Omer Day Twenty-Two

The cooler weather today in Brooklyn has one literally davenning for those steamy days of summer and yet the air is so fresh that it directs the mind toward the visual reality of springtime and the results are rather entertaining.

Today, while watching a softball game in Prospect Park, the wind, sun and clouds battled for hegemony while their beneficiaries, the trees, patiently bided their time and did what they know how to do best in spring: come into being.
If we could only come into being each day–or even each season–with the same steady intentionality as a tree!

How that first spring in the desert must have been for our ancestors, moving from the over-abundant idolatry of Egypt to the stark barrenness of the desert. And then to encounter a tree in spring: so wondrous, so alive, so open to dialogue.

Being a rabbi, I know I’m supposed to quote Buber’s famous passage on a tree in “I and Thou” but I prefer Robert Frost, to be quite honest.

Tree at My Window (1928)

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

===

On contemplating a tree in 1923 (five years prior to Frost) Buber wrote, “But it can also happen, if will and grace are joined, that as I contemplate the tree I am drawn into a relation, and the tree ceases to be an It. The power of exclusiveness has seized me.”

Buber: “The power of exclusiveness has seized me.”

Frost: “That day she put our heads together, fate had her imagination about her, your head so much concerned with outer, mine with inner, weather.”

Here are five years that are but a blink of an eye. A few seasons. Nothing in the life of a tree.

Omer Day Twenty-One

The resilience of age.

I wonder how old Akiva was when he said, “Everything is foreseen, yet freedom of choice is granted.”

Did he have the confidence of youth or the wisdom of old age?

I had this in mind this morning when I went to do a baby naming for a revered family in the Congregation, who had made the decision to name a child for a great-grandmother who had died earlier in the year.

Walking into the vibrant and bustling home, overflowing with life and generous brunch in celebration of Mother’s Day and the baby naming, the family elder, still in his year of mourning, was resplendent himself in honor and celebration. And the confidence on his face seemed to say, “I know beginnings and I know ends–and still, in between, we do get to choose.”

It was as if one could see the face of God, for a brief moment, and speaking through a Sage long ago, re-uttered the words, “Everything is seen, yet freedom of choice is granted. The world is judged favorably, yet all depends on the preponderance of good deeds.” (Pirke Avot 3.19)

There are beginnings in life and there are ends.

But our lives are truly judged by the preponderance of good deeds which bridge these Moments of Truth.

Omer Day Twenty

Last night, while walking to Shul to welcome Shabbat, I had this idea that maybe the next idea for liberal Jews will be about building the language of obligation into the lives of non-orthodox Jews. It may appear to be counter-intuitive.

After all, Reform Judaism, for example, was born of the idea that one was specifically not obligated to observe the laws that, it had been determined by an intellectual elite, were simply no longer binding. Kosher slaughtering rituals, certain trappings of daily prayer, the overall structure of Jewish family purity laws–to name a few–were seen as obligations that no longer held meaning for the emancipated and free-thinking Jew.

But within a generation, that theory began to break apart. A quick survey of the various platform statements of Reform Judaism over the past century reveals an ever-evolving relationship to Jewish law and obligation, where, arguably, what was once purposely removed from the obligatory statements about what Judaism asks of us have been slowly welcomed back, albeit in a language that is nuanced according to the late twentieth century quest for personal meaning.

Ah, America! (Enough about me; what do you think about me?) So it goes.

Here in Park Slope, I think about the obligations people get pleasure and meaning from:

1. Their children
2. Their partners, spouses, husbands, wives.
3. Their food (Co-Op, Fairway, Union Market, Farmers Market)
4. Walking their dogs in the park. (If you don’t believe me here, just notice the sudden preponderance of boutique pet-care shops in the neighborhood. Our dogs are treated better than most Third-World humans.)
5. Their workouts.
6. Their work.
7. Their homes and their spiritual homes (synagogue, church, shrine, mosque, yoga mat).

Then I think about the obligations that people don’t get pleasure and meaning from:

1. Their bills.
2. Their work.
3. Their healthcare.
4. Their homes and their spiritual homes.

My point here is that I think it would be interesting and challenging to examine what is not pleasurable or meaningful about engaging in the synagogue and to ask the simple questions, “What and Why?”

Questions have the power and ability to break something apart and reassemble it in a way that can offer new perspectives and new meaning.

What makes work both pleasurable and painful?
What makes the home both pleasurable and painful?
What makes the synagogue both pleasurable and painful?

In each of these cases, are we willing to ask that “what” and the “why” and be willing to act on what we hear, both breaking apart and then reassembling the puzzle with new perspectives and new meaning?

What if we kept a log of such observations and then published it, like a public page of Talmud, and reflected on the shared and divergent perspectives of this center of community?

What would we hear? What would we learn?

And what would we do about it?

My intuition is that obligation loses its luster when it lacks either pleasure or aesthetic–two tropes of daily life in our area of New York that are highly valued.

With our scaffolding erected and holy house of God under construction, it’s the right time to ask the psychological questions of spiritual excavation.

Don’t be afraid.

Ask.

You may find yourself running to fulfill the answer you receive.

Omer Day Nineteen

Relief Efforts for Burma
One of the worst humanitarian disasters in years is unfolding in Burma, in the aftermath of a devastating cyclone that tore through the country. Nearly 100,000 people are presumed dead, tens of thousands remain missing, and one million are homeless. This terribly tragic situation has been amplified by Burma’s brutal military government, which is failing to respond to the disaster and obstructing international aid organizations.

When tragedies occur on such an enormous scale it is difficult to know where to begin to help. Our feelings of helplessness may be exacerbated by a skepticism around providing effective relief to those suffering under harsh and corrupt regimes. But our tradition affirms that we must do whatever is in our power to preserve human life, and so we ask that our community acts promptly and decisively to ensure that victims receive the aid that they desperately need.

We encourage everyone in our community here at Beth Elohim to contribute to this relief effort, either through the UJA Federation of NY or through the American Jewish World Service. Both have established special Burmese Emergency Relief Funds, with UJA’s support going to the Joint Distribution Committee (JDC). Both are committed to distributing one hundred percent of the money collected in the emergency fund, and will work with agencies on the ground in the affected areas as the needs become clear.

To donate to the JDC, please To make a donation to Myanmar Cyclone Relief: by phone, 212.687.6200. By Mail: Check payable to: JDC - Myanmar Cyclone Relief, P.O. Box 530, 132 East 43rd St. New York, NY, 10017.

To contribute to AJWS, click HERE or call (800) 889-7146. Checks can be sent to: American Jewish World Service, Burma Relief, 45 West 36th Street, 10th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

We pray that rescue efforts are successful in saving as many people as possible.

May those who have lost loved ones find comfort in knowing that the hearts of good people around the world are open to their suffering.

(with special thanks to our friend Rabbi Sharon Brous at Ikar-LA for sharing this language)

Omer Day Eighteen, continued

Rabbi Dan Bronstein and humorist Ben Greenman exchange some pretty essential information on the New Yorker website, about Sony’s long-anticipated release of 3 Stooges DVDs and digital downloads at iTunes.

Omer relevance?

You try schlepping 49 days in the desert without a schpritz of seltzer to move things along!

Omer Day Eighteen

Yom Ha’Atzmaut: Israel’s Independence Day

The twentieth century for world Jewry was one of the most traumatizing and triumphant centuries of our long and dramatic existence. It began with the dislocation of millions of Jews from pogroms and anti-Semitism in the Pale of Settlement and toward the promise of freedom in America, Canada and British Mandate Palestine. The ideologies of Representative Democracy and Zionism offered the twin lamps of Hope for a world Jewry that feared it would be extinguished. Within a few short decades, the specter of Fascism and Nazism threatened to annihilate European Jewry. American Jewish soldiers fought in the American military and the Zionists in Palestine increased their pressure on Great Britain to leave its colonial position and grant statehood to the Jewish people.

And within a few years of the end of the war, with the awareness of the extermination of six million Jews (including one million children) Israel became a reality. But in a matter of moments, triumph turned to trauma as the War for Independence threatened the nascent state. Israel’s victory then, on a thin sliver of land, allowed it to grow and develop, and so it did. Schools and universities, hospitals, cities, agricultural infrastructure, labor and industry, arts and cultural institutions–each of these already in development during the pre-state era–began to flourish.

But within a decade there was a crisis with Egypt at the Suez Canal; and within another decade, the threat to Israel’s existence arose again with the Six Day War–where Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan were allied to attack Israel and remove the Jewish state. Israel’s stunning victory, seen by some throughout the world as “miraculous,” unleashed more triumph but more trauma as well. For with it came the responsibility of ruling over more than one million Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, a responsibility that many Israeli leaders knew would represent an unachievable result.

In the 40 years that followed, there was one after another moment of trauma that seemed like a coordinated strategy of never allowing Israel to gain its footing as a nation. In 1973 there was the Yom Kippur War; in 1982 the Lebanon War; in 1987 the First Intifada; in the early 1990s the beginning of the Oslo Peace Process, which offered hope, only to be followed by terror and in 1995 the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. In 2000, the Second Intifada; the summer of 2006, the Lebanon War with Hezbollah.

That through it all Israel has been able to survive is nothing less than a spectacular testimony to the resilience of the Jewish people. And with that spectacular testimony comes the responsibility of Jewish peoplehood. The absorption of Jews from Africa, the Middle East, and Russia–remaining the beacon of hope for the refugee. And the fair, equitable and democratic treatment of Israel’s more than one million Arab citizens, who claim Israel as their state as well. Add on top of that the Palestinian populations under Israeli rule in the West Bank and Gaza, and one begins to understand the seemingly enormous and multi-dimensional challenge Israel continues to face.

When a century cannot yield more than a decade of triumph without unleashing another rupture, another trauma, another dislocation–how is one to achieve anything? (To give you a comparative idea: even factoring in September 11, 2001 and Pearl Harbor 1941, the next previous attack on American soil was the American Civil War in 1861 and prior to that the War of 1812.)

And yet, Israelis survive, invent, thrive, create in technology, medicine, science, the arts–answering the inexorable call to live life to its fullest and believe in the “Hope” that freedom and justice can be achieved not only for the Jewish people in their own land but for their Palestinian neighbors as well. Despite a century of trauma and dislocation, polls continually show that the more than 70% of Israelis and 70% of Palestinians want a peaceful, two-state solution to this ongoing struggle, so that all can experience the peace and quiet they deserve.

Despite it all, we live in incredibly opportune times. Birthright Israel has sent more than 100,000 young Jews to Israel; thousands study abroad and tens of thousands visit each year. In an era of increased globalization, travel and business and cultural collaborations occur on a daily basis. Israel’s challenge of making peace with its neighbors remains a central component in the international debate over the War on Terror.

And so it goes.

Called upon by the God of the Bible to be a “Light Unto the Nations,” the Jewish people is bound to a narrative purpose of bringing our understanding of Truth and Justice and Peace to the world.

On May 8, 2008, Israel will be 60 years old as a nation. It is an achievement worth celebrating and taking great stock in, especially against the background of the past sixty years of world history. And yet–it is merely a generation and a half old. That it has created a national homeland; given birth to the revival of an ancient language; made meaningful and necessary contributions to stopping disease, healing the sick, connecting the planet, and been that beacon of hope to those who strive to see another day, is truly worth our gratitude and recognition.

For imagine, if you will, what Israel could have achieved with sixty years of quiet? And that alone should give us reason to remain steadfast in our support for peace with Israel’s neighbors, for a resolution of the conflict with Palestinians, and for the dream of continuing to dream that Israel may be not only “The Hope” for the Jewish people but for all humanity.

Omer Day Seventeen

The American synagogue is a place where many rituals of American Jewish life take place: the bris, the baby naming, the bat mitzvah, the funeral, and the discussion about Israel. Each of these has a form and structure of its own; and each, by design, is meant to lead one somewhere–to a life of good deeds and a good name. “A good name,” says Proverbs, “is more precious than fine oil.”

Indeed.

The discussion about Israel is increasingly complicated, I’d observe, and tonight was a typical example of that–especially our neighborhood, Park Slope, where, to paraphrase Rousseau, Left makes Might that’s Right.

We had the writer Bernard Avishai speak tonight. He’s touring his new book, the Hebrew Republic, about (in a nutshell) what Israel might look like if all of Israel was Tel Aviv.

Its basic premise: Israel needs quickly to become a Hebrew language democratic and constitutional form of government open to all its citizens, Arab and Jewish alike, in order to save itself.

I don’t disagree. I feel confident enough in the theory that language IS culture and that Jewishness will be preserved as the organizing principle of Israel’s unique character. The less power in the hands of Haredi rabbinate the better.

My problem: when the message gets delivered in a neighborhood like mine, with relatively few people present who have any real vested interest in actually living in Israel or making that utopian vision a reality and instead, want to feel okay about NOT being an iridentist member of the Settler movement.

It’s the classic Groucho dilemma: I wouldn’t want to be a member of the club that would have me as a member.

What happens is that writers like Avishai end up becoming minstrels for the intellectual elite and comfortable bourgeois who won’t really have a stake in Israel’s future, except to the degree that they vote for members of Congress or American presidential candidates that will keep Israel’s “worst elements” in check.

I know, I sound like a closeted Right Winger.

I’m not.

I just don’t have a whole lot of patience for those who comfortably like to have an opinion about Israel without really living the reality–for better or worse–of Israel’s day-to-day insanity. I’m not talking about Israelis who have given up and moved away. Who am I to judge? The traumas of daily living are a challenge not made for ordinary people. I’m talking more about the armchair liberals of the Brownstones and College Campuses of our world. Comfortable but arguably, removed from the fray.

This is such an old argument, it’s not worth repeating.

And so maybe we’re left with Avishai’s basic premise, which is correct: the longer Israel waits to make peace, the sooner its chances of developing a vibrant, model democracy capable of integrating fully into the European Union and being an intellectual and economic light unto the nations for the 21st century.

Irony of ironies: to a degree more than any other country living under similar circumstances, Israel already is.

Hezbollah and Hamas, Syria and Iran–all want Israel wiped off the map. It’s practically a miracle that it hasn’t happened already. And that it hasn’t; and that in the face of such threats Israel can produce the technologies and medicines and innovations that save human lives on a daily basis–hey, call me cheesey, but that’s an achievement worth celebrating and respecting on this, Israel’s 60th Anniversary.

Does Israel have its problems? You bet it does.

Still, a hush of humility should come over us when a day passes so seamlessly from our Diaspora consciousness–a day which commemorates the deaths of more than 22,000 Israelis men and women who gave their lives for their country.

In American, we commemorate Memorial Day by having sales and the Fourth of July by making pretty explosions in the sky.

In Israel today, sirens went off and there was silence, in which a humble and bitter memory could, however briefly, sing. Only tonight, at sundown, could a celebration begin.

We Jews in the Diaspora would do well to challenge ourselves to pause and remember: sometimes it’s not about being right or left, crooked or straight.

But it’s being able to see the last three thousand years of Jewish history in a digitized world that wants you to forget five minutes ago, and see the current reality, as challenging as it is, as one of the 20th centuries greatest achievements.

Rome wasn’t built in a day; and Israel wasn’t built in Sixty Years.

The Hope lives on.

Omer Day Seventeen

For the second time in a week, a member of the Congregation over the age of 80 has come into my office asking about going on the next CBE trip to Israel.

Last winter, 36 members of our community traveled together, traversing the country from the north to the south, steeped in history, culture, faith, politics, language and adventure. The group was multi-generational, which made it all the more rich an experience.

We plan another trip again this coming December, so let us know if you want to come.

In the metaphoric time warp of Omer, it’s important to remember that those many hundreds of thousands of Jews and others who traveled together out of Egypt (the Midrash is clear that “others”–many non-Jews– joined themselves to our Covenant upon recognizing this definitive moment in history) represented several generations, on a Covenantal journey together.

In our over-polled and highly silo-ed society, it’s vital that we embrace when and where we can the kind of generational bridge building experiences that validate the multitudinous ways of our community.

During this Day of Memory in Israel for the Fallen Soldiers of Israel’s wars, we recognize the sacrifices of each generation who gave their lives to build a land. How old would each of those soldiers be today, had they lived? And how would they be looking back on their lives and contributions?

May we forever remember the contributions made by all ages, in all ages, to the ongoing livelihood of the Jewish People.

Omer Day Sixteen

CBE member, trustee, and social activist Emily Berger is also a painter and her beautiful works will be on display at the Painting Center beginning May 20.

This piece, Nightwatch,

gives an eery and moving sense of the challenges we often face when searching for light–it isn’t always as readily available to us as we would like. But through the grids and complexity of our existence, we find a way.

From another angle entirely, Eric Pesso, another CBE member, shows at BWAC as the featured artist. Eric’s sculptures–evocative, sensuous objects of carved wood, bring to mind the other side of the Israelites journey–the tension of the object and its natural mysteriousness, its allure which allied with its danger.

After all, when the Israelites finally re-entered the land after their slavery in Egypt, they encountered a Canaanite culture that worshipped…trees!

Abstract painting represents the obfuscation of the idea whereas a sculpture of wood represents its physical presence, its claim in the world as not only a symbol of life but life itself.

If you see either show, be sure to ask the artist about their work.

And above all, enjoy!

Omer Day Fifteen

Rabbi Akiva said, “All is foreseen; yet free choice is granted. The world is judged with grace; yet all is according to the predominance of the deeds.” (Pirke Avot, 3.15)

Here is another opportunity to explore the spiritual discipline, if you will, of the Omer period.

Maimonides explains that Akiva was attempting to teach that if a person performs good deeds all the time, their inherent inclination to do good will be strengthened. This cannot be achieved by one grand act.

The Rambam uses a donation of tzedakah to illustrate his point:

“He who makes a single donation of a thousand gold pieces, does not acquire the quality of generosity, as much as one gives the same amount in a thousand installments; for whereas the latter’s one thousand times recurring generosity will impress itself upon his soul, a single magnanimous act could have resulted from a spur of the moment that may never repeat itself.”

There is a great and simple wisdom in these words, which we know from a variety of other avenues of living our lives.

You want to lose weight? Exercise and diet consistently.
You want to play piano? Practice, practice, practice.
You want to run a marathon? Train, train, train.
You want to earn a living? Work, work, work.

Consistency and repetition–seemingly a bit of a bore for our surface society–are the twin pillars of virtue.

Choose an act of goodness and practice that act throughout the Omer period. Get to Sinai on Shavuot with your offering in your hands.

And lay it upon the altar of goodness.