I am writing this column in early August while on vacation, but it has been anything but a restful summer in the broader world. At this moment the focus of many of us is the war in Israel, and it is hard to know what the situation will be a month from now when you read these words. All I can say with certainty is that Israel will continue to live with a new consciousness about the ongoing threats to its sovereignty. This threat will not be eliminated any time soon no matter the outcome of this war
I have been alarmed by the complacency about this war in the Jewish community and especially in the American community at large. Perhaps it is hard to overcome summer lethargy and the scattered locations in which people find themselves, but I think there is something deeper that should concern us. This war has made it clear that Israel’s enemies do not seek simply to end its presence in the West Bank, but rather seek to eliminate Israel itself. Our enemies have never given up their maniacal focus on a Middle East without Israel and this latest war is but a new chapter in this campaign. Moreover this war is a proxy war that Iran is fighting through Hezbollah over issues that go far beyond Israel. If Israel fails, Europe will be the next target in the sights of a fundamentalist jihad that seeks to eliminate all secular democracies including our own. This is not Israel’s battle alone; it is a war in which we all have a stake as Jews and as Americans. As has been the case before, Israel and the Jewish people are simply on the front lines of a war that reaches well beyond its borders. In the synagogue our Israel Committee, under the leadership of Scott I., will continue to look for the ways that we can be supportive of Israel during the current crisis. This will be central to our concerns in preparing for the holidays.
The challenge for us as a synagogue community is to keep Israel at the top of our Jewish agenda, but also not to let go of all our other efforts to maintain a vital Jewish life. We know from past experience that if Israel becomes our only concern for an extended time, our efforts in other areas to renew and revitalize Jewish life can falter. There is a synergy between support for Israel and working to create a joyful and engaging Jewish life in our community for our young people and ourselves. Israel strengthens us and our efforts to renew American Jewish life strengthen support for Israel. Thus we will continue to focus on the celebration of our centennial this year and on the many events that will accompany this milestone in our synagogue history. We have the opportunity this year to reflect on our first one hundred years of existence, but to also lay a secure foundation for our next hundred years. Among our many other efforts this coming year will be new opportunities for study and an expansion of Friday Night Live.
Our Jewish agenda is not the same as it was last year at this time. We will be called upon to be there for Israel, for our synagogue community and for the American Jewish community. We will be called upon in many ways, and will need to find the energy to sustain the work that needs to be done. On the threshold of the New Year I know we all pray for the safety of our fellow Jews in Israel; we pray for the strength and welfare of our country; and we pray for the steadfastness of our synagogue community to confront the challenges that lie ahead. May this past year of war be succeeded by a year of peace.
Alisa and I extend our warm wishes to the congregation for a year of peace and blessing.
Shana Tova
At this time of year as nature winds down our Torah readings also draw to a close. The Jewish people anticipate their arrival in Israel after forty years of wandering in the wilderness. We are told that one of their first acts upon reaching this milestone will be the bringing of the first fruits of the harvest to a central altar in thanksgiving. The Torah even spells out the precise words they are to say in bringing this offering.
“He (my father) went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us. We cried to the Lord, the God of our father, and the Lord heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Deuteronomy 26:5-8)
Milestones are celebrated by retelling stories. The Jewish people retold the story of the Exodus and how arrived in Israel. We retell our stories so that those who were there remember and so that those who were not present inherit our shared narrative. The Israelites collectively retell the story of their arduous journey, their rescue from oppression, and their arrival in their promised home.
Part of our centennial celebration this year will be the retelling of our HJC story. We will listen as the senior members of our congregation recount the early history of our synagogue. Many of you heard the remarkable stories recounted at our Centennial Kick-Off Brunch. Over the course of the year through a series of lecturers and teachers we will retell the history of the American Jewish community that shaped this congregation. I anticipate that we will all take pride in the rich history of our synagogue and our community.
However, this Centennial is not only a celebration of the past; it also provides the challenge for our future. The past does not assure our future. The first one hundred years does not guarantee the next 100 years. The centennial is a springboard for planning and securing the years ahead. How do we ensure a sound financial structure so that we do not always fear the next crisis? How do we provide for the continuity of talented professional and volunteer leadership? How do we create an institution that will attract new people and be a place where they and all of us can fulfill our Jewish aspirations?
We have many wonderful stories to share about our past. Those stories will shape our future. Our decisions this year will shape the years ahead. If we can create a secure future, then perhaps one hundred years from now our grandchildren will look back with pride upon their past, and turn with hope toward their future.
Friday Night Live is returning this year, and we hope once again that the synagogue will be filled with song and the voices of all who are present. I was reminded of the power of prayer this past Rosh Hashanah when we were all together singing Avinu Malkeynu. The synagogue was filled with a thousand voices asking God to be gracious despite our being unworthy. The power of this moment of the service came not so much from the words of the prayer as much as it did from the sound of 1000 people singing. In fact I missed this experience on the first Day of Rosh Hashanah which coincided with Shabbat this year, and therefore meant that we did not recite Avinu Malkeynu.
I fear that most of us don’t sing as much as our ancestors did a few generations ago. We have been intimidated by the professionalization of music over the last century. We compare ourselves to the recordings on the radio, the phonograph, the stereo, iPods, and music DVD’s. Sometimes we feel that it is hard to measure up. We have become more self-conscious about out singing. However the impulse to pray does not disappear with changes in technology. It is a universal human response to pour out one’s heart even if we feel a little more awkward doing this in our modern world.
Twice last year our kiddush lounge was filled with the music of prayer at our Friday Night Live services, and this year we are hoping to make this a monthly experience. Our format will be a little different this year since we will add instrumental music only at the May and June services when Shabbat begins later. As we did last year, we will hold services in the round; the services will be participatory; a congregation dinner will follow two of the services for those who can stay; and everyone will be sent home with a gift that will be a very tangible “Taste of Shabbat.”
Again, we hope to make this as user-friendly an experience as possible. We hope you will pull out the CD that was distributed last year, and listen to it in the car or play it at home as part of your Friday preparation for Shabbat. Extra copies of the CD are available from the office. There will also be a sing along coordinated by Amy for those of you who would like to grow more comfortable with the melodies of FNL on Sunday morning, Nov. 5th at 11:00 am.
We hope over time that FNL will become one of the distinctive marks of our shul. It is but one example of our attempt to ask how our tradition can be “re-imagined” so that it speaks in new ways to us. Interestingly in our development of the FNL format we have left the traditional service virtually unchanged and have simply “re-crafted” some of the music as well as our physical space and ambiance of the service. It seems to me that FNL represents what we do best as a Conservative synagogue which is to take the richness of our tradition and to look at how we can reshape it help us express our religious and spiritual commitments.
As we look forward to this Centennial Year and to our next one hundred years at HJC, my hope is that FNL will be only one of many programs that place us at the cutting edge of Jewish life. I am confident that we will work together as a community to create the resources that will enable us to sustain quality programming at the Huntington Jewish Center.
Our first FNL service will be held Friday night, November 10th at 6:00 pm. If you joined us last year for FNL we hope to see you back. If you did not, we hope you will consider trying something new during this centennial year. Please join us and come sing even if you think you can’t. And if you can stay for dinner, we hope you will make a reservation for that, too. Join us! I promise you a great “Friday night out” in shul.
In a few weeks the synagogue will be formally embarking upon an endowment campaign. In a sense this is long overdue, since many nonprofit institutions such as universities, hospitals, synagogues and Jewish communal organizations provide for themselves financially to secure their future. In another sense this is very much the right time to begin an endowment since we are marking our centennial through a celebration of our first one hundred years. It is a very natural outgrowth of our centennial to ask how we will ensure and provide for the next one hundred years in our synagogue’s life.
Like most synagogues, we have survived financially over the years by living from hand to mouth. We struggle each year to meet our budget, and pray that no emergencies will throw us off course financially. Some years these plans don’t work, and we scramble to figure out how we will come up with the necessary money. Usually there is not much left over to realize our dreams.
An endowment will free us a little from the day to day exigencies and give us a little space in which to dream. Can we find a little extra money to hire the professional who we know will inspire our children or grandchildren? Can we keep Jewish life in the synagogue affordable so that young families who want to become part of our community feel they are able to do so? Can we find a little money to maintain the beauty of the sanctuary and chapel in which we pray? So often the answers to these questions have been “no”. An endowment will mean that sometimes we can say “yes.” Charitable giving is not strange to us as American Jews. We give generously. Gary Tobin recently completed a study in which he looked at gifts of ten million dollars or more between 1995 and 2000 by the nation’s 123 wealthiest Jews. These Jews gave generously—a total of 5.3 billion, but the problem was that only six percent of the total amount went to Jewish institutions. We give generously, but not to Jewish institutions. We are doing well and can be proud of our efforts in the general philanthropic world, but we have not done as well closer to home.
As a result our Jewish organizations--our synagogues, our schools, and our federations--are less than they ought to be. I don’t think we have to make the case to most people that an endowment for the synagogue is a piece of prudent planning for our future especially in a community in which there are not predictions of explosive Jewish growth. Yet I know that when it comes to fund-raising projects some of us become uncomfortable. We genuinely struggle to figure out what it is appropriate for us to contribute to such an endeavor. We are nervous that we will be asked to solicit others for gifts. The public nature of a campaign about a matter that is very private to us makes us uneasy.
Each of these concerns is legitimate and important. Judaism understands our relationship with our money as part of our spiritual life. To what extent do we see our material blessings as a possession to which we are entitled to for ourselves, and to what extent are they a resource for redressing the imbalance and unfair distribution of material resources in the world? Judaism’s perspective on this question is too complex to summarize in a few words, but suffice to say the Jewish word for charitable giving, tzedakah, means justice. There is something deeply right and good about transcending the prison of our own person needs and desires to direct a part of that with which we have been blessed for the common good or to help others. It helps to remember when we consider our own gift or speak to someone else about a gift that we are not giving to ourselves or asking for our personal benefit. We are acting on behalf of an institution and way of life that matters to us..
Fund-raising has never been something that has come easily for me, but speaking about the HJC comes naturally. It helps us to remember that when we raise funds for the HJC we are involved in a conversation about a place that is important to all of us. Some of the most interesting conversations I have had about the synagogue have taken place in the context of fund-raising campaigns. The conversation becomes an opportunity for us to hear what moves or excites the person with whom we are speaking. We have the privilege of learning what this place has meant to those who are part of it. Sometimes we hear how we have failed, and the conversation or the feedback gives us an opportunity to think about how we can do better. In general I look forward to the conversations I once feared.
Because money is a very private matter I know that publicly announcing gifts—even when they are not posted on a marquee surrounded by flashing lights--makes some of us uncomfortable. We all know that in the Jewish hierarchy of giving, the highest form of giving is double blind giving--the person who receives tzedakah does not know who the benefactor was, and the benefactor does not know who the recipient of the gift was. But within Jewish tradition, communal giving is understood somewhat differently from giving to an individual. Publicly announcing a gift can become a standard and a guide for someone else. When we know someone has stretched to make a generous gift, it can inspire us to stretch to support a cause that we also value. Sometimes it is helpful to know what someone we consider a peer has done. In communal giving it is appropriate to announce a gift because it inspires and helps others, and it may even be a mitzvah. Of course, it goes without saying that no one should ever be embarrassed, shamed, or coerced into giving.
There is a well known, but problematic statement in the book of Proverbs, “U’Tzedakah tatzil mimavet” - Tzedakah saves us from death (10:2). Clearly the statement is not true in a literal sense. There are generous people who die young or tragically. But in a spiritual sense there is truth to the statement. When we help someone or support a communal cause we introduce a measure of goodness into the world that outlasts our years. We do our small part to redress the imbalance and unfairness inherent the world. Starting an endowment is a once in a lifetime opportunity in the history of an institution. I am confident that this endowment project will help to sustain the Huntington Jewish Center, and that it will give us a sense of working together in an effort that is deeply right and good.
I am writing a few days after the decisions of the Law Committee of the Conservative Movement about same sex marriages and gay clergy. The issues which have been before the Law Committee for more than ten years are whether our Conservative seminaries should admit openly gay rabbis and whether Conservative rabbis should have the option to officiate at same sex commitment ceremonies.
Let me first share an autobiographical note. Like many individual growing up in the 1950's, I knew virtually nothing about homosexuality until I was a young adult. The gay community was a hidden and closeted community. I incidentally discovered the issue of homosexuality as a teenager through a book that made a reference to attraction to members of the same sex. Without any personal knowledge of any gay individuals, any views that I had at that time were shaped largely by ignorance.
My thinking about homosexuality did not significantly change until my final year of rabbinical school when I arranged a series of programs for first year students about issues facing the Jewish community. As part of this program, I brought in a lesbian couple living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan to address the students. This couple were the parents of two young children and were active members of a Conservative synagogue where their children attended Religious School. I listened as these parents described a lifestyle that was more traditionally Jewish than the lifestyles of most members of the congregation in which I had grown up— the only congregation I knew well at that time. It became clear to me that day that a commitment to create and sustain a Jewish family was not based on sexual orientation.
I would like to believe that my thinking about issues facing our movement’s relationship with the gay community has become more nuanced since that encounter. Our movement has had a longstanding position that any discrimination against gay individuals is a serious and indefensible offense. However, religion deals not only with the image of God within each one of us, but also with norms that we hold as ideals. When a rabbi performs a marriage or when a congregation engages a rabbi, an individual or an institution is set forth as a model. What in the realm of everyday secular life is clear becomes more complicated in the realm of religious community. To this day it is much harder for single rabbis to find pulpits because congregations want rabbis to model married life.
The Law Committee’s decision did not mandate a specific course of action for the Conservative Movement or its rabbis. Two major opinions were affirmed by the Committee. One authored by Rabbi Joel Roth affirmed the status quo, i.e. openly practicing gay men or women cannot be admitted to the rabbinical or cantorial schools of the Conservative Movement and Conservative rabbis are not permitted to perform same sex commitment ceremonies. The other paper adopted by the Law Committee and authored by Rabbis Elliot Dorff , Avi Reisner and Daniel Nevins argued that while certain intimate acts between individuals are prohibited by the Torah, homosexuality itself is not forbidden. Thus there is no prohibition for a rabbi performing a commitment ceremony or for a seminary ordaining gay clergy. The practical outcome of the Law Committee’s decision is that it is now an option for a rabbi to perform a commitment ceremony, and for the Conservative seminaries to decide if they will admit openly gay rabbinical and cantorial students.
Lest the two opinions seem to be contradictory and mutually exclusive the situation is not altogether different from the unfolding of the decisions about egalitarianism. While the Law Committee granted congregations the choice to enable women to participate in all aspects of religious services, it was still an option for congregations to remain non-egalitarian, and there are many non-egalitarian Conservative congregations to this day. Unlike the egalitarian issue, however, the most recent decisions of the Law Committee do not have much practical bearing on the day to day life of most Conservative congregations. The issue is more symbolic in nature with opponents fearing that the Conservative Movement is abandoning its halachic moorings and supporters fearing an affront to human dignity.
In the end the Law Committee’s decision reflects the diversity of our Movement and the fact that we have people who fall out at many points along a spectrum of opinion about this and other issues. What I think unites us is a willingness to live with the tension of our love and respect for the tradition balanced by our conviction that understandings and world views change over time. The challenge represented by this decision as well as by many other issues we face as a congregation is how to preserve the integrity and beauty of our tradition while also making it accessible, meaningful and life-enhancing in a world that is not identical to that of our forebears or even that of our parents. I often think of our decisions in creating Friday Night Live as mirroring this tension, since we retained a very traditional order and content of the service, but added more accessible music in a new communally engaging setting.
The Parasha that we are reading as I write these words, Vayishlach, tells the story of Jacob who wrestles with an angel of God. After Jacob prevails he is renamed “Israel” which means “to struggle.” Indeed we are a people, and especially a Conservative Movement, that has wrestled and struggled with how to bring God’s presence into the world. The Law Committee’s response on gay clergy and same sex marriages is part of an ongoing attempt to discern God’s presence in the world, to be loyal to Jewish history and tradition, and to affirm the image of God in each of us. Indeed, we are Bnai Yisrael, and my hope and prayer is that like Jacob, we emerge from our struggles as stronger individuals and as a better community.
In a recent news release, the Conservative Movement indicated that it was exploring the possibility of establishing a “tzedek hechsher”--a certification that kosher food and meat processors have met a set of standards for social responsibility especially in the area of workers’ rights. This initiative developed in response to recent newspaper reports that the nation’s largest kosher meatpacking plant, AgriProcessors, Inc. in Postville, Iowa, maintained unsafe working conditions and mistreated its workers.
This “tzedek hechsher” initiative is part of a movement known as eco-kashrut that looks at the issue of not only whether food meets kashrut standards, but also at broader issues of social justice such as how those who produce the food are treated. Are they paid appropriately? Are they working in safe conditions? Is their dignity as human beings respected? Eco-kashrut is a concept that is beginning to move into the mainstream of Judaism after first being promoted by the Jewish Renewal Movement twenty years ago. It embraces a wide variety of issues in its definition of what is kosher such as fair labor practices, the ethical treatment of animals, and ecological issues like organic farming and the building of “green” synagogues.
On the grassroots level individual synagogues are beginning to embrace ecokashrut initiatives. Five synagogues including Ansche Chesed, a Conservative synagogue in Manhattan, have contracted with local farmers for all or a significant part of their harvest, giving the farmers financial support while encouraging their own members to eat locally grown, organic produce that is produced in an agriculturally sustainable way. As one synagogue member commented, “The synagogue becomes not just a place to play or drop off your children, but also a place to pick up your organic food. People are seeing the synagogue in a new way.” Five more locations will be added this year to this project. A synagogue in Evanston, Illinois is building the country’s first environmentally certified synagogue. By using salvaged brick, low flow toilets, and solar powered lights it will reduce energy consumption about one third from the usual standards. While these innovations will add additional construction costs, environmentally foundations have provided grants to the synagogue to help defray the extra costs.
While kashrut is a fundamental building block of traditional Judaism, I am concerned that in many people’s minds it has become detached from its ethical foundations. Kashrut was always about the ethical treatment of animals, but for many people it has been reduced to a technical set of questions. Eco-kashrut is intriguing because it broadens the ethical dimensions of kashrut to questions not just about whether the food we buy is kosher, but also whether it is produced in an ethical way.
The traditional kosher food industry has become an explosive market growing to 10 billion dollars annually and showing 15% growth last year. This growth is coming, in part, from the non-Jewish community, and clearly in the popular mind kashrut has become associated with healthy and high standards of food production. The eco-kashrut movement seeks to make sure that the Jewish community is worthy of those labels in the broadest sense.
One of the challenges faced by the eco-kashrut movement is the development of shared communal standards about what is certified as eco-kosher. In matters such as workers’ rights and green buildings there is not necessarily an absolute standard, but the “tzedek hechsher” is a first step by the Conservative Movement in the direction of shared communal definitions.
When one of our congregants recently told me that he is part of a food collective run by a local church, I said to myself how nice it would be if he could address some of his ecological concerns through the synagogue. I am convinced that our growing sensitivity to the fragility of our environment will continue to move eco-kashrut into the mainstream. If anyone in our community is interested in exploring eco-kashrut initiatives that our synagogue might undertake, please let me know, and I will be happy to connect you with others in the synagogue to explore the possibilities
One of the anomalies of our synagogue sanctuary is that it faces the wrong way. According to the Shulchan Aruch, the 16th century code of Jewish law: “A Jew who comes to pray should face the land of Israel, and if he is already in Israel, he should face the site of the destroyed Temple and the Holy of Holies in Jerusalem. If a person is in a windowless room and hasn’t a clue where this is, he should direct his prayer from his heart to God in heaven.”
Although Israel is east of Huntington, our sanctuary faces west. Thus when I am on the Bimah I face Jerusalem, but everyone else faces Las Vegas and Los Angeles, a very different symbolism. Now I am not advocating that we turn ourselves or our sanctuary around, and I do not know if this issue was discussed when the sanctuary was built. (The Lief Chapel does face east.) There are many sanctuaries in the world facing the” wrong” direction because of building ordinances and design constraints. Also historically when synagogues were built people did not always know the precise direction of Israel and Jerusalem. Thus we are far from alone in the direction we face in prayer.
Recently the Jerusalem Post did a story about a Jerusalem yeshiva student named Moshe who has come up with an invention called the Jerusalem Compass that points to Jerusalem and the site of the Temple from anywhere on earth. This is quite revolutionary in the compass industry because most conventional compasses naturally point north because of the magnetic effect of the North Pole. The Jerusalem Compass has a “magnetic polarity recalibrator (MPR) that causes it to point in the direction of Jerusalem no matter where a person is. While the compass is calibrated for the United States, it comes with a set of “log book” code numbers so that it can be recalibrated toward Jerusalem no matter a person’s location in the world. A person need only recalibrate the compass if traveling to another city in a large country or to another small country.
Since inventing the compass Moshe and his friends have tested many synagogues and found that even those communities that think they are facing in the right direction often are not. Even in Israel and Jerusalem many sanctuaries do not face in the direction they should. It took Moshe fourteen years to design his invention and once he had the idea, he traveled to China, the home of the first compass. There he had the compass built according to his exact specifications. He now markets the device around the world with a Star of David engraved on the cover of the compass. He even uses a website to market the compass (www.jewishsoftware.com) that carries the endorsement of a number of rabbis.
While we are not about to rotate our sanctuary 180 degrees, the question of what direction we should face in prayer often arises at a shiva house before a minyan. I have been part of many discussions—and even some arguments—about which way to face when we are davening in a home. Usually we can figure out the approximate direction by asking where the sun rises. If we had a Jerusalem Compass it would put an end to all these disputes. Now if someone would like to make a gift to the synagogue…
I am writing two weeks after our return from the HJC 2007 Winter Pilgrimage to Israel. Alisa and I traveled to Israel with 45 individuals and families from the HJC for a ten day trip during the February school break. We were a diverse group that included seventeen children—among them thirteen teenagers. Our youngest participant was three and our oldest was eighty. About half the group were first timers, and we celebrated five Bar/Bat Mitzvahs of HJC young people on the trip.
One of the difficulties of returning home from Israel is adjusting to normal time. Anyone who has been to summer camp will appreciate the different experience of time in Israel. So much is packed into each day of the trip that just as time is compressed in camp, one day in Israel feels like what would be a week in any other place.
The Israel that we experienced during these ten intense days was not the Israel we read about in the newspapers. The Israel of the media is one that is in constant conflict with the Palestinians, is beset by political scandals, and is alarmed at an Iranian nuclear threat. We saw an Israel that still has the capacity to inspire. Just one example: Through the efforts of Moti we had the unusual opportunity to visit the paratrooper unit for which the congregation raised funds a year ago. There we met young men and women just a year or two older than many of the teenagers on our trip who had already risked their lives in defense of their country. After showing us some of the advanced technology that allows them to defend Israel, they spoke openly and sensitively of the challenges of military service. These were not battle hardened soldiers, but rather young people like our own children who spoke of grief and loss over a fellow unit member who had died in the Lebanese War and who spoke of the ethical restraints which shape their actions whenever they go into battle or on a mission We were all impressed by the sensitivity of these young people and their pride in their country.
A great deal of planning goes into a congregational trip, but some of the high points and memorable moments are the spontaneous and unplanned ones. One of the things that distinguishes a congregational trip from other Israeli tours is the warmth of being with our own community and the many spiritual moments that naturally occur on such a trip. We celebrated the Bar and Bat Mitzvah of the thirteen year olds from our congregation on Rosh Chodosh at a section of the Kotel known as Robinson’s Arch. The day before we had a virtual tour of the area during our visit to the new Davidson Center, a museum which focuses on the southern excavations of the Kotel As we stood underneath the remains of the arch and read from the Torah about the special sacrifices brought to the Temple at the beginning of a new month, we realized that we were standing in the ancient market area on the very street where animals were purchased two thousand years ago for sacrifice. A Torah reading about ancient sacrifices that in America would have been devoid of meaning resonated deeply for us in Israel. And it was an especially wonderful moment when Alexa, the three year old on our trip who helps lead Ein Keloheynu each Shabbat morning in the Main Sanctuary as part of Nitzanim, led Ein Keloheynu for our group and for everyone gathered around us to help us celebrate the simcha.
Three of the participants on the trip had Yahrzeits during our ten days in Israel One weekday night after dinner together in a restaurant, we simply adjourned to a courtyard in front of the restaurant and held evening services Another day atop Massada the person who had Yahrzeit that day led services for the first time in his life gazing toward Jerusalem from the ancient synagogue which the Jews defended with their lives 2000 years earlier. And finally after we landed back in New York at 6:00 am and realized that because of a luggage delay we would not make it back to HJC in time for morning minyan, we pulled out our tallitot and davened beside the luggage conveyor belt at JFK. Before our trip to Israel none of these minyans would have seemed natural for most of our group, but one of the remarkable things about an Israel experience is that you come to feel that your Judaism is a more natural extension of your life rather than as something that sets you apart. We had the opportunity toward the end of our trip to visit the new Conservative Movement Yeshiva in Jerusalem that has become a home for many of our young people who want to do serious study in Israel. When I arranged for the visit to the Yeshiva, the faculty told me they would engage one of their teachers to give us an introductory class to the Talmud. What no one in the group knew including me until the moment the teacher walked in the room was that the Yeshiva had engaged my daughter, Ilana, who now lives in Jerusalem to teach us that morning. I enjoyed learning Talmud with my daughter, and I think the group was infused with her enthusiasm for studying Jewish texts. Of course, a trip to Israel is not just about spiritual experiences. It is also a lot of fun. I think the kids with us (and some of the adults) especially enjoyed climbing the snake path to the top of Massada, touring Kibbutz Keturah with young people who live on the kibbutz, covering themselves with mud and then floating in the Dead Sea, and swimming with the dolphins in Eilat. I felt my own appreciation of my ties to Israel most strongly the day that some of us crossed the border into Jordan to visit Petra. Petra is an ancient Nabatean village which is one of the Seven Wonders of the World and is reached through a long narrow gorge. As much I enjoyed the visit to this spectacular sight, it felt especially good returning home that evening to Israel where we were greeted by the smiling Israeli offcicals at passport control and by the Hebrew words on a large banner strung across the border, Bruchim Habaim “Welcome Home.”
On the Saturday night before our departure from Israel we all gathered together in the dining room of our hotel overlooking the Old City of Jerusalem for Havdalah. We joined together in a circle arms around each other as the sun set over a city not yet reawakened at the end of Shabbat. We lit the braided candle and sang the beautiful niggun that brings Shabbat to a close. As we passed around the spices we hoped that the sweetness of Shabbat in Jerusalem would linger not only into the coming week, but sustain us in the months ahead. At that moment we were all reminded of the meaning and warmth that are to be found in community--the community that our group had become during the trip and the warmth of feeling so closely linked in Israel to the community of the Jewish people.
All of us returned from this trip culturally or spiritually renewed, and some of us returned transformed. No matter how good our lives at home, there is always a sadness to leaving Israel. I always tell those leaving Israel that the best therapy for “post departum” depression is to make the words we say at the end of the seder a reality: L’Shanah HaBa-ah B’Yerushalayim—Next year in Jerusalem.
Alisa joins me in wishing all of you a Chag Kasher V’Sameach. May it be a sweet and healthy Passover for you and your families. And may we all have the privilege soon of going up to Israel.
Recently I was at a shiva house leading a Maariv service and noticed that standing right behind me were two young women in their twenties singing along knowledgeably and with feeling for the entire service. At the end of the service I asked them where they had become so comfortable with the service and with Judaism. They both chimed in that they had spent many summers at Camp Ramah in the Berkshires, and then one added that she had met her husband-to-be at camp when she was only fifteen.
I did not meet Alisa in summer camp, but the story of these young adults is one that I have heard time and time again. Someone will tell me that they were “turned on” to Judaism in summer camp and that they made some of the most significant and long-lasting friendships of their life in camp. Numerous studies show that an overnight Jewish summer camp is one of a very few potentially transformative Jewish institutions in the life of a young person. My own experience in camp tells me that this results from living within a selfcontained community of peers for several weeks. The experience of living independently from parents with friends in a Jewish environment is a potent combination. A Jewish summer camp can be a joyful immersion in Jewish life in a relaxed environment.
Jewish summer camps have more competition now than they did fifty years ago. There are many specialized camps that teach skills such as tennis and music and also an abundance of summer academic programs. However, a Jewish summer camps often instills a way of life and sense of community that remains with a person forever. Some of our young people in the congregation cannot get enough of camp. This year a number of our teenagers are working as counselors in Jewish summer camps. The late night discussions and the responsibility for instilling Judaism in children younger than they are powerfully reinforces what they loved about their own experience as campers.
Part of the challenge of sending a child to camp is the expense. A full eight week summer camp can cost thousands of dollars. In recent years most Jewish summer camps have become more flexible about the length of time that campers attend. Moreover, we are one of twenty congregations in the New York Area this year to have been selected by UJA Federation of New York and the Foundation for Jewish Camping to be part of a pilot program to provide 15 stipends of $1250 for a first time camper and $750 for a second time camper to attend an overnight Jewish summer camp program in the United States of at least three weeks. Multiple children in one family are eligible and the program is not needs based.
While we will look first within the congregation for candidates, those outside the congregation can also apply for these stipends. Campers must be between ages 8-16. One peculiarity of the timing of the program this year is that families need to have applied for camp after mid-April. More than 100 Jewish summer camps are participating in this program, and a full list of eligible camps can be found at jewishcamping.org. If you would like further information or an application for the program, please contact Rabbi Kurshan or Ellen Marcus, Director of the Religious School.
If your children’s plans for the entire summer are not yet set in stone, we hope you will consider a Jewish camp experience. At the moment the money is only available for this summer, and we would love to use every dollar to provide some of our children with a fabulous Jewish summer experience they will never forget.
I recently returned from three days at the Rabbinical Assembly Convention in Boston. This is an annual convention that brings together rabbis of the Conservative Movement not only from the United States, but also from Canada, Central and South America, Europe, and of course, Israel. In fact, one morning the Dvar Torah was given by Gesa Ederberg, the first woman to serve as a rabbi in the Jewish community of Berlin. Each year there are more and more women among the rabbis at the Convention. This year more than 400 rabbis from around the world attended the Convention.
I don’t attend the Convention every year, but this year I was drawn by two things: the content of the program which drew from the unparalleled intellectual resources of the Boston area and the opportunity to hear the new Chancellor of JTS, Arnie Eisen, begin to set a future course for the Conservative Movement. I was not disappointed. The theme running through the Convention this year was leadership. What does it mean to be a leader of a Jewish community in an era when the sovereign and autonomous self reigns supreme? The presentations at this convention reinforced my conviction that professional and volunteer leaders in the synagogue community can learn much from knowledge of organizational management that has helped leaders and organizations in other settings.
Dr. Eisen took up this challenge of leadership as he began to set a course for our movement. He contrasted the concept of “mitzvah,” of commitment and obligation, that is so central to Judaism to the idea of the sovereign self which reigns supreme in secular society. He encouraged us to open a dialogue with our congregations about those parts of our lives in which we submit to a discipline or obligation out of a sense that there are people we love and with whom we want to be engaged. He asked us how we can work together to create strong face to face communities of meaning within our synagogues so that people will find possibilities of beauty, richness, and meaning to which they will want to commit themselves. Dr. Eisen did not offer any easy answers, but he began to lay out the direction for the work that we will need to do over the coming years. I am optimistic that he is a man with his finger on the pulse of the community who will inspire us to do the work to create vibrant synagogues and engaging communities.
In addition to the formal plenary sessions of the Convention, there are also many opportunities to study in smaller groups. Among the sessions I attended were sessions of text study as well as a session on comforting mourners. There are also moments at the Convention which touch the soul more than the mind. Each year one of the morning minyans includes a hazkarah, a memorial service to those rabbis and spouses who have died in the past year. A memorial book is published with brief biographies of each of these rabbis. From these short eulogies one can glean a lifetime of accomplishment in the Jewish community. None of the memorialized was included on Newsweek’s recent list of the 50 best rabbis in the United States. These rabbis who were remembered were not celebrities or individuals with media savvy. Rather they simply labored quietly in the vineyards of their own communities reaping a harvest of individuals whom they brought closer to Judaism. As I thought about their lives I asked myself how I might someday be remembered for the work I have done.
There is also a celebration at the convention honoring those who have served fifty years in the rabbinate. Having served a mere thirty years myself, I found myself marveling at the collective accomplishment of this group of senior men. (No women have yet reached this milestone.) These rabbis all shared a few insights about what they have learned over the course of their service. Among the group this year was one of my childhood rabbis, Everett Gendler, whom I had not seen for many years. Seeing him brought back memories of how he had inspired us as teenagers with his unswerving commitment to social justice. I was reminded of the profound impact a rabbi can have on the lives of others.
I returned from the Convention with many new ideas. I came back with renewed hope for the direction of the Conservative Movement and the future of Judaism. Over the coming months I look forward to working with you toward fashioning a synagogue that will be a strong link within a vibrant Conservative Movement.
In Chaim Potok’s, The Chosen, there is a scene in which Danny Saunders, the son of a leading Chasidic rabbi, is sitting in shul listening to one of his father’s sermons. Danny has befriended another Jewish boy who lives outside his insular Chasidic world, and Danny’s father is concerned that the friendship will lure his son into forbidden territory. In the sermon Danny’s father drives home his point that Torah study must be the exclusive and total focus of the pious life by quoting the following section of Pirkei Avot (3:9):
“Rabbi Yaakov states: One who is walking on a path while learning, and interrupts his study to say: How lovely is this tree! How beautiful is this field! Tradition regards that person as if he is liable for his life.”
I found myself thinking about this verse shortly after my return this summer from a week in the Canadian Rockies. We bore witness to some of the most spectacular scenery in North America—jagged icecapped mountain peaks pointing toward the heavens; alpine meadows laces with red, yellow and blue wild flowers; big horned sheep standing majestically atop remote mountain ridges; glacial runoff cascading over cliffs into crystalline green-hued mountain lakes. I am sure that many of us also found ourselves in beautiful beach, lake, or mountain settings during the course of the summer. Does our tradition indeed say that we should always have our heads buried in the books, and that it is sinful to gaze upon the beauty of this world? Do those of us who were fortunate to be in beautiful settings during the summer have to atone on Yom Kippur?
Elsewhere in our tradition we have a very different text. In the Talmud we read (Brachot 43b):
“Rav Yehuda says: One who goes out during the Spring months and sees trees that are blooming should say: Blessed is He Who does not leave out anything from His World. And Who created in it good creations and good trees for the pleasure of human beings.”
Rabbi Yehuda takes an opposite tack from Rabbi Yaakov. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that not only should we look up from our books, we are commanded to take note of the beauty of the world. He then provides us with the blessing to say upon seeing such splendor.
The reconciliation of these two verses and an important insight into how we view life can be found in a comment of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism. The Bal Shem Tov explains that if you consider looking up from your studies to notice the beauty around you as an interruption of Torah study, then you are guilty of wrongdoing (or perhaps we should say wrong viewing). If on the other hand, you can see that the beautiful tree, the magnificent sunset, or the roaring ocean are reflective of God’s presence and deserving of a blessing, then you have infused God’s creation with spiritual significance.
My daughter, Ilana, has written beautifully in her blog about the difference between taking note of the beauty of the world as an end in itself and attributing this beauty to its Creator. She writes:
"Rabbi Yaakov does not invoke God at all. He is almost pagan in his utter and complete lack of attribution. “How lovely is this tree” -as if the tree had always been there or had dropped by sheer force of gravity from the sky. The second statement reflects a religious sensitivity. Unlike Rabbi Yaakov, Rav Yehuda’s blessing takes note of the beauty of the world and immediately attributes it to a divine Creator.Perhaps Rabbi Yaakov is suggesting we bear guilt for our souls any time we admire beauty without invoking the ultimate Source of that beauty. We cannot just be dazzled by a sky filled with colorful high flying kites–we need to follow the kitestrings all the way to the divine kite runner. We cannot become like Wallace Stevens complacent dreamer in “Sunday Morning” who feels “elations when the forest blooms” but opts to view the world as “unsponsored, free.” Rather we must attune ourselves once more to the “holy hush” that becomes audible, paradoxically when we utter blessing.
If every gasp of admiration is immediately translated into blessing, then the appreciation of nature is not an interruption of learning, but an extension of it. If we say ”Blessed be He” instead of “How lovely is this tree,” then we do not interrupt out studies; we rather draw the world into our studies, and out studies into the world. We realize that beautiful blossoming trees are occasions for speaking words of Torah, because what is Torah if not a tree of life?”
As we enter this New Year, may we be privileged to study words of Torah together. May we look up from time to time from our books and the routines of our lives to remember that the source of Torah is also the architect of a beautiful world. And may we know a great blessing—to learn Torah from our children. Alisa and I extend to the congregation our wishes for a Shana Tova–a happy and healthy New Year.
If you lack knowledge,
what have you acquired?
If you acquire knowledge,
what do you lack?
~Midrash Rabbah
I recently heard a Jewish historian comment that no Jewish community has survived without a Beit Midrash, a house of study at its center. Until recently Jewish literacy was a universal norm in the Jewish community. Everyone from the scholar to the laborer was conversant in Jewish texts. When Abraham Joshua Heschel visited the YIVO Institute in New York, an institute dedicated to the preservation of Yiddish culture, he found a book rescued from one of the destroyed Jewish libraries of Eastern Europe. It bore the stamp “Property of the Society of Wood Choppers for the Study of Mishna in the Village of Berditchev.”
This year we are offering an expanded array of adult education courses that will begin in October. The courses range from overview courses on Judaism, through drama and film, to text courses and a workshop on teshuva. One of the courses I am most excited about is a year long course on God that I will be teaching. We will look at texts from each major period of Jewish history and discuss how the Jewish view and understanding of God has evolved through different eras. This course will embody all the elements that I believe contribute to good adult education. There will be texts that make up the core of the course; there will be opportunities in each session to study with a partner and to do some reflective writing about what we have learned. There will be time to come together as a class to discuss the material. And while there certainly will be an intellectual dimension to the course, one of the goals will be to clarify our own personal understanding of God. In short my hope is that those who participate in the course will find it both intellectually stimulating and spiritually enriching.
Sometimes we bring back an adult education course due to popular demand. We last conducted a comprehensive Passover Seder workshop about a dozen years ago. I am told that some people still have the tapes of that workshop and drive around their older cars with tape decks in the weeks before Pesach so that they can listen to the tapes. We have updated the workshop, and this year the Cantor, my wife, Alisa, and I will be leading workshops on different aspects of the Seder on three separate nights in the weeks before Pesach.
In part we are able to offer an expanded list of courses because we are partnering with UJA Federation of NY. Through a program known as J Learn we are able to bring faculty to Suffolk County and the Huntington Jewish Center whom we would not be able to attract if we were to draw only from synagogue resources. This fall we are sponsoring with J Learn a course that will be held at Temple Beth El taught by Peter Pitzele. Peter is an eclectic and unusually talented individual who led one of our most memorable Shabbat scholar in residence programs fifteen years ago. Peter is the founder of a field of Biblical studies knows as Bibliodrama and his courses are an unusual blend text, theater, writing, and spiritual transformation that have the power to change how any of us understand the Biblical text and its relevance for our personal lives. We will be hosting at the HJC in January another gifted teacher, Dr. Michael Paley, who rarely teaches outside of Manhattan where he is very much in demand. He will be studying with us some of the complex ethical dilemmas of modern life, among them how we balance national security with civil liberties in our relations with the American Moslem community and how Israel balances its security with tough moral choices such as selective assassination.
For those interested in a more general overview of Judaism, The Melton Program will be offered through J Learn at two local synagogues. This is a good introduction to the how’s and why’s of Judaism. Next year I hope to offer once again my two year Adult Bat Mitzvah course which also presents a general overview of Judaism.
You can read about all these courses in our adult education brochure. Just look for the goldenrod colored booklet or link here. I hope there will be something that interests you, and that you will avail yourself of what we and our partners in Jewish learning can offer you.
Monday, September 24th dawned a beautiful fall day darkened only by the impending visit of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to New York. I had a particular interest in Ahmadinejad's invitation to Columbia. For me this visit evoked echoes of Columbia's past. Seventy years earlier Columbia's president, Nicholas Murray Butler, had invited Nazi Germany's ambassador to the US, Hans Luther, to speak on campus and had hosted a reception for him. Ambassador Luther used his speech to talk about Hitler's “peaceful” intent. Once again Columbia would become a platform, this time for a modern day despot to proclaim his “peaceful” intentions for developing nuclear power. Students who had protested Luther’s visit at the time had been branded by the university as “ill-mannered children”. To my mind Columbia had an opportunity to do teshuva for its earlier invitation to Luther, and here it was compounding its offense. I was determined not to let history repeat itself without my protest.
At Kol Nidrei services the week before I had asked as many people as possible to attend the rally outside the UN sponsored by all the major Jewish organizations in New York to counter Ahmadinejad’s denial of the Holocaust and his threats to annihilate Israel. A number of our congregants were at the UN the following Monday, and I intended to go to Columbia first and then join everyone outside the UN. As events unfolded, I ended up spending the entire day at Columbia. The day before Ahmadinejad's appearance I had led a discussion with the Hey Class in the Religious School about the issues surrounding Ahmadinejad’s visit to Columbia. Was this an issue of free speech or should Columbia University have refused to give Ahmadinejad a forum at which to speak? After our discussion of the issues the students created signs for me emblazoned with the words, "A Man of Lies Does Not Belong in a Place of Truth”. When I arrived at Columbia, the poles holding the signs were immediately confiscated by the police, but they let me keep the signs themselves. They proved to be a great asset at the rally outside Columbia’s gates because they garnered media attention and led to a number of interviews.
While I understood the arguments of those who felt that Columbia’s invitation was an issue of free speech or that it was good for Ahmadinejad’s lies to be exposed, I disagreed. I did not dispute Columbia’s right as a university to extend an invitation to Ahmadinejad to speak; I was simply incredulous that it wanted to do so especially in light of its earlier infamous invitation to a high ranking Nazi official. I felt that Columbia’s invitation to Ahmadinejad betrayed the very purpose of a university. This was a man whose denial of the Holocaust made it clear that he had no interest in intellectual honesty or the academic pursuit of truth. Columbia’s invitation was akin to inviting a fraudulent scientist who had falsified experimental information to speak in a university symposium. Ahmadinejad’s appearance undermined the raison d’etre of the university. I had no problem with Ahmadinejad speaking at the UN which has all too often been a place of lies, but why would the university want to invite a person who disdained the truth into its inner sanctum? Let a man of lies speak in a place of lies—not in a place of truth.
At the end of the day nothing happened to change my opinion about the inadvisability and inappropriateness of the invitation to Ahmadinejad. Columbia had lent its prestige and legitimacy to a person who has no regard for open and truthful discourse. Many students were upset with President Bollinger’s introductory remarks in which he confronted Ahmadinejad’s Holocaust denial and his threats to eliminate the State of Israel. President Bollinger correctly predicted that Ahmadinejad would not have the “intellectual courage” to answer his questions, but then why was the university was extending an invitation to a person of intellectual cowardice and dishonesty.
Ahamadinejad, for his part, skillfully turned Bollinginer's remarks to his advantage accusing him of being inhospitable in a way that is alien to the Moslem world. The broadcasts of Ahmadinejad’s speech in Iran the next day featured Columbia students cheering Ahmadinejad, and Iranian officials expressing outrage over Ahmadinejad's treatment at Columbia. In the end Ahmadinejad got what he wanted; a respected forum in which to repeat his lies and evasion, and television coverage in Iran propping up his reputation in the face of unpopularity at home.
The day at Columbia convinced me of a few things. First I came away feeling even more strongly that President Bollinger had been naive if he believed that his remarks would diminish Ahmadinejad’s standing. The very invitation by one of the world’s leading universities lent a legitimacy to Ahmadinejad that far outweighed any publicity for Bollinger’s strong opening comments as much as I agreed with their substance. Secondly I was dismayed at the amount of cheering and applause each time Ahmadinejad mentioned the "oppression' of the Palestinians by Israel. I know many campuses are overrun by anti-Israel sentiment, but it was surprising to find so much of it in a university with one of the largest Jewish populations in the United States. The only silver lining to the day were the reasoned one-on-one discussions I had with a number of students about why Ahamdinejad's appearance should be understood as something other than free speech.
In the end, I walked out of the university gates late in the afternoon feeling it was another sad day in the history of Columbia. Columbia lost an opportunity to reaffirm its mission as a university and to remind us that those who espouse lies and propaganda do not belong amidst a community dedicated to the pursuit of truth.
At the beginning of September more than 1000 people gathered under a large tent in the courtyard of the Jewish Theological Seminary. It was clear from the opening moment of the ceremony that it was the beginning of a new era. The normally staid academic profession was led to the dais by a group of African-American drummers in native dress. The joke of the day was that there had been a mix-up. The Klezmer band had mistakenly ended up downtown at the Museum of Art, and the African American drummers had mistakenly landed uptown at the Seminary. In actuality the drummers were in the right place. At JTS it was the inauguration of Dr. Arnie Eisen the seventh chancellor in the more than 100 year history of JTS, and he was signaling that the upcoming years at the Seminary and the Conservative Movement would be different from the past. In his remarks that day he spoke optimistically about the ability of Conservative Judaism to reach American Jews. For myself and everyone present the day felt like an auspicious beginning for the new chancellor.
Dr. Eisen will face many challenges in his new position. He is only the second JTS chancellor in the Seminary's more than 100 year history who was not ordained as a rabbi. Yet he brings a sensitivity to the American Jewish community that has not been part of the background of many of the other Seminary chancellors. Dr. Eisen grew up in suburban Philadelphia in a Conservative synagogue. His field of research as a scholar at Stanford was the American Jewish community, and he brings an acute sensitivity to the situation of American Jews. Under Dr. Eisen it is highly unlikely that anyone will be able to claim that the Seminary is an ivory tower out of touch with the needs of Conservative Jews.
Nevertheless Dr. Eisen assumes the post of chancellor of the Seminary, and, in effect, the role as spokesperson for the Conservative Movement at a time when our Movement faces many challenges. Although individual Conservative congregations are thriving, the movement as a whole is ageing and suffering from a lack of clear identity. While most Conservative Jews know they are not Reform or Orthodox Jews, it is harder to define who we are and what we stand for.
With only a brief tenure so far as chancellor, it is already clear that Dr. Eisen will bring a different way of articulating who we are as part of the Conservative Movement. He does not see this process of self-definition as being dictated top down by the Seminary. For the past year he has been initiating a series of conversations with members of Conservative congregations about what connects them to Jewish life. The discussion has focused around the concept of mitzvah--specifically what it is that we as Jews feel commands us? What do we love about the practice of Judaism? Do we feel strongly enough about anything in our spiritual lives to lead to any disciplines in how we live? What do we feel most committed to in our Jewish lives? My hope is that this a conversation that we will join in the coming year--perhaps on Shavuot and in other forums. I think it would help us as a community to be clearer about the common religious commitments and loyalties that we share as members of the HJC and as part of the Conservative Movement.
Of course, one person, even the chancellor, cannot perform miracles, but individuals do make a difference in history. No one is in a better position than the chancellor of the Seminary to define the future course of our Movement. I hope we will all welcome a chance to speak with one another in the coming years about our religious commitments as Conservative Jews. I personally believe that our embrace of tradition combined with an openness to the modern world puts us in a strong position to speak to American Jews. I am optimistic that the new Chancellor will help us to engage in that important conversation.
Below is an amended version of the remarks Rabbi Kurshan made at the opening meeting of the Professional Structure Committee on Nov. 27, 2007. The committee is co-chaired by Arthur P. and Cheryl B.
I want to thank Arthur and Cheryl for giving me this opportunity to share a few thoughts at the opening meeting of this Committee. I have hoped for a number of years that a committee of this nature would be constituted. The way we have done things in the past is not the only way to do things, and I think it is healthy for an institution to take a look at itself from time to time to see if there are other or better ways of working toward its goals. Our current professional structure dates back to at least ten years, and actually our basic structure goes back beyond the twenty-two years that I have served the congregation. This committee may conclude that the way we have done things continues to be more or less the best way to do things, or it may conclude that there are alternatives that we should look at seriously.
As I am sure will be said many times during the work of this committee, its charge is to look at the positions i. e. the professional structure in the shul and not the individuals who occupy those positions. I know it can be hard at times to separate the people from the positions, but one of the strengths of this shul during the years that I have served here has been the partnership and shared goals between the professionals and volunteer leadership. I hope this committee will draw upon the expertise and knowledge of the professionals who work here as one important source of information.
In the last two decades there have been a number of notable developments in the life in our shul and more generally in the Jewish community. In general the Jewish community and our own synagogue community is now characterized by greater diversity and fewer Jews who come from traditional Jewish backgrounds. Family education has become a distinct specialty within a number of synagogues including our own to deal with these issues and other changes in the Jewish community. Egalitarianism has become a fundamental norm of the Conservative Movement. Early childhood education has emerged as a distinct profession within the Jewish community. There has been a greater acknowledgment of the centrality of music to determining the quality of services. Within our own shul over the next decade we are facing transitions with some of our longstanding professionals. Demographically if we extrapolate from present trends, our membership numbers will slowly decrease since there are no large undeveloped tracts of land in Huntington to bring new Jewish families to the community. However, I do not think demographics are destiny, and I can imagine some bold and imaginative changes that might reverse the present trends.
Some of us may have some mixed feelings about some of these changes, but I believe change always carries with it opportunity. I think we have an important opportunity here to ask how we want to staff a synagogue that is mid-range in size and that has a stable core membership. This committee can have a significant voice in creating a professional structure that will enable us to accomplish wonderful things in the years ahead. The fundamental question underlying the work of this committee is what kind of a culture do we want to sustain to enhance the uniqueness and strengths of this congregation, and what professional structure will give us the greatest chance of nurturing who we are and what we aspire to be. I believe we need to look at what will be the best professional structure to serve all areas of the synagogue including the religious, the musical, all levels of education from early childhood to adult education, and programming especially for underserved groups such as young couples and empty nesters. Any proposal, of course, needs to be evaluated for its financial implications, but also by the extent to which it furthers the unique goals, purpose and mission of the Huntington Jewish Center. It would be helpful if in tandem with the work of this committee a sub-committee of the Board could work with the congregation to develop a mission statement that expresses how we understand our communal sense of purpose.
I hope my knowledge and experience with this congregation, my knowledge of other congregations, and my knowledge of trends and new possibilities in the Jewish community will be helpful to the committee in its work. On the other hand, I know that if this committee is successful, the implications of its decisions will extend far into the future. While the decisions of this committee may influence the environment in which I work over the next several years, they will also shape this congregation long beyond my service here. I look forward to working with the committee, and hope that this committee will find success in its endeavors and in providing continued strength to this congregation.
In the academic literature they are called emergent sacred communities; I know them as independent minyans. The Jewish Week recently ran an article about them titled “Wake-Up Call for the Denominations”. There are enough of them that they have appeared on the radar screen of the American Jewish community.
In the last decade eighty of these groups have sprung up in the United States. While they are not identical, they have certain commonalities. They have been created by young people--college students and young professionals who have not found the kind of Jewish community they are seeking in local synagogues. While these communities tend to be found in major urban areas they, also exist in places such as Lynchburg, Virginia, Falls Village, Connecticut, Ann Arbor, Michigan and Boca Raton, Florida. Some are led by rabbis; others by a group of highly engaged and Jewishly well-educated individuals. Many are communities that gather primarily for prayer, but others gather to engage in social action or to study together.
Whatever their differences in mission, they all see themselves as addressing needs that they believe to be unmet in conventional congregations. “Members” (they prefer the term, “participants”) of these communities work together to establish new ways of doing liturgy, education, and social action. Most meet together regularly for prayer. They generally adopt a traditional service, but are open to musical and interpretive innovation. In other words they combine religious traditionalism with social progressivism We might call those who are involved in these communities “observant liberal”; in general these communities are not materially rooted i. e. they do not have their own buildings; they have porous boundaries without formal membership rosters; and they foster a culture of paper-free communication via the internet. What is most noteworthy is that they have attracted many of our young people— somewhere between 15,000 and 20,000 young Jews belong to these communities. They attract an under 40 cohort—many of them not yet married. A large number of participants in these communities grew up in the Conservative Movement--about 40%, but almost universally participants in these communities eschew denominational labels or movement affiliation. These communities attract a Jewishly well-educated group of young people: 40% are day school graduates, and most have spent time in Israel--many on programs lasting more than four months. Yet the spiritual power of the services of these communities as well as their warmth also draw in many young people without intensive Jewish backgrounds. Young people with little or no Jewish background are attracted to these communities because they cultivate friendship, warmth, and belonging joined to a higher sacred purpose. Many participants will attest that it is hard to find services with a comparable beauty and spiritual power anywhere else. Representative of the feelings of participants is the comment of Vicki Kaplan, 24, and who was raised in a Conservative synagogue in Los Angeles. She attends Tikkun Leil Shabbat, a community in Washington DC. “I felt it was hard for me to find a Jewish community that has the spiritual and communal things I was looking for. At Tikkun Leil Shabbat, there’s a joyfulness to the singing, the community, the breaking of bread together.”
It is interesting that while these communities are fairly unconventional in their structure, their participants are nevertheless involved in conventional Jewish life. They have about the same level of involvement in UJA campaigns and the local JCC as members of established denominational congregations. It is hard to say what will happen to these young people as they grow older, marry, start families, and in some cases move to the suburbs. Clearly part of the attraction of these communities is that they offer their participants opportunities to gather with friends their own age. In some cases these communities are beginning to develop programming for families with children, but the history of these communities is too short to know whether they will evolve into some other form. Perhaps participants will stay involved with these communities while also affiliating with more conventional synagogues as did some members of the chavurah movement a generation ago.
There are some in the Jewish establishment who are defensive about the success of these emergent communities fearing they reveal shortcomings elsewhere in the community. I view these communities only in a positive sense. They point to a Jewish community that is able to renew itself and develop new forms to meet the needs and spiritual aspirations of a new generation. Elsewhere I have written about my visits to Hadar, the Manhattan version of an emergent community that draws more than 200 young people each week to its Shabbat morning service. I continue to be impressed by the strength of the Jewish commitment of those who participate in Hadar and similar communities. It almost makes me want to be young again. We should all feel fortunate that these communities exist for our children and grandchildren, and that we have among us such a wonderful group of Jewish young people who will be among the shapers of our collective Jewish future.
“And you shall not
mistreat a stranger, nor
shall you oppress him, for
you were strangers in the
land of Egypt.”
(Exodus 22:20)
On February 1st we joined with 56 other congregations in the New York area to participate in Shabbat of Inclusion. Our participation was part of a new effort by UJA Federation of NY to promote the inclusion of those with special needs in our synagogue communities.
Synagogues participated in this initiative in a variety of ways. We decided to focus on the special needs students within our community. Ellen Marcus, our Religious School Director, and Laura G., a member of our congregation, worked together with me to develop a meaningful program for Shabbat morning. We extended an invitation to all our special needs students to participate in junior Congregation that morning, and our Shabbat of Inclusion service was conducted with a sensitivity to their needs. Mrs. Marcus also visited all the Religious School classes during the week before the service to speak with our students about what it means to include our special needs students as part of our religious school and our broader synagogue community.
In many ways our efforts for Shabbat of Inclusion were an extension of the approach that we have tried to cultivate in our synagogue in the last decade. A number of years ago under the leadership of Stephanie Glasser, our education director at the time, we initiated a special education program known as Kochavim (Stars). The program was generously supported through a gift from the Spevack family. At the time it was one of the only special needs programs in Suffolk County, and we attracted students not only from our own congregation but from other congregations and the general community as well. Most of the students in the program went on to celebrate a Bar or Bat Mitzvah in our synagogue, and many of you will remember these smachot as among the most moving and meaningful in our community. At present we do not have a sufficient number of special needs students for a full Kochavim Program, but we continue to work individually through our Religious School with our special needs students so that they can receive a religious school education and become Bar or Bat Mitzvah at the HJC.
I have to confess that before I began working with the students in our Kochavim Program and their families, I knew little about the special needs community. Over the years I have learned a great deal from our families with special needs children. I learned that no single strategy and no set of synagogue policies applied to all our students. I learned that I had to throw out my prior assumptions and listen to each family and student in order to work through with them how we could build a positive attachment to Judaism. In the end whatever support I was able to give to our special needs families was far exceeded by what they brought to me and to our community. Through their participation and involvement we became a more inclusive community, and many of us came to realize that there were many more different ways of connecting to Judaism than we had ever imagined. Rabbi Diane Cohler-Esses, the parent of two special needs students, has written about the importance of including those with special needs within our synagogue communities.
“Inclusion sounds like a nice word. In reality, however, it may be painfully challenging to come into close contact with those who are impaired...But here’s the promise: to truly include necessitates reaching out to real people. Creating a human community should not depend on all the ‘things’ that people bring to the relationship, but rather simply on the people, as they are themselves. Being part of a radically diverse community made up of differing abilities is what will make us all more expansive, more deeply human...You might think that it’s about someone else’s frailty. But in the end we are only looking at the mirrored image of our own vulnerability. We can keep that mirror at arms length, or we can bring it close.”
As part of the programming for Shabbat of Inclusion beyond our own synagogue, I had the opportunity on the following Sunday to attend a showing of an extraordinary new movie titled “Praying with Lior”. Ostensibly this is a movie about the Bar Mitzvah of a young man with Down Syndrome. More deeply it is a movie about a very unusual family and community who give a wonderful gift to Lior through their love and support, but who surprisingly receive far more from Lior in return. I am hoping that the Cinema Arts Centre will bring the movie to Huntington, but in any case watching it reminded me that however much we thought we were helping our special needs students, they and their families were helping us far more to realize what it means to be a truly inclusive community.
I hope this year will mark the first of may annual Shabbatot of Inclusion. I am sure there is more that we can do for our special needs community. We need to ask ourselves who within our synagogue community may continue to feel physically or emotionally marginalized. In the end we will be a better community for having asked ourselves these questions and for having responded to them.
Most of us have childhood memories of our Seders, and many of us remember them as magical nights. We were able to stay up late and eat with the adults. There were presents for finding the Afikoman. Our pangs of hunger were blunted by parsley or a hard boiled egg dipped in salt water. Others of us--I hope fewer--have memories of a night lacking meaning that marked a long wait to a meal. Whatever our memories of the Seder, they are probably strong and indelible.
My first year as a rabbi I was confronted by having to lead our family Seder. It seemed like a prodigious task even though I knew the rituals of the Seder. It was now my responsibility to make something meaningful of the Seder after the thirty years that I had celebrated Passover in my parents’ home. My wife, Alisa, was confronted by an even more daunting task--figuring out how to prepare the meal and welcome our guests with a baby under her arm. I don’t know how we did it, but we could have been better prepared.
It took me years to fashion a Seder which felt right to me, and I wish I had had a mentor to whom I could have turned. Fifteen years ago we offered a set of Seder workshops in the synagogue to help fashion more meaningful Seders. For years people would tell me they played the tapes of those workshops before each Seder, but no one records tapes any more, and it seems time to offer a new set of workshops.
Over the years I have come to feel that there are three main elements of a “perfect” Seder”the advance planning, the music and the creation of family traditions. Each workshop will address one of these issues. Clearly we don’t bring the same traditions or Seder as did our grandparents. Some of us may remember grandparents or more likely great-grandparents for whom the first step in making gefilte fish was to bring home the live carp and dump it in the bathtub. Today we are more likely to open a jar of gefilte fish. Some of us may have lost our family traditions. And others of us may not have Seder memories from childhood because we converted to Judaism or came from families in which Judaism was not observed.
This year we will be offering three workshops at the beginning of April to help create a Passover Seder that those around your table will never forget. Alisa Kurshan will offer a workshop on how we can adapt our family traditions to our Seder, and how we can create new traditions that our children will want to pass on. Cantor Chesler will offer a user-friendly workshop on learning the music of the Seder with some ideas for how music can be used for activities that everyone around the table will enjoy. I will offer a workshop on planning and creating a Seder so that it will be a memorable and significant experience for family and guests. Perhaps the only thing we won’t cover this year are recipes for the Seder although maybe I can convince Joe K. to reveal his secret recipes for his Sephardic Charoset.
As I look back over the thirty years since Alisa and I conducted our first Seder, they are years filled with traditions some of which we inherited and some of which were new. I think of the Shakespearean play my children created in which Romeo, an Israelite slave and Juliet, an Egyptian maiden fall in love. I think of the melodies we have been able to preserve from my grandparents who are no longer alive, especially the singing of “Who Knows One” in Yiddish. I remember how we have laughed until it hurt as each person around the table imitated the sound of one of the animals in “Chad Gad Ya”. And I remember the year we added Miriam’s Cup to our Seder, and how it gave a sense to the women around our table that this story of the Exodus from Egypt was also their story. Each of us who is leading a workshop looks forward to sharing our experience with you. Join us at the beginning of April for one or more of these workshops. A Chag Kasher v’Sameach. May your Passover be sweet and joyous, and may your Seders sustain the memories of your family and create new ones for those who will come after you.
In the past few months I have had an interesting series of discussions with some of my rabbinic colleagues in the community about how we should remember the Holocaust. The stimulus for the discussion was whether to continue the current format for the community Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Commemoration Day) service that we have held each year stretching back long before I came to the Huntington community more than two decades ago.
While I have continued to feel that a service of remembrance is important, my colleagues rightly pointed out that each year fewer people seem to attend the service. In part this is because the passage of time means that fewer and fewer survivors are alive. In part it is because each of our communities conducts programs in our Religious Schools on the day of Yom HaShoah. However, I think there is a broader issue that fewer people feel the urgency of remembering as the Holocaust recedes from the experience of most of us and becomes a historic event for our children and grandchildren.
I had a very immediate stake in the discussion this year, since it is HJC’s turn to host the community Yom HaShoah service. In the past I have put together a memorial service with Cantor Chesler’s assistance for the musical portions of the service. The centerpiece of the service has been a survivor who speaks and the lighting of six memorial candles in remembrance of the six million who perished in the Holocaust. This year the centerpiece of the service will be a focus on the importance of the next generation sustaining the memory of those who died. To that end one of our teenagers, Cari Katz, who was in Eastern Europe last summer, will speak about the personal impact that her visit to the sights of the mass killings of Jews had upon her. Additionally children of survivors from Kehillat Shalom and Temple Beth El will speak about their sense of obligation to sustain the memory of what happened to their parents and about how being a child of survivors has affected their lives.
Thus, for this year I think we have come up with what will be an appropriate and meaningful remembrance, and I hope many of you will join us for the service and help us welcome our guests from the broader Huntington community. Longer term I am not so sure about the answer to sustaining a meaningful remembrance, but I think we need to look at additional ways of remembering especially for the sake of our children who will need to bear witness when there are no survivors left to tell their stories. This year there was a very interesting program in our community in which a teacher and student from the small rural town in Tennessee that was described in the movie, “Paperclips”, shared their experience of creating and maintaining a world renowned Holocaust museum in their community. I was particularly interested in a program for helping teenagers remember the Holocaust that was described in a recent issue of Newsday. The program was organized by Irving Roth, a survivor who spoke at our community services a few years ago. Roth has organized a network of survivors who serve as adoptees for students who are twelve years or older. Students are paired with survivors and together they follow the journey of the survivor’s life before and after the war. The process takes as much as a year and student participants are given a thirty page booklet with prepared questions they must answer after extensive discussions with the survivor. As a result of the program many students have formed close bonds with their adopted survivor, and the program has been a good one for student and survivor alike.
I have also raised the possibility in our Religious School of students interviewing the survivors in our community. This would be an extension of the interviewing skills that we have taught our students who in past years have interviewed members of the community who grew up Jewishly outside of the United States and members or our community who are second generation or more residents of Huntington. Such a program would also provide a permanent archive of the experiences of the Holocaust survivors in our community.
The Holocaust Torah on permanent loan to us in our synagogue lobby is open to the section of the Torah which reads: “Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey after you left Egypt--how, undeterred by fear of God he surprised you and cut down all your stragglers in the rear.” (Deuteronomy 25:17- 18). The question for us about a modern Amalek is not whether we remember, but rather how we remember. It is our obligation to ensure that the next generation will continue to remember.
Editor’s note: The Community Holocaust Service of Remembrance will be held this year on Thursday evening, May 1 at 7:30 pm. at HJC.
Rabbi Harold Kushner tells a story about a British nobleman, a member of the House of Lords. One Sunday morning as the gentleman was leaving church, he was overheard to make a comment about the sermon, the subject of which had been the sin of adultery: “I yield to no man in my admiration for the Church of England, but when it starts interfering with my private life, it goes too far.”
It would seem that one of the fundamental assumptions of Judaism is that it should intrude into our private lives. At the core of Judaism is the concept of mitzvah, the idea that we are obligated for certain kinds of behavior, and that we are obligated to the Jewish community around us. Such an assertion is off-putting to many of us in the modern world. We hear such a statement, and resentment immediately wells up from below. What right does Judaism have to tell me how to behave, or to tell me what I owe to others? If we seek a philosophical rationale for our resentment, perhaps the words of Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence come to mind: We are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights; among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Nothing here about our obligations to the community or to a specific pattern of life. Maybe Judaism needs “to get with the program”.
Yet the assertion that we resist obligation is not so simple. Many of us feel obligated to fast on Yom Kippur. It is clear that about 1200 of us feel obligated to be here for at least part of services on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Many of us feel obligated to support Israel. We may feel obligated to do what we can to relieve suffering in Darfur. This year a significant number of us felt obligated to come to a service to remember the victims of the Shoah. On a more personal level I often meet families in the intensive care unit of the hospital who feel obligated to be at the side of a parent, a spouse, or other family member even when there is no medical reason to do. Clearly there are some obligations we feel in life.
When Dr. Arnold Eisen became the Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, one of his first requests was for communities in the Conservative Movement to engage in a conversation about mitzvah. I would like to initiate that conversation at our Shavuot Tikkun on Sunday evening, June 8. Some of the questions the chancellor would like us to discuss are the following: To what obligations do we respond wholeheartedly in life: Protecting and providing for our children? Taking care of elderly parents? Being there when family or friends need us? Are there any actions we feel obligated to perform as Jewish human beings? Are there any obligations we feel toward Judaism, the Jewish community, or Israel? If we perform any mitzvot, what is the source of their authority: God? Conscience? Jewish tradition? The community? Is there an element of love in fulfilling our obligations? I know that virtually all of us feel obligations to our families. I ask myself how many of us still feel obligated to give back to the community, and if we do, which communities deserve our time, effort, and resources? And I am especially curious whether any of us feel any compelling obligation to God in a way that shapes how we live our lives. A generation ago many Jews would explain their observance of Shabbat or Kashrut as what God wants. But even for the smaller number of us in our generation who keep kosher or observe Shabbat, I suspect our rationale is not that this is what God commands.
These are not just theoretical questions because if our sense of obligation does not extend to anything connected to Judaism, we are going to have to build a radically new Judaism. Sometimes I think this is precisely what we need to do. Thus I am curious to hear your thoughts on these matters and whether the traditional understanding of mitzvah has any compelling meaning in the modern world
I hope you will join us on the 8th. I know the Chancellor is curious to hear what we have to say. I am certainly interested to hear what you are thinking, and I am sure that all of us in the HJC community will be enriched by one another’s reflections.