, stories…. it is hard to remember when it all ended. Did we get dressed slowly into pajamas?  Or did the night suddenly end as tired eyelids folded over and tiny bodies were tucked into bed? Those things remain in our hearts. The quilts under which our body snuggled became infused with the smell and the excitement of the sacred evening.

Good night and Hanukkah sameach.

On Sukkot

The Zanzer Rebbe had a sparsely decorated Sukkah.  Instead of spending money on decorations he gave it to Tzedaka, charity. The Rebbe used to say; “There is no finer way of decorating the Sukkah then to see that the poor are not hungry.”

The first two days in the last two days of Sukkot are counted as Yom Tov, holy days. The rest are still part of the holiday but do not carry the restrictions and commandments that adhere to the other four days.  So, on the Yom Tov days of Sukkot we go to synagogue, say Kaddish, refrain from work and commerce. Unlike Shabbat to enhance the holiday we are allowed to cook for our needs on the Yom Tov.

On the first occasion when we pickup the lulav and etrog, we say the appropriate blessings along with the Shechechiyanu, the prayer the Lord thanking God, allowing us to live in rejoice in this moment. Hallel, specific Psalms all of which contain the word Hallelujah or Hallel, is recited each of the days of Sukkot along with the requisite Torah readings.

The sixth day of Sukkot has a special designation: Hoshannah Rabbah or the Great Hoshannah.  On this day, seven circuits are made in the Synagogue carrying the lulu and etrog. Special prayers imploring and God’s mercy and kindness are part of the service. Traditionally, Hoshannah Rabbah is the last reprieve when Heaven will hear our final pleas for life, health and prosperity. After the Hoshanot have been completed, the willows (part of the lulav) are beaten on the ground.  As we leave the Sukkot holy days we pray, “May this be our final atonement.”

Many people will save the etrog as a fragrant spice-box to last until next Sukkot. Cloves are pressed into the skin of the etrog for sweet smelling b’sammim to be used throughout the year for Havdalah. The palm can be used for the search for leaven on Passover and the willow branches to make fire to burn our hametz at that time. The myrtle continues to exude its fragments for many months.

Shmini Atzeret is the final day of the Holy Days.  It is not technically Sukkot though.  We eat in the Sukkah but do not say a blessing when sitting there.  We do not bensch lulav: the lulav and etrog are set aside the day before.  Only the ritual service is basically the same as it was during the holiday.  Shmini Atzeret is the day of transition when we move from summer to fall, from the warmth and comfort of plenty of the harvest to the cool, reflective distance of shorter days and longer nights.  A prayer for water is added.  Introspection is an impetus to gaze into he pages of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes.  It is traditional that we read the wisdom of Solomon’s tome on the Festival.

Life as it Becomes

Wonder. A stream of light from the window provides a rainbow of colors on the wall. Daddy's watch creates an animated being that flickers up-and-down defying gravity. Who cares that it does not fall?   It glimmers and shimmers for me.

It is fun to dance with one’s shadow. Move and it moves. Wherever he goes, it follows.  There is a joy in life as all things are alive and beckon. A rock can be a boat tossed by the sea; mud a delicious appetizer.

Then he awakens a second time. This occasion is no less startling than the first. Arising again, he’s not so amazed as internally befuddled. Confusion sets in has he becomes aware of what people are really. He never suspected that uncle Phil was an alcoholic. Or that mom had such a bad temper. “If I was wrong about her,” he thinks, “perhaps I am wrong about other things too.”

So he grows to learn to satisfy himself rather than look to the world or to others to satisfy him. That was a painful lesson.  He takes great delight in his own achievements. Learning to laugh again he chuckles at mortality and despises obstacles. This creature becomes a monster on ego feeding. Stuffing himself on self-gratification, he lives to live. The joys of life right now measured in the markers of tangible success.  Values become slaves to valuables.

Hair loss becomes a dramatic loss of stature but he fights on. Using an arsenal of tonics, combs, singeing, he wages war on time. Tired eyes are masqued by paints. Until his strength is sapped in the war against the creeping ravages of time he remains a stalwart warrior. Paleo-diets swimming, weight watchers, tanning salons, hair transplants will stand in line waiting for his attention. In the final analysis, sedentary life wins. Time has more strength than he can ever possess.

Weight.  A quiet satisfaction slowly replaces the hectic race of physical aggrandizement, as the girth expands. It’s all right. If he cannot win, he might as will capitulate on this score so we can concentrate on the big one. “There are other wars to be fought,” he murmurs as he ventures on to the next challenge.

Soon death replaces life as his biggest obstacle. His family and relatives seem to prove a point with her passing. They succeed. He watches as bodies are swallowed up by the earth, the same earth that bore them. They leave without a trace. There are no goodbyes or departing words of wisdom. Pain accompanies the lives of the next generation. Even more than pain is the deep realization that maybe he has been playing the wrong game. Life itself suddenly takes on new meaning. For him, the joy in life can no longer be found in the trivial distraction of things. When mortality looms close he clutches fiercely onto life.

And again wonder.  The rush of light through the window raises his spirits. He’s happy again. It is amazing that the glass on the table reflects a rainbow of color that splashes on the wall. He twists the cup and the colors dance. So what if he did not meet all his earthly goals? He smiles as the grandchildren run around the house. This is what God intended. It’s just a shame that it took so many years to become so wise. 

At best, our lives are fragmented episodes related to reach other is some haphazard and seemingly random fashion. We work hard to find satisfaction and meaning.  But the world deceives us; it offers distractions instead of truth.  It does seem odd that the Holy One, blessed be He, can wait so long for His children to learn the truth.

Stories of Pain

My teacher once asked, “Can they be prayers after the Holocaust?”

Each catastrophe that has befallen us has had a major impact on our way of thinking. The Crusades with the terror of rampaging villagers burning, looting, writing, murdering we remember through the prayers and litanies that we recite on Tisha B’Av. That speak of the atrocities committed at York, Mayence, Speyer, Worms, the auto-de-fe’s of the New World are also included in this heartbreaking the liturgy.  In some towns they still recite the names of the victims from long ago. Each year they are read publicly.  On Yom Kippur, the prayers conjure up blood stained images of the martyrs-Rabbi Haninah, Rabbi Tarfon, Rabbi Ishmael, Rabbi Akiba….  We recall the horrific attacks in the Middle Ages on Jewish homes and Synagogues. For these things too, the memory of the Jewish people finds expression in the Kinot, poems and eulogies written by survivors; eye-witnesses to the atrocities.  We have specific mourning chants for each of the liturgies.

 What words, what testimony can be recited for the victims of the Shoah?

No prayers existed for decades. The poems had yet to be recorded. On the day of collective memory, Tisha b’Av, there is no mention of the Holocaust. Its pain, its proximity to us, makes all these other tragic events of history insignificant by comparison. A separate day of memorial had to be created the pain of the trauma was too overwhelming great.

The words describing the events of bygone epochs is insufficient grasp the enormity of Auschwitz.

Even the familiar biblical story of Isaac’s near death does not tell the story of one and one half million children who died in the camps. Instead, silence reigns.  In the aftermath of the inferno prayers were slow to emerge.  It took Elie Wiesel, the first real voice of testimony, nearly 15 years to tell his story. Survivors were still being urged to speak for decades afterward. Up until recently they had their dark memories and secrets behind locked doors. 70 years have passed and the terror is only now sufficiently distant to begin the process of hearing the stories and creating lasting memorials to the victims.

The closest biblical analogy we have is that of Aaron witnessing the death of his sons. When they perish, the Torah offers her most anguished and terse sentence, ‘Va-yidom Aharon,” “and Aaron was silent.”  It is the other silence of disbelief, shock and humility. Any words uttered would degrade the memory of the dead.

It is trying and nearly impossible to compose new prayers. Instead, we tell their stories. And that must be enough.

Age Well

People are living longer. Baby Boomers are reaching ages far beyond from what used to be retirement. The population of elderly is exploding as the government scurries to find solutions to Social Security, Medicare and those still affected by the 2008 stock debacle.

In the play, “I'm not Rappaport,” the protagonist establishes his office on a park bench in Central Park. His daughter, dissatisfied with her father's activities, tells him to either move in with her in Great Neck, enter a nursing home, or continue to live in Manhattan but attend a senior citizen center on the West Side. To this Rappaport replies, “So my choices are either, exile, Devils Island, or kindergarten.”

It takes no great stretch of imagination to lament the pains of being old. Out of deference to the elderly, the Torah exhorts us, “In the presence of your elders, stand.” Being old may once have been considered a comfort and blessing, but no more.

Patsy Neal, education teacher, tells the story of her grandmother who is placed in an old age home. 89 years old and confined to a tiny room she became dependent on a walker when gradually her legs begin to give away. Grandma learned to attach a bag from her walker, which remained close by all times. In it with the vestiges of her old days. Disconnected fragments of a life that was taken away. In that small pouch for the final artifacts retained from my lifelong accumulation of courts. There was once a comfortable lounger, expensive delicate China, and a safe comfortable environment. But the furnishings of her home were sold or given away as she no longer needed them where she lived in the nursing home. The car was given away when her vision began to fail.  And now there’s grandma lived in a nursing home the final bits of her life or thrown into the small bag which never left her walker. A few odds and ends were her sole possessions, an alarm clock, a small radio, assorted needles, some thread, pieces of sewing…

With sudden clarity her daughter, Patsy Neal, cried as she realized that her grandmother was a bag.

Aging is a biological and situational fact. It is also a function of attitude. There are times when we are guilty of making our parents invalids.  Rappaport was right.

Consider Jonas Salk who first developed the polio vaccine and later on this life worked to find a cure for AIDS.  Nolan Ryan, who retired as a major-league pitcher to pitch to children on Sunday afternoons. And who led the Maccabean revolt against the Syrians but the elderly man, Mattathias? In our communities the remembers in their 70s and 80s and even 90s who are younger than some teenagers I have met.

Dr. Wilder Penfied, A Canadian neurologist, wrote, “Disease and disability makeover take man at every age and force them to withdraw from work. But the capacity of the human brain for certain purposes often increases through the years… At 60 the body has passed beyond its greatest strength and physical demands should be lessened and changed. But the brink quite often is ready for the best performance…”

The lessons of the Salks, Neals, Ryans and even the Maccabees is clear: Give me a chance.

Job Description

What do I do? I am the mashgiach for the kitchen, supervising the kashrut of the synagogue ensuring that it does not become tainted. I am official paginater, announcing Sequitur and non sequitur pages to the congregation during worship. Solemnly, I attend to the role of periodically rising to inform the community of the page we are now on.  I am a sermon maker. The first thing that any community wants to know of it’s rabbi is, ‘Does she speak well?”  Most members want to hear good stories and uplifting morals when I go to synagogue. I counsel the grieving and bury the dead. When those who are called to the Next Universe I comfort the bereft while escorting the dead to the next appointment.  

I scribe the Hebrew on tombstones and officiate at unveilings.  I am called to the bedside the dying alongside the newly birthing mothers.  I guide both parents through the process of naming and bris.  I hold the hands of those whose marriage s are dying and take them through the process of getting a Jewish divorce.

I plan weddings and delivery homilies.  I represent the Jewish community at any number of interfaith gatherings- gatherings, vigils, colloquiums, Lions Club, Rotary, human rights issues, guest speaker at local colleges college, and tour guide for students who come through the synagogue.  One question that communities need to know is will the rabbi keep us together? Factions proliferate and attitudes are about as diverse as they can be. Is the rabbi able to keep the congregation as one people, and one single community, while increasing numbers? 

During my tenure I have sought to create and independent community, one that is capable of living a meaningful Jewish life in the quietude of their own homes. Consider all of the energy has gone into adult education. It should not seem surprising after all the hours spent in creating programs in the shul that my personal goal was to create a more literate Jewish community.

A Rabbi's Direction

There are times when being a rabbi can be a most difficult and terrible burden. I may not be in a particularly good mood one evening and may offend people by not smiling or saying hello. While this does not sound like a terrible crime, it can be distressing for someone who is hurting inside. There are, I have to admit, times when I do not wish to be disturbed and I cannot find a place for solitude; but if someone needs me I cannot tell them to call back tomorrow.

And yet that role suits me better than being the official paginator. There have been more than a few people in my lifetime who have become irked because I do not announce pages every five or so minutes.  And there are others who are bothered that I do not include more English in the service. Admittedly, for those who neither read Hebrew nor wish to read Hebrew, the service would be more meaningful if I became a full-time paginate and introduced lots of English. Stubbornly, I refuse. 

Wouldn’t service be so much more stirring if everyone could participate by reading the Hebrew language? Imagine everyone singing, everyone reading, and davenning. Talk about uplifting! I seek to spur, urge, the congregation to mindfully educationally and spiritually grow. There in lies the core of the largest number of sermons I give, Growth. As individuals and as a community we must continually seek to expand to push the boundaries of our abilities.  “Where there is no growth there is death,” teach our sages.  I will not stand idly by and watch people die of spiritual malnutrition.

So I create more work for myself. More telephone calls. More letters. More urgings. And I have no problem with that. I look with pride at what I have accomplished these past years together with you. We are stronger, wiser, more active Jewishly and more capable of survival than ever before.

Organs

A prominent halakhist wrote:

“Human life is not a good to be preserved as a condition of other’s values but as an absolute, basic and precious good in its own right. The obligation to preserve life is commensurately all-encompassing.”

So much discussion in our time is given to how much we need to devote ourselves to the quality of life and surrounding issues. As we edge closer to a fuller and better understanding of human physiology we begin to wrestle with the deepest issues of the value of life.

As indicated by the above quote, which is in consonance with the Conservative Jewish understanding of law, a person’s life is about the most important factor to be considered in any ethical dilemma. In fact, the Torah dictum, “do not stand idly by as your neighbor’s blood is being shed,” an is imperative to take action when someone is in danger.  Rashi interprets this phrase to mean that we must use every available resource to ensure that our “neighbor’s blood” is not shed. We are exhorted to preserve life.

An example of this kind of compassion extends to the laws of Yom Kippur.   A critically ill person must not fast on the Day of Awe. Similarly, a sick child’s brit milah (ritual circumcision) is postponed from the eighth day.  To do otherwise is to violate a commandment cited in the name of God!

The Rabbis extended the idea of preserving life to encompass the enhancement of life. For example, it is deemed critical to preserve a person’s eyesight. To stand by as a person’s vision atrophies is be tantamount to watching them lose their life’s blood.

The question of saving or enhancing a life has been one, which has vexed the Jewish community for some time.  Swirling around us has been the idea that organs donated can be used for experimental purposes. This is clearly against Jewish law. For this reason, I continue to be reluctant to endorse the donation of organs.

Yet the Conservative Movement has designed a legal document that affords us the possibility of organ donation to be only used in the instance where it can save or enhance someone’s life.  I urge you to obtain a copy.

Justice, Justice

People are obsessed with justice. We demand that murderers be locked up. Rapists deserve no second chance. The death penalty is not used nearly enough. Why do the good continually have to suffer instead of those who really deserve it (and we all know who they are!).

The Torah too is suffused with ideals of justice. Did you know, to choose just one example, that a child can be put to death for disabusing the fifth commandment? Or that an idolater must be executed? Or that murderers are to find no place of refuge from the fury of justice?

And we ask, “Why me? Why do I have to bear the wounds of terror? Just look at all the people speeding by! Why did that cop have to pick on me??”

Dorothy Sayers wrote, “When we demand justice, it is always justice on our behalf against other people. Nobody, I imagine, whatever ask for justice to be done upon him for everything he ever did wrong.”

It does not take a quantum leap of imagination to use this notion about people who cheat on their taxes. “Let them get what's coming to them.” Now, when they ever say this about themselves? I would like to meet the person who states, “Boy, am I glad they caught me breaking the law and pressed charges!”

A paradox: no one wishes to be found guilty of crimes while we fervently hope for others to be punished for the same or similar transgressions.

And, if there is an order to the universe; if God dispenses rewards and punishments, why does it seem that we never get what we really deserve?  I have yet to meet a single soul who asks, “Rabbi, why not me?  I was a “no good” person.”  It is, I believe, that thee word “justice” has a double meaning. Justice applies to the discovery of our innocence while also meaning punishing others.

Sayers continues, “We want justice - we want revenge; and that is why, when justice is done upon us, we cry out that god is vindictive.”

What do we deserve?  Do we merit grace or pain?  I have often thought that the best determination of what we deserve is to approach the most honest person we know (or our fiercest antagonist) and ask them to tell us what hey really think of us.  Few would dare take up that challenge.  This speaks volumes.

A great truth from the Talmud.  A human being should always carry two pieces of paper in opposite pockets.  On one should be written, I am created from the dust and earth.”  On the other, “I am created in the image of God.”  That is us.

Summer's End

The conductor rises to the slightly elevated platform. Invested with great energy, the conductor slowly lift the baton: the orchestra tenses ready to perform their well rehearsed, perhaps over over-rehearsed, rendition of the symphony. Everything must happen at once. If he oboe begins one second after the trombone the evening will turn to disaster.

So it is with the last golden moments of summer.  The Master calls all nature to its predestined assigned role.  Days grow shorter.  Apples begin to turn a brilliant red, tugging heavily on branches.  The young rabbits, which emerged in late spring, are now graced with strength and agility and will soon be envelope din a thicker coat of fur.   Once the playground of squirrels, our backyards have become a frenzied supermarket of last minute collecting of nuts for the long, cold days ahead.

In dank basements wine takes on rich warm hues. Bees will soon disappear having made their last batch of honey.  All of nature colludes, as the nights grow cooler and longer. From the pesky flies to the stately hawk, South Carolina is transformed.  

Lo yisobu b’lekhtan, nature does not comprehend itself; it simply does what it is ordered to do.  Nature does not have a mind that thinks, “It is fall and time to begin the shut down”. Rather, the Master poised at the lectern, raises His baton and nature responds uniformly.

Obedience is a sine qua non for the universe; it obeys the Master’s wishes.  Even the earthworm takes its cue from the same motion of God, as does the lion. We feel the subtle changes in the earth and, at the same time deep within the soul. We know that the curtain of summer has fallen and it is time to gather the family, send cards to relatives, and connect with those with whom we yearn to be. It is a time of ingathering - Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  We begin to think about rearranging our clothes for winter and other small shifts as we enter a new year for the Universe.

There are many names for God. The one that we use now is Melekh, King. The whole universe is summoned to stand before the King. All that exists falls before the Infinite One.  Of course, we are the only creation that can choose to not respond to the summons. The ability to do a “pesha” a considered sin lies within our purview.  This is the truest difference between nature and us; our will be defiant for no obvious cause, just ego.

I will be there, perhaps for the last time.  Soon you and I shall meet again at the appointed time and place.  We have been called.  L’Shanah Tovah Tikateyvu v’Takhatemu.  May the Master inscribe you for goodness.

God's Voice

Gifts are something received, usually from another person.  Yet, there are times when gifts are received from Above or from within, not from a person. The origin of the gift does not diminish or change its value. In fact, it will often enhance it.

In conversations throughout my career with people going through turmoil I will often ask whether someone believes that God has a plan for them. After they briefly reflect, the answer I usually get back is “no,” they do not believe in destiny.  God does not steer them through life.  They choose their own path and choices.

“What if,” I urge them on, “What if God whispers into your mind options that exceed your present mindset?  What if ideas come randomly that tell you that there is more to life than what you know now?  It is then becomes your choice to follow the voice or take the path that is most familiar.” In other words, I suggest, God has a plan for us but we can turn aside from it or remain indifferent to the directional.

Pain and the fear of pain is one of the strongest impediments to change and growth.  Those who can reinvent themselves or change life’s direction may find deep reservoirs of creativity and strengths they never knew existed.

Renoir uttered as he struggled with painful arthritic fingers, “The pain passes, the beauty remains.”

The artist would not be deterred from his passion despite the pain.  For Renoir, the gift needed to be released.  Nothing would stand in his way of making artistic masterpieces.

That is our challenge.  Can we muster the internal fortitude to live up to God’s expectation of us and our potential?

The Talmud declares, “Growth or death.”  Of course they do not mean to say that if we do not grow we actually die physically; but we do kill our potential.

Once, when we were young, we were fearless. Challenges were taken to be opportunities.  Then with age, we learned to take fewer challenges to avoid failure.  This decision limited our ability to learn and transcend what we are.  Of course that does not mean that we should immediately take up skydiving.  Or does it?  In any event, the risk of failure is worth the price paid as it results in a more meaningful life.

In “Living with Loss,” the authors declare, “Ultimately whether grief destroys you or strengthens you is something only you can decide.”  I suspect that throughout our lives, God gently encourages us to move out of our comfort zone – to learn new skills, take a Hebrew class, become an adult Bar Mitzvah, travel to Israel, stand up and speak out for our beliefs, sing more loudly, take up dance lessons, enroll in an on-line course in Jewish thought, take the class in creative art that you’ve always dreamed of…   Listen to the whisper of the Voice.

The Jewish Home

I have often heard it said that Jewish homes have a “Jewish” appearance. While the statement may invite the comment, “Funny you don't look Jewish,” it is true that Jewish dwellings invariably contain a host of signs, all of which read, “Jews live here.” You have them posted around you.

One of the more pronounced objects in the home is the mezzuzah. The word “mezzuzah” literally means doorpost. A common misunderstanding of this word is the belief that a mezzuzah can be slung around the neck or kept on a shelf. Frequently, I have been proudly shown mezzuzahs that have been drawn out from beneath a shirt. This is, however, is a misconception. A mezzuzah is only a mezuzah when it is attached to the port of entry of one’s domain.

There is the story of a Jewish family that moved into a predominately non-Jewish area. What was affixing the oblong box to the lintel of the front door curious neighbors inquired, “What is that thing?” The man replied, “It is a mezzuzah. A box nailed to the doorpost.”

“Is there anything in it?” asked the visitor.

“There is a piece of parchment inside with some words written on it.”

When the family went out, the neighbors, driven by curiosity, went over and pried the mezzuzah off the door and hurriedly emptied it to see what was inside. Unrolling the tiny paper they read these words, “Help! I am imprisoned in a mezzuzah factory.”

That little box does carry a message, a very strong one. As Jews, we do not worship objects. To God alone do we bow and offer our prayers. The mezzuzah, like other religious symbols, is ever-present to evoke an inner spiritual response. In this vein, the strength and power of the mezzuzah cannot be overstated. There are many pious who will only enter a room after kissing the mezzuzah as they pass through the doorway. The mezuzah brings to mind the concept of holiness and few Jewish homes are without this continual reminder attached to their houses.

There are some who believe that the mezuzah is an amulet against evil.  Rabbi Eliezar ben Yaacov proclaimed, “Whosoever has tefillin on his head, tefillin on his arm, tzitzit on his garment and the mezuzah on his doorpost is fortified against sin.”  The Jewish objects around our home infuse our lives with sanctity.

These various symbols are fortifications against and often hostile or indifferent world.  Just as a king would protect his castle to assure his safety, we too need to create an environment protecting us from harm.

The next time you meander through your castle look at the sign on the right as you enter.  Besides being a call to holiness sit is a beacon that declares, “This is a Jewish home.”

The Last Word is Never the Last

Death overcomes us in the winter.

The buds shiver inside the enfolded arms of its mother. The grass turns a ghastly brown blossom stubborn decaying leaves yet clean to the branches of trees. Long ago all hope was lost.

It is hard to see life beyond the pallid grey of winter. This is why so many of our friends and neighbors move south during the short days. Unable to bear the harshness of the cold months they seek light and warmth and growth another climes.

To wait for the renewal of growth takes patience. It is the same lesson that parents of teenagers learn as they wait for maturation to take hold of the child. Waiting is no easy task.

There is a beautiful story told of Honi HaMaagel in the Talmud.  Honi saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi then asked the man, “How long will it be before this tree bears fruit?” The man replied, “Seventy years.” Honi was incredulous. “Why are you planting it then? You certainly do not expect to live another 70 years!” The man replied, “Just as my forefathers planted for me so I plant for the next generation.”

Honi  pondered this thought and she sat down behind the rock to eat. Drowsiness overcame him and soon he fell asleep. Upon awakening, Honi saw a man picking fruit from the carob tree. He asked him, “Are you the man who planted this tree?” The stranger responded, “No I am his grandson.”

The story is magnificent and it’s profound simplicity. It speaks of the ability to wait patiently for the future, and plant for it. Most of us, like Honi would rather concern ourselves with the present. And the present consumes us. We become depressed by the long rainy days and are saddened by the winter and loss of life. But life does return and with it comes with a renewed joy. Pain subsides and new goals and plans are charted.

In the Jewish tradition it is customary to plant a tree when a child is born. Not simply out of joy do we pack plant the sapling but for a real practical purpose. The branches from the tree will one day be pruned to form the cover of the huppah, the bridal canopy, of that child.

Yes, Judaism some speaks about the present but it also speaks to the future. Beyond death there is life. After upheaval comes stability. We are obligated to anticipate it and plan for it.  Just the doldrums of winter, life springs outward. Every day that we live and function is another day in the ever-turning wheel of our lives. Just as the cycle of years rotates, so does our life rotate. It turns around and around and sooner than we think, we no longer stand where we once stood. Our task is to anticipate change and to allow ourselves to grow with life, not against it.

A Little Shul

Rabbi Akiva was asked, “Since your God loves the needy, why doesn’t 

He care for them Himself?”

The sage responded that, “God, Father of rich and poor alike wants His children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love.”

Thousands of people have passed through our humble little shul.    They have come through these doors seeking the touchstone of existence.  We too come to this place to reclaim our sense of being and renewed purpose.

In the annals of every Jewish community we participate in the drama of a congregation that moves from an idea into a fully functional community.  Making a real community is a bit like a marriage; people touching people.

Our purpose is never to merely survive. Survival itself is not noteworthy.  We celebrate marriages where we have sweated under the chairs of the bride and the groom. We honor the bereft whose shoulders we have supported.  We celebrate warm friendship on Shabbat morning. The evening minyans where we gathered at a house of death. We sing and dance countless baby namings and brit milahs.  We remember our little ones who spilled wine on the carpet and those stains still remind us of that day, even now. They now have children of their own. We recall Friday evening dinners. High Holy Days. Relationships cemented. In those walls we celebrated wars and peace, love and forgiveness.

The Puritans called marriage “the little church within the church.” Every day, without letup, for untold years every Synagogue has functioned as the sacred place where love and forgiveness have been recycled endlessly. That is what a marriage is; that is what a community does.

George Halas, owner of the Chicago Bears, worked well into his 80s. He was once asked, “George, at your age, what are you doing here working?”  Halas replied, “It’s only work if there’s someplace you’d rather be.”

Rabbi Akiva was right.  “God, Father of rich and poor alike wants His children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love.”  This is our charter; to be there for one another as we have throughout all the past millennia.