What I Know

 The more I learn the less I know.

 

This seems counterintuitive but it is a truth in which I live.  

 

I read thoughtful and persuasive analyses from the right and I shake my head in agreement.  They are right.  Then I listen to arguments from the left and find myself nodding agreement with them.  I exist in that voluble mixture between those polar extremes where mutually exclusive truths abide. 

 

To make matters worse, even such obvious issues like abortion, the “woke” generation, and Diversity, Equity and Inclusion are fraught with divergent viewpoints, all of which are cogent and convincing when read with an open mind.  I envy people whose opinions are so ironclad that they see no option other than their firmly held belief.  They are convinced that they are the cardholders of truth.  I, on the other hand, am not so sure.

 

All I know is what I know in a moment.  Every person must be heard, every well-considered opinion valued.  And then, “judge each instance, all people, with an positively disposed eye in favor of their merit.” (a paraphrase of Avot 1:6). Everyone is right at some point. What is said to ridiculously wrong now, may turn to be prophetic.  Schopenhauer observed, “All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.”  Three examples we all recognize are Copernicus, Galileo (both were violently oppressed) and John F. Kennedy (with his lofty vision of people on the moon).  It is the same with virtually every visionary who ever lived.

 

So how do we keep from making decisions that pokes holes in ultimate truths (and not ephemeral ones)?  I have often referenced Martin Luther King’s life as an outlier.  He had many more enemies than friends, more people who hated him than admirers.  Now, we uniformly view him as prophetic but that was not the case during his life.   The same is true of Abraham Joshua Heschel, whom we revere today but was largely ignored as irrelevant in his own time.

 

As I listen to the many arguments on every side, I find that I am less sure of what I thought I knew.  In fact, arguing to prove we are right often ends up either in an “echo chamber” or pitting us against those with whom vehemently disagree; neither of which is productive.  A Hasid once declared, “It’s better to lose an argument and win a friendship, than win an argument and lose a friendship.”  The Baal Shem Tov went even further when he observed that which we despise in others is often what we dislike most in ourselves.  A sobering thought.

 

So what do I know?  Only this: 

Ø  Do good for others.  Find opportunities to lift up those who are bent under the weight of oppressive pain.

Ø  Reach out beyond yourself to touch the God of our soul expressing gratitude for all that we have and not what is absent.

All else is an expression of ego or a passing fad.

Perspective

Change is difficult.

It is hard to break patterns of behavior.

If you are used to complaining about how life has short-changed you, turning that mind-set around to an appreciation of what you have seems impossible. We all know people like that; folks who continually complain about how life has beaten them down.  Nothing about them seems joyful.  It is hard to be around people like that. They seem to suck the happiness out of the room until it is hard to breathe.  

Question to ponder: Do we feel better or worse when we share life’s disappointments with others?

It is axiomatic in our culture that sharing life’s woes is part of the healing process. We are encouraged to sit with therapists and articulate our inner pain, speak about our psychic injuries – real or imagined to feel better.  Does this improve our sense of well-being, or does it merely feed into our feelings of inadequacy?  Of course, we all know that being able to share our inner pain is a part of the pathway to healing but it is not the panacea to relieve our souls of the burden they carry.  It is only a first step.

A man with a negative disposition was operated on for gallstones.  One day the doctor met the spouse on the street.  She seemed worried.

“What troubles you?” the doctor asked.  “The operation was successful.”

“For me hardly,” came the reply.  “The stones are gone but the gall remains.”

Excising negativity is a complex matter.

Yes, it starts with accessing it, acknowledging the source of the pain, but then must move to the next step of resolution.

The wisdom of our faith has each day start with foundational statements of affirmation.  We start with Modeh ani “Thank You for restoring my soul…” progressing to gratitude for the gift of ridding the body of toxins, before acknowledging sentience, eyesight, movement…. What is the purpose of these daily blessings?  To be sure we are relating to our Maker.  Further, we are accessing what is most positive about our life.

Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement…to get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted.  Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually.”

Is this too difficult to imagine?  

Find what troubles you then seek the anodyne for that pain.  If you feel isolated, craft the affirmation that makes you less alone.  If you sense that you are less privileged than others, affirm what is right and present in your life.  Once you know what you need, what remains is to find the inner healing that only you know can make you whole.

The Talmud teaches, Mishaneh makom meshaneh mazel, "When you move, you change your future."  

Real change comes when we adjust our vision of our life.  It does not take a herculean effort, just readjusting the way we see ourselves.  A small move can bring about significant change and offers unimagined opportunities.  Be unafraid. 

Actually, I overstated the problem above.  Change is not difficult unless we stand in our own way.

Idea: Begin the day with your needful affirmations and if you do not know where to begin there is no better place than the opening passages of the siddur said upon awakening.

On Being Judgmental

 Rabbi Abba bar Yudan said: Everything that God disqualified in animals, He endorsed in people. For animals, He disqualified the blind or broken or maimed, but in man He endorsed the broken, downtrodden heart.  (Vayikra Rabba 7)  As it says in the Torah, “A broken and contrite heart God will not turn away.”

It is good to be judgmental.

For if we do not distinguish between that which is good and bad how would we ever achieve a just society?  We will allow veil to run rampant.  What parent would tell their child to absorb the body blows and verbal assaults of bullies?  In our adult lives too, it is important to keep away from people who are doing bad things.  Even more, when we see a wrong being committed, we should not “stand idly by your brother’s blood.” Lev 19:16 We have a sacred obligation to. Do everything you can to stop evil.  And how can you do that without being judgmental?

It is bad to be judgmental.  

Has it ever happened that you see someone and instantly have a disliking to them?  Perhaps they remind you of someone hurtful. Perhaps they have the kind of face Hollywood would use as a “bad guy.”  In those instances, we may have acted derisively towards someone who did not deserve to be treated that way.   There are probably other times when we misinterpreted someone’s actions as harmful and wrong.  

How do we discriminate between the times when we are called to be judgmental and when we become the evil that we perceive?

A person should be judged based on action alone, nothing else.  Any other kind of judgmentalism is a prejudice, whether it is based on nationality, religion, dress, political party, or any belief system to which we do not ascribe.  Richard Bach opined that we hate that which we do not understand.  Simply because it differs does not make it bad.  To the contrary, the difference should make it interesting, worthy of exploring not destroying.

I began this article with a midrashic quote about a broken person.  We are all in various stages of brokenness.  No person gets through life unscathed.  It is vital to remember that just as God values the broken soul so we must imitate the Divine by embracing that which looks different from us.  We are loved by God with all our inadequacies and foibles.  So is the person next to us in the theater or who just blew past us on the highway with the music so loud it made our car shudder.

In the same sourced midrash above, Rabbi Alexandri stated, “A regular person, if someone serves him with broken vessels, he is insulted. But with God- the vessels that serve him are broken as it says, “God is close to the broken hearted.”

Memories of Poland

 On my trip to Poland brought up many emotions.  The visual impact it left on me was one of desolation.  One of the remembrances most painful were the shoes.  In one barrack they lined the floor reaching 3 to 4 feet high.  In another they were stacked up to the ceiling held in my metal cages.  In yet another was a mountain of all kinds of shoes thrown together haphazardly- red, shiny, the shoes of a laborer, white nurse’s shoes, wing tips…

The one I picked up must have belonged to a child of three or four.  The heels were slightly worn.  Overall, it was a lovely pair of shoes, the sort that little ones would wear before going on an exciting excursion.

A vision: My little ones.  I think of the boundless lone I hold for them.  When they are frightened, I quietly reassure them that the night will pass, and I will be there to protect them.  They my quiver and whine in my arms so I hold them a bit tighter to let them know they are safe. I gently kiss their heads.

To the sacred memory of the one and one half million children who were denied a childhood there are no words.  For the unfathomable anguish of the parents who could not hold their little ones when they looked to their mommy and daddy for comfort and protection there are only silent tears.  All the moishelehs and Rachels, the aspiring artist and the dreamer, the joyful and joyless all met the same end.

 

A Tale.

Gisella Perl was a Hungarian physician sent to Auschwitz.  Josef Mengele dictated to D. Perl that any pregnant woman was to be reported to him at once.  He told her, “They will be sent to a better camp where they will receive nutritional supplements.”  Dr. Perl discovered these women were being used for Mengele’s sadistic medical experiments.  She took action. Night after night Gisella Perl performed abortions on the filthy floor with her bare hands.

 

Decades later, Dr. Perl shared her story.  “Hundreds of times I did this.  No one can ever know what it means to destroy these babies.  But I must do it or both mother and child will be cruelly treated by Mengele.”

 

 

As I sat on the cold boards I thought of the unborn and the victims as I turned over the shoes in my hands. The leather was still supple, the shoelaces intact.  It was hard to breathe.  Who could possibly conjure the hopes and dreams of these children. Who can begin to describe the loss of so many children?

 

Another fragment

Adam Czerniakow was the head of the Judenrat in the Warsaw Ghetto.  I visited his grave in the Warsaw cemetery.  In an entry from his diary on June 14, 1942, he wrote, “I command that the children be brought…. These eight-year-old citizens conversed with me like adults.  I’m ashamed to admit that it’s been so ling since I cried so…. Cursed are those among us who can eat and drink and forget these children.”  Finally, Czerniakow took his own life rather than oversee the murder of the children.

 

Connection with the One

 You make my feet firm by Your Word:

Do not let sin overcome me.  -Psalm 119

 

You are not alone.  You never were and never will be.  At times it may have as if the choices you made and the events that affected you left you feeling bereft with no one to share the burden of sorrow.  Without doubt, the road is long and feels so much longer when in pain.  No one can tell you where it goes or how it will end.  Still, you are not alone, ever.

In the journey of life, you will become lost and disoriented.  That is not failure and it certainly is not the end of the tale.  This is when learning happens.  Challenges allow us to invest our ingenuity.  To stop along this road and ask for directions is not a sign of weakness it is the mark of maturity.  When we inquire, we learn.

Others have tread this path before us.  They too were not alone.  His Presence buffeted and steered them through their time on anguish and sorrow.  This same strength will uphold you.  Allow God to be your navigational guide.  Trust Him and His power.  

And do not forget to say thank you.

 

A story

Rabbi Yohanan said, “A man was walking along the road late at night.  Suddenly his lamp was blown out by a gust of wind.  He lit it but the wind blew out again.  Finally, he said to himself, “Why should I continue to bother myself lighting the lamp when it will just be snuffed out?  I will sit here by the roadside and wait for sunlight.  Then I will travel once more.”

So tic is with the Lord God.  When it was His will that we be released from the grip of Pharaoh he sent our teacher, Moses.  And when we were exiled to the distant reaches of Babylon, He sent His servant Zerubbabel.  Mordecai saved us from the clutches of Haman (May his name be erased for all time. Amen).  So it was with the Maccabees and every evil that has cast its pall over the Jewish people.  

The Holy One, blessed be He, hears the moans from His people.  Enduring terrible pain, the people turn to the Rabbis who comb the ancient and holy texts.  They read this prayer:

O Lord, free us not through the intervention of any person.  We are weary of the endless cycle of enslavement, freedom and enslavement.  Be our redeemer, not a mortal.    Let no man lighten us but lighten us Yourself.  As is written in the sacred writings, “With You is the fountain of life.  In Your light we see light.”

 

 

Repression

  She made an appointment to discuss problems she was having with her children.  I proceeded to ask questions to get a grip on the nature of the problems.  I was particularly focused on asking about roles and the dynamics of power at play in the relationships.  We talked and as time went on, she became more and more agitated until the poor woman cried out hysterically. 

She sobbed.  Finally, she came out with the disturbing revelation that she had been abused as a child.  Some thirty years later nightmarish visons of the sexual abuse came flooding back.  Memories of shoch and revulsions washed over her until this woman was a helpless mass.

 

Freud called it repression.  “By carrying what is unconscious on into what is conscious, we lift the repressions.”  But what is simply too painful to feel with now we squirrel away deep into the recesses of our mind so that we can go on living.

 

 

The Shoah was a crime so enormous in the mind of our people that few spoke of it for ten years after the Nazi defeat.  Utterances about the unfathomable pain were few.  Collectively, the incomprehensible was repressed so that we could go on living.

 

Elie Wiesel’s personal testimony, Night, was essentially the first detailed experience of a survivor came a decade after the Holocaust.  Until then survivors had great difficulty in finding their voice to convey an experience so horrific.  And the world was not prepared to hear their testimony either.  It took a long time to convince ourselves that humanity might be worthy of that name.

 

At that time, we dismissed the broken souls that returned to Poland in 1945, crippled in body and spirit.  What else does a survivor do but try to return to his roots and pick up the threads of his life where they were abruptly cut short?  Some came to reclaim what had been stolen from them, others to attempt to regain a semblance of an ordinary life after Auschwitz.

 

On July 4, 1946, mobs of Poles raced through the streets of Kielce in search of survivors to rid themselves of the Jews that had the temerity to return to their homes and reclaim what the residents had stolen.  Carrying guns, ropes, knives they attacked the Jewish worn and beaten stragglers.  Sparing no one forty-three lay dead by the end of the day and many seriously wounded.

 

My pilgrimage to Poland.

For me, coming to this place was an act of confirmation of my deepest psychological fears.  There was a carefully thought-out and viciously executed plan to exterminate every Jew from every city, town and village in Europe.  Having lost members of my extended family, whose names and lives will never be known, as well as being a potential victim is no small weight to bear.

 

One of the most incredible aspects to seeing the plains of destruction is the striking fact that businesses were opened for the specific and sole purpose of killing.  The complex called Auschwitz was designed for murder.  The evil ones used poison gas, bullets, burning, starvation, beating to death, hanging, crucifying, vivisecting…

 

Truly horrifying was the single picture of a mother clutching her baby as she walked to the gas chamber.  One wonders, what this mother was singing to her child to calm her fears?  What prayer passed her lips when her little one was wrenched from the land of the living?  If there was a time when God should have given up on His creations in utter frustration at our evil machinations it was then.

 

‘Terrified,’ describes the look on the face of the young girl as she lies on the earth, naked.  Her mother comes to her side to give comfort and reassure her she us not alone.  But the expression.  No, it is not terrified.  It looks more like confusion, amazement.  Her mouth hangs open.  The expression pleading, “What is happening here?  It is not human.  It cannot be real.”

 

There was one barrack filled with hair.  Some were braided, others with a ponytail.  Long flowing locks of golden hair shorn from the body.  Thousands of lives were betrayed by that room.  Some hair was woven into fabric, and some cut off to simply further dehumanize the victims, the Jews.  All that remains of ten of thousands of lives is this mass of hair thrown haphazardly into massive piles while the bodies were erased.

 

One expects to hear the voices of the dead rise.  Passing through the Concentration Camp (really an awful misuse of language as they were murder factories not concentration camps) I expected to hear anguished screams of the dead penetrate the thick air.  But there were no sounds.  Only quiet.

 

There are no words in these places of utter horror.  There are no phrases that capture the sense of such gross violations of all that is sacred, only a pervasive awareness of silence and despair.

 

We said out prayers.  They were of no comfort.  We lit candles to the memory of the dead.  It was symbolic.  Then we wept.  A dozen rabbis, pious and learned cried at this place of darkness.

 

Questionnaire Under a Glass

 Quite a few years back I sent out a questionnaire to my congregation.  I wanted to learn more about them.  The needs of the people are paramount and how best to serve them than ask their needs?  I have wondered many times, before and since, “What do people want?”  Why do so many come week after week?  Why do others remain invisible unless there is a major life event?  And perhaps more grandiose, what is the secret of Jewish survival in America?  Most nagging of all, what do members expect of me, their rabbi?  What do I represent to those who flock to the synagogue and those who remain strangers apart of religious life?

So the questionnaire was designed to ask questions that I would never dare ask people individually because I would not want to shame them.  For example, asking someone if they keep a kosher home may be interpreted as a chastisement.  Or inquiring what they expect of the synagogue may invite painful admissions.  But asking what we are, as a community, a congregation, missing might bring about some revelatory responses.

Candidly I had no right to assume that I would get more than a few responses trickle in…but they flooded back.

The answers that came back were in some way uniform.  Wherever people individual observance or attendance lay, they wanted more.  All wanted something more than what was.  Some desired a larger sanctuary.  Others wanted to enlarge their scope of Jewish knowledge.  Some wanted professional licensed counselors available at the synagogue.  Others voiced a desire for full time educators on staff.

One of the respondents was irritated.  Anonymously, they scribbled on their returned document, “Is any of this reality?”  I took it to mean that they were wondering if the questions were a tease and of no value since no change would happen as a result of the responses.

That which I asked in the questionnaire were akin to a wish list.  The vast majority of the congregation I learned were anything but apathetic.  They all wanted change.  I suppose there was some legitimacy to the irate response I received.  After all, were I to present the aggregate wishes of the congregation to the Board of Directors there is no way they could afford what the people wanted.  There was no money for an executive director or cantor, executive secretory and more.  And yet.

If ten more families joined the synagogue we could expand the library.  With another ten we could consider a basketball court.  With another ten a full-time educator could be hired.  Another group and there might be a mikveh, a pool, a gym, chapel, psychologist….  No dream would beyond the scope of realization.

 

I think of all the bitter young Jews who harbor deep grudges against Jewish institutions, many of whom I have met.  Some feel they should not have to pay for membership.  Some were insulted by a teacher long ago and to date accuse synagogues of collective guilt for some wrongdoing decades ago.

“I want my money to go some real good,” some commented.  If I had a dollar for every time I heard that line…

Many times I have had to put up Jewish folks in motels for a few days until they sorted out their finances or terrible personal situation.  Or other times when a needy member confided their life was falling apparat and they needed a life preserver.  Truth be told, when my private funds were running low some saint from the congregation would step in.  I would call someone up and say, “I have an awful problem…”  They interrupt me midsentence (they all do this) and say, “Rabbi, I don’t need to know the situation.  Just tell me what you need.”  And most of these dependable folks have served on the Board at some time.  They are givers.

Some people just throw up their hands and confess they have no need for the synagogue.  “I have nothing against it.  It just does nothing for me.”  I have little to offer these people.  When the time comes, they or their loved ones will call me as a hired hand to eulogize them.  But they are missing two points.  One is that the shul offers more than religion.  It brings with it a concerned community.  When there is an illness, visitors come with chicken soup, kind words or flowers, and get-well cards. There are special programs, memorials and social events.  

Secondly, there are opportunities one is never aware of until they are placed before you.

Worse still, is the future. Dissociation from the synagogue weakens the whole body and less opportunities for those who affiliate.  It is odd that we are eager to give to charities that help the needy but reluctant to support the one institution that broadly supports your neighbors and relatives.  It also means fewer resources for the needy as the synagogue does not discriminate between hose that choose to affiliate and those who do not and great burden for those who remain in the congregation.  In short, we do with less.

There are no guarantees that being a member will ensure that your children will remain Jews but it does strengthen the odds.  Lack of interest in the affairs of community – you vote with your wallet and feet – the fate of the large part of the Jewish family hangs in the balance.  Our children learn by what we do, not by what we say.

What about those who are beyond the age of child-rearing?  Some seniors believe that once they are beyond their prime, they have paid their dues.  Now is the time to withdraw. 

To those who hold this opinion I urge, remember back to those who most influenced us – people who commitment to ideals and faith that they were towering influence whose hand guides us well beyond the grave.  What legacy do you leave behind?  Make no mistake, deeds are profoundly louder and more dramatic than anything else in the physical world.  Seniors can have a more powerful impact than even the peers or parents!

We will always be here for you.  If it’s counselling the Jewish Family Service will be here.  Years ago, we settled hundreds of Soviet immigrants.  In the past we actively fought threats from missionary groups and today against the tsunami of hatred against Jews.

We use our combined energies to support Israel, especially during times of crises, which are all too many.

We are small in number.  There are no huge endowments that undergird our congregational and communal organizations.  The needs are many, the demands are at times overwhelming.  To serve our people faithfully whenever they need requires us all.

One of the greatest teachers ever, Hillel, concisely stated, “Do not separate yourself from the community,” (Avot 2:4). That is an ethical imperative.  A student of his commented on his Master’s teaching, ‘One who sever his connections to the Jewish community will be twice cursed.  That person will share in all the tragedies that befall the Jewish people (this 2,000 years before Hitler) and will not share in its triumphs.’  The former curse has been proven correct.  However, I am not so sure about the latter comment as we are seriously weakened without every member.

Our synagogues and institutions are open to all without reservation.  While we are filled to capacity on the Days of Awe, no one is turned away when they seek God.  The safety net is ready to catch anyone when they need help.  It is here but could use bolstering that only you can provide.

Consider.  Be here for us.  We are here for you.