Union for Reform Judaism Member Congregation

Archive

Opening the Door for Elijah

As I was growing up, there were two highlights of Passover Seders for me—the reading of the Four Questions and opening the door for Elijah. My family followed the tradition at the time of assigning the reading of the Four Questions to the youngest son—never the daughter. So even though I was younger than my male cousins, I would always listen patiently as they read the Four Questions. And yes, of course, I very much enjoyed their renditions and I was proud of my cousins. I did wish, though, that just once, I could have taken center stage for that central moment in our family Seders. Then again, I got my moment too. Yes, the girls got to open the door for Elijah! And with the door open, my uncle would encourage us all to sing Eliyahu HaNavi at the top of our lungs.

One could safely argue that opening the door for Elijah is the most climactic moment in the Seder ritual. But it has only been through my intense study of the Haggadah over the years that I have come to appreciate the true centrality  of this moment, even though it did not find its way into the Seder text until the Middle Ages, over a millennium after the core of the Haggadah text was put together.

A little bit about Elijah himself… Elijah was a prophet in the kingdom of Israel—the Northern Kingdom—during the 9th century BCE. No, he was not one of the actual Prophets whose writings and pronouncements are included in the second section of the Tanakh called “Prophets,” or “Nevi’im.” He was more of a magic man, as I have often described him. He was a healer, a miracle worker, a tireless opponent of the Canaanite god Baal. According to the Book of II Kings (2.11), he never really died, but ascended into Heaven in a fiery chariot. “As such,” the late Rabbi Neil Gillman observed, “he is the ultimate liminal personality who has mastered the threshold between life and death.”

As the “liminal” character described by Rabbi Gillman, z”l, Elijah goes on to occupy a critical place in later Rabbinic tradition. At a B’rit Milah—a circumcision—a chair is set aside for Elijah. In addition, when legal arguments arise among Jewish scholars, Elijah is said to appear and settle the halakhic dispute. According to tradition, Elijah is said to be the herald of the Messiah. We evoke this messianic quality every Saturday night at the end of the Havdalah ceremony. Shabbat, of course, is thought to be a foretaste of what it will be like for us in the Messianic Era—a time of peace, and joy, and security. At Havdalah, as Shabbat departs, we sing Eliyahu HaNavi, to try to hasten the coming of that idyllic time.

In Medieval Europe, Passover was often a difficult time for Jews. Because of its proximity in time to Easter, blood libels were rampant, and Jews were often subjected to harassment and attacks. Against the backdrop of the Crusades, the ritual of Elijah’s Cup is thus paired at this time with three selected verses from the Tanakh, expressing our own frustration and anger toward those who pursue us. It is unclear as to how the opening of the door ritual developed. There are some who place it in Medieval England, when Jews began opening their doors during their Seders so that their Christian neighbors could see into their homes, and realize that there was no black magic going on inside; but rather, a celebration of freedom from slavery, and an expression of hope for the future. Others speculate that it was so the Jews themselves could look out from their homes into the future, as it were, hoping that they could catch of glimpse of our messianic hopes coming to fruition. Eventually, probably as late as the 15th Century, the fifth cup of wine that had appeared not long before at the Seder became identified as Elijah’s Cup, and was linked to the opening of the door. We open the door for Elijah, not only as a figure who has saved our people from many previous disasters, but also hoping that he will come to herald the Messiah—in liberal terms, the Messianic Age. And thus, we might say that Elijah’s Cup, and the rituals surrounding it, are in fact the central, and most important piece within the entire Seder. Yes of course, we have gathered to remember and retell our redemption from slavery to freedom, from degradation to glory. But ultimately, these are in the past. With Elijah’s Cup, we voice our hope for the future—for the coming of a better day on this Earth—for the fulfillment of our vision of Tikkun Olam, the reparation of our broken world.

In this light, I would like to reference a wonderful perspective expressed by Abigail Pogrebin in her new book, My Jewish Year: 18 Holidays, One Wondering Jew (2017: Fig Tree Books). Ms. Pogrebin spent many years as a producer at PBS. She now serves as President of Central Synagogue of New York. Her “take” on the ritual of opening the door for Elijah is that it requires a positive and deliberate act on our part. In order for Elijah to come, we have to get up and open the door. In short, the prophet Elijah needs us. He needs us to open the door. The realization of our messianic vision as a people, then, rests squarely upon our shoulders, and in our hands.

This Shabbat before the Festival of Passover is Shabbat HaGadol, The Great Sabbath. The name comes from the Haftarah of the day, taken from the Prophet Malachi—the last of the Prophetic books in the Tanakh. The end of the Haftarah, and indeed, the end of the book (Chapter 3), reads:

22 Be mindful of the Teaching of My servant Moses, whom I charged at Horeb with laws and rules for all Israel. 23 Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of God. 24 He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents, so that, when I come, I do not strike the whole land with utter destruction. 23 Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you “lifnei bo yom Adonai HaGadol v’HaNorah”. —before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of God.

As we prepare for our Passover Seders, I wish you all peace and reconciliation, justice and compassion, as we contemplate our responsibility to bring them about. Can we do the work required? Only we can answer that—before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of God.

The Way Out of Hell

Camp Coleman is located in Cleveland, GA. It is the Union for Reform Judaism camp that services the communities in the Southeast region of the United States. It is the equivalent of Camps Eisner, Crane Lake, and Six Points, which are our URJ camps here in the Northeast.

Alyssa Alhadeff was a camper at URJ Camp Coleman. She was looking forward to returning there this summer. The staff at Coleman describes Alyssa as being “like an angel,” and “always happy to help out and quick to adjust to a new environment.”

Alyssa was 15 years old. On Wednesday, she was brutally and mercilessly shot to death as she sat in her classroom at the Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, FL. Sixteen other children and teachers were also killed in the rampage of a mentally unstable 19-year-old who was able to walk into a store and purchase an AR-15 assault rifle.

They were all innocents, looking forward to school dismissal time on Valentine’s Day. I mention Alyssa specifically only because of the URJ Coleman connection—because she was a member of our URJ family. Like my son, who attended Camp Eisner for six years. Like many of your kids, who have gone to Eisner, or Crane Lake, or Six Points. Like those of us who have worked and taught at these camps.Like thousands upon thousands of other kids, who are part of the URJ camp community all over the country. In this way, Alyssa was part of our family. Yesterday, her mother had to arrange for her funeral. And our hearts are broken for her in her grief.

There is an interesting area in the Old City of Jerusalem, deep down into the lowest level of craggy earth and hard rock—a ravine known as Gei Ben Hinnom—The Valley of the son of Hinnom—or more commonly, just Gei Hinnom—the Valley of Hinnom. Hinnom was probably the name of the family who either once held title to the area, or who at least had enough authority over it to establish a shrine there, at least 3 millennia ago. Down in this valley, Canaanite sacrificial rites included ecstatic rituals of passing children through fire to a statue of Molech—the underling of the chief Canaanite god, Baal. Those of us with even a smattering of Yiddish have probably heard the expression, Gei in gehenna. It means go to hell. It is a combination of the Yiddish gehen—go—and Hebrew Gei Hinnom—the Valley of Hinnom. So of all the possible imaginings of what Hell must be like, one of the most prominent is Gei Hinnom—the Valley of Hinnom—the place of greatest abomination—the ritual of child sacrifice.

Our society seems to be locked in an ongoing cycle of child sacrifice. Does this mean that we are in Hell? I’m willing to leave that question to you. But I’m not willing to leave it to our national leaders who have sold their souls to the devil, and are more concerned with their support from the NRA than with rescuing our country from Hell.

After a mass shooting at Umpqua Community College in Roseburg, OR in 2015, President Barack Obama spoke to the nation, as he had had to do all too many times before, including after the massacre at Sandy Hook. In part, he said:

“America will wrap everyone who’s grieving with our prayers and our love. But as I said just a few months ago, and I said a few months before that, and I said each time we see one of these mass shootings, our thoughts and prayers are not enough. It’s not enough. It does not capture the heartache and grief and anger that we should feel. And it does nothing to prevent this carnage from being inflicted someplace else in America—next week, or a couple of months from now.

“We don’t yet know why this individual did what he did. And it’s fair to say that anybody who does this has a sickness in their minds, regardless of what they think their motivations may be. But we are not the only country on Earth that has people with mental illnesses or want to do harm to other people. We are the only advanced country on Earth that sees these kinds of mass shootings every few months…

“And, of course, what’s also routine is that somebody, somewhere will comment and say, Obama politicized this issue. Well, this is something we should politicize. It is relevant to our common life together, to the body politic.

“This is a political choice that we make to allow this to happen every few months in America. We collectively are answerable to those families who lose their loved ones because of our inaction.”

As Americans, we owe it to our children to unlock the gates of hell and free ourselves from the tyranny of the NRA and its supporters. As Reform Jewish Americans, we remember Alyssa Alhadeff, and all the innocents who were sacrificed to gun violence in this latest national abomination. On this Shabbat we will need to pray that God may comfort their families and friends, and that they may somehow find the strength to go on from this devastation, that now has changed their lives forever. And after Shabbat, we must find the power we have to take back our country from the depths of hell.

Zecher Tzaddikim Livrachah—May the memory of the righteous be for a blessing.

Voices in the Wilderness: The Courage of the Clergy in Georgia

This weekend is devoted to commemorating the birthday of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, z”l. The inspiring, poetic style of his soaring oratory became the voice for so many African Americans whose voices were never heard before, after centuries of the brutality and racism that marked racial segregation and discrimination in virtually every area of American life. We remember Dr. King on this weekend, and on Monday when his birthday is celebrated, we will join Americans all over our country in our Day of Service.

In this spirit, I would like to bring you the voice of another member of the clergy, this one closer to home for our family. In 2016 a book was published Rabbi P. Allen Krause, who unfortunately died soon after the publication. The book is entitled To Stand Aside or Stand Alone: Southern Reform Rabbis and The Civil Rights Movement.* It brings to light the stories of twelve courageous Reform rabbis throughout the Deep South, who stood up and raised their voices in the Prophetic tradition of Reform Judaism against the evils of racism and segregation in their communities. The stories are based on interviews that Rabbi Krause conducted with these rabbis in 1966, as the basis of his rabbinic thesis at Hebrew Union College. One of the interviewees was Rabbi Alfred L. Goodman, z”lmy husband Stephen’s fatherwho served as Rabbi of Temple Israel of Columbus, GA from 1950-1983. These are but a few brief excerpts of a much more extensive interview. I commend Rabbi Krause’s book to all of you. Lest any of us forget, it reminds us of our long and deep commitment to social justice, and our profound historical and social connection with our African American sisters and brothers. (An additional note, brought to my attention by our congregant Ralph Julius, who grew up in Columbus. Rabbi Beth Schwartz, who currently serves as Rabbi of Temple Israel, will be reading some excerpts of the chapter with the congregation on this Shabbat.)

In his introduction to the interview, Rabbi Krause, along with co-author Mark K. Bauman, provides a bit of background about Columbus:

In the early 1900s it had the reputation as the lynching mecca of the South. Indeed, like many Deep South cities, the mayor and police chief endorsed the Ku Klux Klan (KKK), and the community took violence for granted… The celebrated author Carson McCullers, who grew up in Columbus during the 1930s and ’40s, later called the city “an intolerable place to live,” a comment reflective of the prevalent racism.

Ezra Johnston, who called himself “Parson Jack,” acted as a key force of bigotry in Georgia. He founded the Baptist Tabernacle in Columbus in 1931, broadcasted a weekly radio show, and published two statewide newspapers, one of which had more subscribers than either Columbus daily. Johnston used these media and pulpit to relentlessly attack unions and “race mixing,” and was very influential in the local Klan Klavern. Johnston and the KKK often marched in full regalia down the streets of the main business district.

The US Army base at Fort Benning is located in Columbus, and Steve’s dad served as unofficial chaplain there for much of the time that he was at Temple Israel. About this base, Krause and Bauman write:

Even the black soldiers based at Fort Benning were routinely subjected to embarrassment and acts of intimidation. Colin Powell, who later served as head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Secretary of State, recounts in his autobiography how, just prior to the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, he went into a local hamburger joint and was admonished by the waitress: “You’re a Negro. You’ll have to go to the back door.” Four other soldiers, two white and two black, were on a shopping trip in civilian clothes when police accosted and handcuffed them, then drove them in a paddy wagon to court. The presiding judge used a form of logic then common to the South when he proclaimed: “You’re two white guys and two black guys walking together. That’s disturbing the peace. Guilty.” In 1941, a black soldier was found hanged in a wooded area at the fort.

One section of this background stands out for me particularly because it concerns a Presbyterian minister named Robert McNeill, with whom my father-in-law worked closely. Just this past December, when we were down in Columbus visiting Steve’s mom Rayna, we passed by the church where Pastor McNeill had served, and which unceremoniously dismissed him in 1959 because of his activities to dismantle segregation in Columbus, and to combat racism. Rayna told us about that night, and the days that followed the firing. In the trauma of these events, Pastor McNeill, who was relatively young at the time, suffered a heart attack, and his young children came over to sleep at the Goodmans’ home so that they could comfort them, and so that his wife could be at the hospital with him.

P. Allen Krause (PAK): Did the non-Jewish community react violently in any way to the changes that were taking place, and… what was their reaction?

Alfred Louis Goodman (ALG): There was no real violence. There were some tempers that flared, and when our human relations council became active, and when I and this Presbyterian minister became active in the human relations council, for instance, a telephone threat was made to a member of the board of trustees of my congregation saying that if I continued my activity in the human relations council that what had happened to the Presbyterian minister, who by that time was already gone from the community, would be peanuts. However, this matter was taken up with our board of trustees, because they were concerned for me, not because they objected to my activities, but because they were concerned, and I had made it quite clear to them at that time that what I did in this area I did as a matter of conscience, and that it was not a board concern.

PAK: Did you make such arrangements in advance of taking a position with this congregation?

ALG: Oh no, no this had nothing to do with the temple board of trustees. This was, I was acting in my role as a rabbi.

PAK: Did you come to an understanding with these people before you took the job that you would be able to have some sort of freedom of the pulpit or something like this …?

ALG: With which people? With my own congregation? There has never been any question of the freedom of the pulpit—never.

While I can’t reprint the entire interview within the limitations of this short Davar, I would offer the summation to you as representative, not only of Rabbi Goodman’s approach to this endeavor, but of his eleven colleagues throughout the South whom then Student Rabbi Krause interviewed for his thesis:

PAK: What would you say—in more or less summation—would be the role that the rabbis played in your state, or, if that is too broad, in specific areas in your state, and then overall in the South in general, in the area of civil rights activity?

ALG: Well I think I can speak for the state of Georgia, and pretty well for the whole South, because we have a Southeastern Association of Rabbis, so I am acquainted with what is going on in at least five states of the southeast region. I think the first responsibility, of course, of a rabbi in the civil rights area is in his immediate community. He has to sensitize people to the moral imperatives of Judaism, and this means beginning, of course, with his own congregation. They have to be made aware of what Judaism demands of them as human beings in their relations to other human beings. If he fails in this, of course, then his congregation is going to respond obviously with the same kind of prejudice that has been inbred in the southern community for a number of generations. Then he has to extend his activities beyond his immediate community to the larger local community in which he resides; he has to participate in as many kinds of civil rights activities as he feels can legitimately and purposefully accomplish the goals which he has set for himself.

When Steve and I were first engaged in January of 1980, I went down to Columbus with him to meet his family. He took me to see the newly-built convention center in the historic downtown area. There was a Confederate flag flying outside. But that is not the case anymore. Far from it. As a result of the work of Rabbi Goodman, Pastor McNeill, and a number of their colleagues in the ministerial alliance that Rabbi Goodman was instrumental in putting together, once the order to desegregate the schools, the lunch counters, and the city in general came down, Columbus was desegregated in peace. While it took several years, the process did indeed take place. Today, Columbus has a flourishing downtown historic area, a vibrant cultural life, and an active civic association. Because of these brave men, the city once characterized as “the lynching mecca of the South” is a very different place now.

Our Torah portion this Shabbat opens with the cries of the Children of Israel:

God spoke to Moses and said to him…“I have now heard the moaning of the Israelites because the Egyptians are holding them in bondage, and I have remembered My covenant” (Exodus 6.2,5). The Children of Israel had been enslaved for some 400 years. But they were so beaten down that they did not feel enough strength to raise their voices in anguish or in protest. And so, they remained enslaved. But the text of the Passover Haggadah infers from these verses of our sidra, that when the Israelites finally began to raise their voices, God took notice, and set in motion the miraculous Redemption that was at the heart of God’s prophecy to Abraham, and the Covenant that was sealed between the two of them on that day. Once the Children of Israel raised their own voices, they began their emergence from bondage to freedom, from degradation to glory.

As Reform Jews, time and again we have raised our voices for justice in the wilderness of racism and intolerance. While there are those, like Dr. King, Rabbi Goodman, and Pastor McNeill, whose voices have been particularly resonant, it isall our voices that must continue to rise in the Prophetic tradition that has sustained us from the beginning.

*To Stand Aside or Stand Alone: Southern Reform Rabbis and the Civil Rights Movement
by P. Allen Krause, edited by Mark K. Bauman and Stephen Krause
introduction by P. Allen Krause and Mark K. Bauman

University of Alabama Press, 2016

History of the Miracle

A review of history. . .

Between 167 and 164 BCE, the Syrian-Greek king Antiochus IV, who was politically and militarily in control of Judea at the time, imposed a series of decrees upon the population of Judea, effectively banning the observance of Judaism. Though throughout the preceding centuries there had been many wars for territory and military and political hegemony in the Ancient Near East, this was the first pointed and deliberate religious persecution imposed by one people upon another.

These were the decrees handed down by Antiochus:

  1.  No Jewish sacrifices may be offered in the Temple of God. (This was the Temple on Mount Zion in Jerusalem, built for Jewish worship of the God of Israel.) Instead, mandatory sacrifices of pigs and impure animals must be dedicated to Zeus on the Temple’s altar.
  2.  Pagan temples were to be built throughout Judea.
  3.  No circumcisions were allowed, on pain of death to child, parent, and mohel.
  4.  The Torah was to be forgotten, and its legal system replaced with Greek law.
  5.  Shabbat and holy days were to be desecrated.
  6. The celebration of Antiochus’ birthday was enforced including the eating of sacrifices made in his honor.
  7.  Participation in Dionysian processions crowned with ivy wreaths was required.
  8.  It was prohibited to identify oneself as a Jew (including a prohibition on the use of Jewish names).

During the time that these decrees were imposed, a priest named Mattathias lived in Jerusalem, but moved to Modi’in. Mattathias had five sons: John, Simon, Judah (called “the Maccabee”), Elazar, and Jonathan. But Antiochus’ officers traveled throughout Judea, trying to persuade the Jews to abandon their religion and offer sacrifices to the Greek god Zeus. Mattathias refused. When he witnessed a Jew in Modi’in step up to the altar to offer the pagan sacrifice, he was overcome with anger, and he rose up and slaughtered the Jew on the altar. Then he and his sons fled into the hills.*

Eventually, Judah created a fighting force, returned to Jerusalem, and defeated the army of Antiochus. It was a stunning military victory

 The above is culled from the Book of Maccabees.
In addition to the war between the armies of Judah and Antiochus, there was also an internecine war among the Jews themselves. In 332 BCE, when Alexander the Great of Macedonia conquered the entire area of Persia, Asia Minor, Egypt—generally what we now know as the Middle East—he brought with him Hellenistic culture and spread it throughout the region. Many Jews were attracted to its language, culture, and aesthetics. Within Judea, the institution of the gymnasium became a central locus of activity for many Jewish men. In pursuit of the Hellenistic ideal of “perfection,” they often took drastic steps to hide the signs of their circumcision. But there were those Jews, like Mattathias, his sons, and his community, who rejected the culture of Hellenism, and saw in it danger for the Jews of losing their national identity, and loyalty to God and Jewish religion. The victory of the Maccabees in taking back control of the Temple was not only a victory over the Syrians; it was a victory of Jewish assertion over the loss of adherence to Jewish practice and faith in the God of Israel.

This is history.

Now, for the miracle.

Several hundred years after the Maccabean Revolt, the Rabbis wrote the following story into the Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 21b, from Megillat Ta’anit:

“Our Rabbis taught: On the twenty-fifth of Kislev [begin] the eight days of Chanukah, on which lamentation for the dead and fasting are forbidden. For when the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oils in it, and when the Hasmonean dynasty prevailed over them and defeated them, they searched and found only one bottle of oil sealed by th

e High Priest. It contained only enough for one day’s lighting. Yet a miracle was brought about with it, and they lit [with that oil] for eight days. The following year they were established as a festival with Hallel (Praise) and Thanksgiving.”

For Jews around the world, Chanukah is one of the most beloved and celebrated of all times during our Jewish year. Nevertheless, Chanukah is not ordained in the Torah, nor does it even appear anywhere in the Tanakh—the entire Hebrew Bible. In fact, most of what we know about it comes from the Books of Maccabees, which are included in the canonical Jewish Bible, though they are included in the New Testament.

Chances are, if you were to ask many Jews in our time what Chanukah is about, the “knee-jerk” answer would be, “the miracle of the oil,” or “the oil lasted for 8 nights,” or some permutation thereof. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, in and of itself. But in fact, this tale of the miracle of Chanukah is just that—a tale. Not that celebrating miracles is a bad thing, necessarily. In fact, on a daily basis, we Jews recognize and give thanks for a whole host of miracles, including our very lives, our health and families, and the world around us. On the other hand, our celebration of Chanukah also demands that we remember our history as a people.

 Chanukah is the commemoration of a military victory by a civilian army that saw the elevation of Judah “the Maccabee,” of priestly descent, to the status of a military general. It is also the story of an internal struggle within the Jewish community—a struggle which, in different iterations, continues to this day. And, it is the commemoration of the re-dedication of the Temple on Mount Zion to the God of Israel, after it had been defiled by the Syrian army.

On the other hand, as a people, we have witnessed countless events that we might justifiably characterize as “miracles” throughout our history. But in fact, most of them have come about because we have refused to relinquish our faith and our strength, both physical and spiritual, despite the challenges, both internal and external, that we have endured and overcome throughout our history.

And so, as we celebrate the miracle of Chanukah, we also celebrate the miracle of our history as a people, which is ongoing even on this day. And we pray for a long, vibrant, and peaceful future.

Chag Urim Sameach to all—a joyous Festival of Lights!

*The material on the decrees of Antiochus and the actions of Mattathias may be found in A Different Light, a brilliant compendium on Chanukah by Noam Zion of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem.

Laughter and Tears

This is a sermon I wrote a number of years ago, and delivered at our temple on Sisterhood Shabbat, back in November of 2004. During that Shabbat, the Sisterhood made a point of honoring our mothers and grandmothers, as is mentioned at the beginning of the sermon. The sermon is based on this week’s Torah portion, “Chayei Sarah.”   I entitled it “Laughter and Tears.”  In these very strange and disturbing times, I found that it has once again struck a chord of poignancy for me, and if you have a few minutes to read it, I hope it will for you as well.

 

Laughter and Tears

This is a sad day in the story of our ancestors. Sarah Imeinu, Sarah our mother, has died, and now her husband Avraham Avinu, Abraham our father, must accord her the final respect of burial. We read that Abraham comes to mourn and bewail his wife: Vayavo Avraham lispod l’Sarah v’livkotahLispodto eulogize–an opportunity to speak well of the dead. So on this day, as we gather to honor each other, and especially our mothers and grandmothers, we offer our own hesped–a eulogy for Sarah Imeinu.

As you know, a eulogy involves looking back on the life of a person, and pulling together elements of that life that will portray who and what that person really was. But how can we find adequate words to describe a woman who herself spoke so very few? After all, from what we can glean from the text, Sarah did not speak much at all; not with her family, nor with anyone else, for that matter. But perhaps it is in this very silence that we might gain a clue as to who Sarah was, and what she felt in her heart.

Think back to our earliest memories of Sarah. The first time we meet her we are told 3 things: (1) Her name was originally Sarai; (2) She was the wife of Avram, the original name of Avraham; (3) She had no children. Is this the kind of introduction that a woman of such stature deserves? “This is Sarai, she has no children.” Is that the sum total of a human being’s significance? Later on in the Book of Numbers, when Moses was taking a census in the wilderness, God specifically instructed him not to ask how many children each person had, but instead to remember that his or her worth as an individual was paramount. Yet here in Genesis, in our first meeting of Sarah we hear, “This is Sarai, she has no children.” How did this kind of presentation affect the heart and soul of Sarah Imeinu? Let’s ponder this, as we turn momentarily to other chapters of her life.

Immediately after Sarai is introduced to us, God tells Avram to leave Haran: Lech lecha mei’artz’chahGo forth from your native land, from your father’s house, and go to the land which I will show you. And, in an instant, Avram takes his belongings, his nephew Lot, and Sarai his wife, and picks up to leave Haran–without so much as a word to Sarai! How could this happen?  Can any of us imagine being treated that way? Was this not also her land–the place of her birth? –her father’s house as well? But this does not phase Avram. So together they leave, lock, stock, and barrel, without a single word passing between them.

Not long after this move, as we recall, the two find themselves in Egypt. But Avram is frightened. Sarai is a beautiful woman; her name, after all, means “princess.” He fears that when the king of Egypt sees her and lusts after her, he, Avram, will be killed. Thus the very first words we hear him speak to his faithful wife were: “Look, you are very attractive. Please–say you are my sister–so that it may go well with me.” And, perfectly in character, Sarai does as her husband asks, sacrificing her virtue; giving herself to another man; without so much as a word.

But now, back to the issue of her childlessness. Regardless of what it says in Numbers, this issue is indeed a serious one; both within the context of the Ancient Near East, and within the relationship between Avram and Sarai. If we think about it, the fact that her childlessness is the first thing we learn about her really is not so surprising. This issue often exists first and foremost in the mind of a woman such as Sarai, and in the soul of the relationship between husband and wife, between spouses, not without its measure of anguish. And sure enough, the problem eventually does play itself out in the triangle that forms around Avram, Sarai, and the Egyptian handmaiden Hagar. Sarai, still true to the role of the self-sacrificing helpmate, offers Hagar to Avraham so that he might not be deprived of an heir, and the experience of fatherhood. Kind of like a modern-day “surrogate mother,” if you will. But once the deed is done, and Hagar becomes pregnant, the scene very quickly deteriorates. Hagar becomes haughty, and Sarai’s pain is exacerbated as she is reminded of her feelings of inadequacy. The confluence of emotions is more than she can bear: guilt, hatred, self-recrimination, anger at the whole predicament. And then, after all she has done for Avraham, when finallyshe cries out to him for help, how does he respond? “She’s your handmaiden, do with her as you please.” Imagine Sarai’s frustration and feelings of helplessness. Imagine her fear that Avraham would lose all interest in her in favor of Hagar. Not much encouragement for her to express herself in the future. And Avram, we might say, with 21st-century hindsight of course, was not very helpful to her when she needed him. Not very understanding. Not a very comforting husband.

Just by way of comparison, we can find another model in the Bible of the exchange between husband and wife experiencing the same kind of problem–Hannah and Elkanah, parents of the prophet Samuel. Elkanah had 2 wives, Hannah and Pnina. Pnina had children, Hannah did not. Pnina, like Hagar, used this to taunt Hannah–a convenient, but vicious way of demoralizing one’s rival. But Elkanah responds in a different way. When Hannah comes crying he implores her: “Why do you cry so? Is not my love for you enough to take the place of 10 children?” True, Hannah certainly was happier once she had Samuel. But her real happiness might well have come from the comfort and security offered her by her beloved husband Elkanah–comfort and security denied to Sarah. Is this to say that Abraham was a horrible and unfeeling person? Not necessarily. It is just an observation–of how much better the relationship functioned for Hannah and Elkanah.

The happiest moment in Sarah’s life came when she learned that she wasdestined to give birth, even at the age of 90. Remember that some time earlier, God had told Avram that he would be the father of many nations–av hamon goyim–and thus his name would be changed to Avraham. “And God then said to Abraham, “As for your wife Sarai, you shall not call her Sarai, but her name shall be Sarah. I will bless her; indeed, I will give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she shall give rise to nations; rulers of peoples shall issue from her…” And Abraham threw himself on his face and laughed–vayitzhak–as he said to himself, “Can a child be born to a man a hundred years old, or can Sarah bear a child at 90?…” And God said, “Nevertheless, Sarah your wife shall bear you a son, and you shall name him Yitzhak, Isaac.” So it was Abraham who laughed out loud at God. But God does not respond to his laughter, except to name his son because of it. But what happens when Sarah hears the news? First of all, she is not told about directly! She happens to overhear it when the 3 “visitors” are talking with Abraham at the tent. “Your wife, Sarah, shall have a son.” And she laughed within herself saying, “Now that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment with my husband so old?” “And Sarah laughed beqirbah–within herself.”

Sarah did not laugh out loud, as Abraham had before her. But what was God’s response to Abraham? “Why did Sarah laugh, saying, ‘Shall I in truth bear a child, old as I am?’ Is anything too wondrous for God?”

Why was Sarah blamed for laughing? And even if she had laughed, what would have been so terrible? What’s so bad about laughing? God seems to be worried that she doubts divine power. But how was she supposed to know that these 3 “visitors” were divine messengers? They never talked to her! The 16th-century commentator Sforno says that Sarah made a category error. She couldn’t be expected to know what was going on here. We would expect her to laugh. The text itself says that she merely laughed within herself. Remember that it was Abraham who laughed out loud. But he was not reprimanded at all! And why did he withhold it from Sarah to begin with? Where is the communication between these two?!

But despite the questions over who laughed and why, there’s a deeper issue here. What is the laughter all about? Remember, that the condition of her childlessness had been a source of great anxiety and deep sadness for Sarah. She had suffered humiliation and anger, and she was probably quite depressed. And now, the extraordinary news that she will be given the gift of parenthood!….   Have you ever had the experience of laughing until you cry? The laughter seems to unlock the emotions, and if given half a chance, they will flow naturally to tap those more deeply hidden. Could this not have been true for Sarah Imeinu? She only laughed within herself. But it could well be that if she had really laughed, and then been allowed to continue laughing, she probably would have started to cry–for all the pain she had endured in the past; for all that was missing in her marriage to Abraham; for the dreams that she thought she had lost; and of course, for the relief that some of them, at least, finally would be realized.  Laughter and tears… perhaps for Sarah, they were one and the same.

But even after that triumphal moment of joy, Sarah’s trials continued. The crowning blow soon followed, as her husband took her son Isaac, and went riding off into the early morning sun, without a single word about it to her. And she never saw either of them again. For the rest of her days on this earth, Sarah our mother lived, bereft of her son, and apart from her husband–perhaps the final blow to a marriage that was never all that close to begin with.

So here we are, “after these things,” still faced with the challenge of finding words for our mother Sarah. But we might take our lead from the Torah itself, as it begins on this very day: “Sarah’s lifetime–the span of Sarah’s life–came to 127 years.” 127 years–when the blessing for which we all pray is a mere 120! Sarah not only lived a complete life, she merited completeness and then some. Even more interesting is the way in which this total is expressed in the Hebrew: “And the span of Sarah’s life was 100 years, and 20 years, and 7 years.” This, we learn from the commentators, is because of the righteousness of Sarah Imeinu. Rashi says that she was such a virtuous woman that when she was 100, she seemed like 20. Add to this the sacred number of 7, and Sarah becomes the most honored woman of the Bible. Age did not diminish her beauty, and all her years were goodness. Remember, her very name means “princess.” But perhaps her age is expressed as it is to recall a note of sadness as well. Perhaps in Sarah’s own mind, it was as though she already had lived 3 lifetimes. Perhaps the words of the spiritual “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” are words that Sarah could have sung herself. But despite the trials, and the sadness, Sarah Imeinu never relinquished her grace, her courage, her determination, and her loyalty.

Sarah was indeed the mother of us all. Her laughter and tears are our laughter and tears. Her family is our family, and the heritage she initiated is ours. She was a righteous woman and a beautiful soul. May her memory live through us, her children, and may it be a blessing forever.

A Postscript: 

This week began with the tears that we all have shed as Americans, in the wake of the unspeakable tragedy that befell the people of Sutherland Springs, TX, who had gathered in church for Sunday morning prayer. As people of faith, our hearts are heavy with grief as we think about the innocent victims, mercilessly and brutally gunned down in their house of worship. Our sadness is deep as we contemplate the sorrow of those they leave behind. We pray that their loved ones may eventually find some way to go on with life, comforted in their own understanding of God’s loving embrace.

But, my friends, we are forced once again to confront the reality that our tears, our prayers, and our sorrow are simply not enough. Nor are they enough from all the members of Congress who expressed them this week. No. It is time for them to act. It is time for them to act with courage. It is time for them to overcome the hold that the NRA has on them. How many lives will it take? How many children? How many tears? How many prayers? It is time for them to find some integrity, even at the possible cost of the seats they hold. Enough…enough…enough….

Domestic Terror in Charlottesville

See, this day I set before you blessing and curse: blessing if you obey the commandments of the Eternal your God that I enjoin upon you this day; and curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Eternal your God, but turn away from the path that I enjoin upon you this day. . . (Deuteronomy 11.26-28)

So begins our Torah portion this Shabbat. Blessing or curse—the choice is ours.

Oh, my dear friends—what a horrible week this has been—A lovely young woman was buried on Wednesday; a resident of Charlottesville, Heather Heyer, z”l. Heather was a paralegal by profession, and as an individual she stood up against hatred and bigotry. That is what she was doing on Saturday when her life came to a violent end in a mindless act of domestic terrorism, perpetrated by a 20-year-old from Ohio. Having intentionally traveled to Charlottesville to march with the Alt-Right, according to his mother, he deliberately rammed his car into the crowd, killing Heather and injuring 19 other people. 20 years old, and already so poisoned; so damaged. He will spend his life in prison, and Heather’s life is over. And our country is wounded and bleeding.

On Tuesday, I participated in a webinar co-sponsored by the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism and the Central Conference of American Rabbis. We heard from several of our colleagues; most notably, Rabbi Tom Gutherz, Senior Rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel in Charlottesville. He explained to us that the synagogue is located right in the thick of things in the downtown area of the city—one block away from Emancipation Park in one direction, and one block from Justice Park in another. I looked up these two parks. Apparently, “Emancipation Park” used to be known as “Lee Park,” after Confederate General Robert E. Lee, whose statue was at the center of the maelstrom last weekend. “Justice Park” used to be known as “Jackson Park,” after Stonewall Jackson, another Confederate general. This is the reality of the history of the South, and there are statutes, parks, streets, towns, and monuments throughout the South that commemorate the Confederacy.

An excellent account of what Rabbi Gutherz and his congregation experienced may be found in this fine article by the president of his congregation, Alan Zimmerman. Though some of you have already seen this article, I would commend it to all of you. It appeared in Monday’s edition of the Reform Judaism Blog: In Charlottesville, the Local Jewish Community Presses On. Of particular note is not only the response of the congregation and clergy, but also of their non-Jewish neighbors who came to stand with them in support. We will be discussing additional initiatives of the Reform Movement in the coming weeks.

On Monday, August 28, Stephen and I will be marching in Washington, DC, in the “Ministers March for Justice.” It is co-sponsored by the National Action Network and the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. Early in the morning, the RAC will hold a prayer session for rabbis, after which we will join our colleagues of other faiths at the Martin Luther King Memorial, for the 1.7-mile march to the Department of Justice, where we will present a list of demands concerning voting rights, healthcare, criminal justice reform, and economic justice. The hope is that we will be 1,000 strong. But in the current atmosphere of open, blatant, unabashed racism and bigotry, aided and abetted by no less than the President of the United States, I hope and expect that we will far exceed that number.

On August 28, 1963, The Rev’d. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., z”l, sent out a clarion call for justice to this country, founded upon the ideals of freedom and liberty for all human beings. While we have made progress since that day, it is excruciatingly clear that we have a long road ahead of us to realize these ideals, particularly as Dr. King so eloquently expressed them.

Our Torah puts before us a choice between blessing and curse. There are those in our country who have chosen the curse. We must stand up and demonstrate that the blessing is far more powerful. I know that our hearts are united in praying that this coming Shabbat will be peaceful for all of us, and for all who live within our borders.

The following is the statement issued yesterday by the CCAR, of which I am a proud member.

Central Conference of American Rabbis Condemns President Trump’s Response to White Supremacist Domestic Terrorists

Thursday, August 17, 2017

The Central Conference of American Rabbis is outraged that the President of the United States has repeatedly equivocated in condemnation of the white supremacists who rained terror and violence upon Charlottesville, Virginia last weekend. The President’s failure to differentiate Neo-Nazis, Ku Klux Klansmen, and white supremacists of the self-proclaimed “Alt-Right,” on the one hand, from those who stood up to that threat and an imaginary “Alt-Left,” on the other, only encourages racist, anti-Semitic, and xenophobic hate-mongers to continue their reign of terror.

Reform rabbis across America and around the world join in solidarity with our colleagues in Charlottesville and the community they serve. We are grateful to Alan Zimmerman, President of Congregation Beth Israel in Charlottesville, for eloquently sharing the congregation’s story with the world. That community bravely gathered on Shabbat to serve God and humanity in an atmosphere that no Jewish community has ever faced in this country, reminiscent of Germany as Nazis were coming to power.

We grieve with all who mourn the death of Heather Heyer. May her memory be a blessing to the loving family and community she leaves behind. We pray for the healing of all who were injured. We pray for our country, that it may once again reflect the words of its first President, George Washington, who wrote to the Jews of Newport, Rhode Island, “Happily, the government of the United States gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

Rabbi David Stern
President

 

Rabbi Steven A. Fox
Chief Executive

Harmony and Discord

This past Sunday evening, Steve and I attended a most enjoyable concert at the Jerusalem YMCA— known to Jerusalemites as “Imka.” It was a joint concert of the YMCA Jerusalem Youth Chorus, and the Yale University Whiffenpoofs. Of course we already knew the music of the Whiffenpoofs. This was the first a cappella all male college choir, founded at Yale in 1909. Steve played violin in the Yale Symphony while he was a student there, and also played trumpet in the Yale Precision Marching Band. But he never sang with the Whiffenpoofs, even though he has always loved them. The members of the Whiffenpoofs take a full year off from their studies in the senior year, and devote all their attention and time to the group. They travel all throughout the United States and the world. This week they were in Israel. In September, they will resume their studies and look forward to their graduation next June.

The YMCA Jerusalem Youth Chorus is made up of about 25 high school kids, both Jewish and Palestinian. They also are an a cappella choir, though occasionally they are accompanied by keyboard and/or drum. They sing in Hebrew, Arabic, English and French. Whereas the Whiffenpoofs all wear white ties and tails, the kids—girls and boys—dress more informally, in shirts and pants. At this concert they made it a point to all wear different colored shirts, I suspect to stress their individuality within the remarkable ensemble that they have. The group is conducted by Micah Hendler, who himself was a member of the Whiffenpoofs six years ago.

This is the stated mission of the YMCA Youth Chorus:

“The YMCA Jerusalem Youth Chorus is a choral and dialogue program for Israeli and Palestinian high school students in Jerusalem. Our mission is to provide a space for these young people from East and West Jerusalem to grow together in song and dialogue. Through the co-creation of music and the sharing of stories, the chorus seeks to empower youth in Jerusalem to become leaders in their communities and inspire singers and listeners around the world to work for peace.”

I have to tell you that the sound that these kids produce together is one of the most beautiful I have ever heard. It is a pure sound, the pitch is spot on, and the kids themselves are clearly delighted to be there, singing and making music with one another. Their singing was so beautiful that at one point Steve and I both were moved to tears.

This is harmony at its finest.

Sunday night and Monday were also Rosh Chodesh Av—the first day of the month of Av. As happens on every Rosh Chodesh except for Tishrei (which is Rosh Hashanah), Nashot Hakotel—Women of the Wall—gather at 7:00 in the morning in the women’s section of the Kotel to pray the Rosh Chodesh Morning Service. This Monday was no exception. Steve and I got up early and joined them, both with our Women of the Wall Talitot. (Yes, Steve has one too, which he wears frequently.) Incidentally, you might be happy to know that we were joined by Cantor Lauren Phillips, who was there with her husband Dan Fogelman on vacation.

This was the first Rosh Chodesh since Prime Minister Netanyahu nullified the agreement that took some 5 years to hammer out regarding a new egalitarian platform along the Wall that would be designated specifically for liberal, egalitarian prayer. The case itself, of course, has been dragging on for 28 years. But, as I wrote earlier this month, even after reaching a carefully negotiated agreement, Mr. Netanyahu caved in to pressure by the ultra-Orthodox power mongers, and reneged. So not only are the women of Nashot Hakotel subjected to the taunts and terrible noise of the Haredim, we are now segregated even further behind an additional barricade within the women’s section, mostly for our own protection.

While it’s not unusual for cat calls, whistles, and obscenities to be hurled at the women who gather together by the Haredim, both men and women on their respective sides of the mechitza, this particular Rosh Chodesh seemed particularly loud. And, at one point, the Sheliach Tzibbur in the men’s section got hold of a microphone that is only legal to use during public commemorative events. But no one made any attempt to take the microphone from him. As he chanted the service in the men’s section, his voice bellowed over the loudspeakers, in an effort to drown us out. The one positive effect this did have is that the whistles and cat calls stopped for awhile, because they did not want to drown out the sound from the men’s section. As though only the prayers of men may be heard on high.

This was discord at its most irritating.

Rosh Chodesh Av ushers in a 9-day period leading up to Tish’ah B’av, the 9th of Av, which commemorates the destructions of the Temples in Jerusalem. The huge stones of the Roman destruction some 2,000 years ago, still lie in the rocks and concrete, as they tumbled randomly and violently to the ground. Tish’ah B’av is known to Jews as the saddest day of the year. This is not only because of the destructions and additional calamities themselves which befell us on this day. It is because of the discord and infighting that accompanied these catastrophes. Sinat Chinam is the term—

The YMCA Jerusalem Youth Chorus

hatred without cause.

Within a 12-hour period we experienced the melodious sounds of harmony and the distressing cacophony of discord. The harmony, from a group of high school kids, Jews and Palestinians, seeking to create understanding and a better world for themselves and their peers. The discord, from a plaza full of Jews, some of whom are so rigid and closed-minded that they are unable to tolerate differences among us.

As we anticipate the observance of Tish’ah B’av this coming Monday night and Tuesday, it would behoove us to contemplate the significance of this spectrum, and where we would locate ourselves level upon it. Then it is up to us to assert our position, and uphold it.

A Dangerous Journey, A New Land

As we arrive at the concluding chapters of the Book of Numbers, we read an accounting of all the places the Children of Israel have traveled through from the time they left Egypt until this point, as they arrive at the bank of the Jordan River. Over forty locations are mentioned in this list, where the Israelites stopped and camped on their journey. Now they wait with Moses, who has led them to this point. But it is Joshua who ultimately will take them across the Jordan to a new land, where they will make a new life as a free people.

This week Steve and I traveled up to the city of Akko for a few days. Akko is is one of the northernmost cities in Israel on the Mediterranean Sea. A port city, it served as an entry point to the Holy Land for the Crusaders, who constructed magnificent fortresses and tunnels there. It also has a rich Jewish history, and an Islamic history as well. During the Mandatory Period, the British used the main citadel as a prison, primarily for Jewish freedom fighters. A number of members of the Irgun, Lechi, and the Stern Gang were executed there by the British. Today, the old city of Akko is primarily an Arab city. The new city is primarily Jewish. It is a fascinating city to visit, and hosts some of the finest restaurants in Northern Israel.

As we left Akko, we traveled a bit more around the area. One of our stops was a kibbutz just north of Akko called Kibbutz Lohamei HaGhetta-ot, the Ghetto Fighters Kibbutz. We had been there a long time ago, but the museum has been greatly expanded since then. The founders of the kibbutz survived the horrors of the Holocaust in Europe. A few managed to escape from the Warsaw Ghetto after the Jewish resistance was finally quashed. A number of others had survived and escaped other Jewish uprisings in Nazi ghettos throughout Europe. Some had been prisoners in concentration camps. Some had joined the Partisans and ultimately escaped through the forests of Europe. Some escaped to the USSR and then gradually traveled southward. Some escaped to Spain and traveled through the Pyrenees. All of their journeys were circuitous and fraught with danger. For every soul, there is another saga. But somehow, all these people eventually managed to make their way to the Western Galilee of Israel, just north of Akko. In August of 1949, they founded a Kibbutz there, and named it after themselves—The Ghetto Fighters Kibbutz. In all, 159 adults and 21 children were counted among the founders. And then, they built a museum, to record the truth of what they had lived through.

Many of us, no doubt, have visited other Holocaust memorials: the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, and indeed, memorials and museums all over the world. But the museum that was built at Lohamei HaGhetta-ot was the first of all of these. For this alone it would be an important place. But it also tells the story of resistance, and the will to survive, in a way that is just a bit different from the others. For instance, there is a full wing devoted to the Jewish community of The Netherlands. Some 80% of Dutch Jewry was slaughtered during the Holocaust; more proportionately than any other country in Europe. While many in the Dutch population were complicit in this persecution, there were many Christian rescuers among the Dutch people as well. There are additional wings which tell the stories of the ghetto uprisings throughout Europe, and of unbelievable heroism.

One of the most astonishing artifacts in the museum is the very glass booth in which Adolf Eichmann, yimach shemo, sat during his trial in Jerusalem in 1961-62. The attention of Israel and much of the world was riveted on this rather diminutive figure, who was the principal architect of the “Final Solution.” Practically speaking, it was the first time that the world really began to come to terms with what happened. Several years ago at the Hartman Institute, Dr. Rachel Korazim led us in study through the opening statement of the principal prosecutor, Justice Gideon Hausner, who was the Attorney General of Israel at the time.

Eichmann’s Glass Booth

Gideon Hausner:

“In rising to present the case against the accused, I am not alone. I am accompanied and surrounded by 6,000,000 prosecutors, who, alas, cannot stand and point their finger of accusation against the man in the dock declaring ‘I Accuse.’ Their ashes are either at Auschwitz or Treblinka, or in graves scattered all over Europe. Their blood cries out but their voices are silent and unheard. It is in their name that I present this terrible, awesome indictment.” And he continued: “There was only one man in the satanic structure of Nazism who was almost entirely concerned with the Jews, and whose business was their destruction. This was Adolf Eichmann, who for years saw his destiny and calling—to which he was devoted with enthusiasm and zeal—the extermination of the Jews.”

The statement continued, and Hausner listed in specific and brutal detail the atrocities visited upon the Jews by the Nazis, at the behest and direction of the man in the glass booth. It was one of the most profound and earth shattering statements of modern jurisprudence.

Adolf Eichmann was put to death by hanging at the prison in Ramla on the night of May 31, 1962. But the impact of the trial, and the consciousness of the world as to the reality of what Eichmann and his cohorts had perpetrated, were only just beginning.

I encourage you to access the website of the Ghetto Fighters Museum, and explore it a bit for yourselves. And, if you should travel to Israel and find yourself in the north, try to visit this place. It is an important and profound chapter in the ongoing history and life of our people. www.gfh.org.il/Eng/.

Blacklist

Our Torah portion contains one of a number of census lists of the Children of Israel, particularly compiled for the purpose of counting up the number of men from each tribe able to bear arms, with each tribe recording its own number.The total of this census between all the tribes came to 601,730 men of eligibility to bear arms in a potential conflict. While they camped according to their tribes, together they formed a united front. Such was the list of the Children of Israel as they camped in Shittim in the Jordan Valley.

This past week a different list has come out of Israel, produced by a different sort of conflict; this one, not in the interest of Jewish unity, but one which threatens to further tear us apart.

No doubt many of you have seen the infamous “blacklist” circulating in the Jewish community this week. This is a list of 160 rabbis—Reform, Conservative and Orthodox—whose names have been published by the Chief Rabbinate of Israel for the purpose of invalidating their testimony on the authenticity of people’s Jewish status.

As you know, rabbis preside over conversions, and typically provide certificates of conversion with their signatures, and the signatures of two additional rabbis who served on the Beit Din— Jewish “court”—that questioned the convert and placed his/her stamp of approval upon the validity of the conversion. During my 32 years in the Rabbinate, I have issued a great many such certificates, as you can imagine, and presided over a great many conversions. When I work with someone for conversion, I have to inform him/her that his/her conversion most likely will not be accepted by the Orthodox community. But in Israel, this is also true of people who converted under Orthodox auspices, if there is something about the particular Orthodox rabbi’s policies that irritates the Rabbanut. Some of these “irritating” policies might include: their willingness to form alliances with non-Orthodox rabbis; their religious outlook as “Modern Orthodox” rabbis, fully participating in secular society, at the same time as they live committed, halakhic lives; advocating rabbinic education or the equivalent for women, and the like. In general, my conversion students are committed to liberal Judaism, and choose to convert under Reform auspices, the most authentic route for them. As an aside, about 30 years ago, after bowing to international pressure, the Misrad HaP’nim (Ministry of Interior) made the decision to recognize conversions presided over by Reform and Conservative rabbis outside of Israel. This, however, was for the purpose of Aliyah, and not with regard to Halakhic status.

In addition to conversion, rabbis are sometimes asked to provide letters attesting to the Jewish status of an individual, particularly for the purpose of facilitating Aliyah—going to live in Israel. I have also written several letters like this over the years.The imprimaturs of these 160 rabbis will longer be accepted in Israel for the purpose of Aliyah.

With great pride I can tell you that my husband Stephen’s name appears on this list of 160. I regret to say that mine does not. In fact there are no women on the list. That, of course, is because we do not even come close to being taken seriously as rabbis, and thus it’s not worth the Rabbanut’s trouble to even mention our names on such a blacklist! But for the 160 men, some of whom we have spoken with this week, being on this blacklist is now a badge of pride. In fact, there are colleagues of ours who are upset because their names are not on the list, and there is a whole group of rabbis from California who now are trying to be included on the list! You may access the list here: www.haaretz.com/Israel-news/1.800651

So of course, this whole thing is so absurd that if you hadn’t read it in the newspaper this week, you’d think that I had made it all up and I was pulling your leg. In fact even as I sit here and write it, I myself can hardly believe that this lunacy has reached the level that it has. However, sometimes it would seem that conflicts have to reach levels of great absurdity indeed, before the need for sane resolution becomes clear. Amid all the mishugas that is going on here now between the extremist Haredi power bloc and the liberal voices of reason, this blacklist is yet one more level of destructiveness that hopefully will help to bring these conflicts to a head. I don’t know when that will happen, but I hope and pray that it will happen soon. To try to hasten that time, however, people like my friend and colleague Rabbi Uri Regev are continuing to work to break the stranglehold of the Haredim over people’s lives in Israel, and in the Diaspora as well. Rabbi Regev has come to Union Temple to talk about his organization HIDDUSH – Religious Freedom and Equality in Israel. Thus I have placed my name on another list, this one compiled by Rabbi Regev. As of this hour, there are some 400 names, and counting. I encourage you to place your name on this list as well. Here is the link. rrfei.org/hiddush-refer-unity-statement/

Meanwhile, in the spirit of liberalism, and in the commitment to diversity within unity, I will wish you a Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem—in our highest aspiration, the city of peace.

This Far and No Farther

Last Saturday evening, Motza’ei Shabbat, Steve and I attended an outdoor Havdalah ceremony, as part of a demonstration of protest against the latest insult to liberal religion on the part of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. The demonstration took place in front of the Prime Minister’s Residence in Jerusalem. Called together barely 48 hours earlier, the demonstration drew almost two thousand people, mostly Reform and Conservative Jews, but also Modern Orthodox Jews, secular Jews, and anyone who understands the danger of this most recent decision.

On Sunday, June 25, the day before our flight over here, Mr. Netanyahu announced his decision to rescind an agreement regarding a separate area at the Kotel Hama’aravi—the Western Wall—for egalitarian prayer. You will remember that I wrote to you while Steve and I were here in February of 2016 regarding this agreement, which had been reached a few weeks earlier, on January 31, 2016. This agreement was the culmination of almost five years of careful negotiations between Women of the Wall, the Israel Religious Action Center, the Israel Movement for Progressive (Reform) Judaism, the Masorti (Israel Conservative) Movement, Attorney General Mandelblit, Jewish Agency Executive Director Natan Sharansky, and others. According to the agreement, the men’s and women’s sections of the Kotel would remain unchanged. But a third, separate section at the Kotel would be constructed in an accessible, modern, comfortable modality, to provide an area for egalitarian prayer, accommodating men and women together.

In a stunningly brazen move, the Prime Minister caved in to pressure from the ultra-Orthodox power bloc, and decided to sacrifice a large portion of the Jewish world, both in Israel and North America. In addition to nullifying the Kotel agreement, Mr. Netanyahu also will be kowtowing to this same power bloc with regard to conversion. Consequently, conversions performed by Reform, Conservative, and many Modern Orthodox rabbis, both inside and outside of Israel, would be disqualified. On Saturday night, it was clear that if Mr. Netanyahu thinks that a large portion of the Jewish world will allow itself to be thrown under the bus for the sake of his ability to hold together his coalition, he is sadly mistaken.

In our Torah portion, the prophet Bylam looks down upon the Children of Israel from the heights of Mo’av, and observes an am l’vadad yishkon—a people that dwells apart (Numbers 23.9). Benjamin Netanyahu seeks to isolate the majority of the Jewish world, in order to maintain his political power. But he will end up isolating himself instead. He will cause irreparable harm to our people. We will not let this happen. There’s an expression in Hebrew, ad kan, v’lo yoteir—this far and no farther. The Prime Minister has crossed the line. He has violated a trust by abrogating an agreement, and double-crossing people who have negotiated in good faith for years. One of them is, if you will, a “rock star” of the Jewish world—no less a figure than Natan Sharansky—the symbol of the Refusnik Movement of Soviet Jewry – someone who is no stranger to demanding the recognition of his human dignity.

Mr. Netanyahu has crossed the line of ad kan. He has violated the construct of Klal Yisrael—the worldwide Jewish community. The vociferous outcry of Jews, both in Israel and in North America, has already resulted in a postponement of the decision on conversion for some six months. I encourage you to access the remarks made at last Saturday night’s rally delivered passionately by Rabbi Gilad Kariv, who is also an attorney, and the Director of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism (Reform). URJ.org/blog/2017/07/05/we-have-not-yet-lost-hope

In his soliloquy, Bylam also voices a blessing with which we begin our morning prayers: Mah tovu ohelecha Yaakov, mishkenotecha Yisrael! – How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel! (Numbers 24.5) Bylam saw the Children of Israel as they dwelt together in peace. We can still dwell together in peace, if we are mature enough to accept and accommodate our differences.

This morning (Friday) at the Hartman Institute, we studied poetry of the Six Day War with Dr. Rachel Korazim, whom many of us were privileged to hear when she came to our temple in 2014 for Kristallnacht. Those of us who have traveled to Israel together also heard from her before visiting Yad Vashem. She ended hershiur today with an admonition to those of us who live outside of Israel. “Keep nudging us, ” she said, “we need you to keep nudging us and help us to do the right thing.” Admonition heard, Rachel. We will keep nudging. And I will wish you all a Shabbat Shalom from Jerusalem, the City of Peace.

Havdalah Rally last Saturday night in Jerusalem