Loving our enemies

Rabbi Akiva called the central verse in this week’s Torah portion Kedoshim: “Klal gadol baTorah – a great rule of the Torah.”

This verse is among the most famous in the Hebrew Bible and the most misunderstood – “V’ahavta l’reiacha kamocha… You shall love your fellow/neighbor as yourself….” (Leviticus 19:18)

The verse raises at least three questions.

First – how can we be commanded to feel love or, for that matter, anything else? We can’t, which means that the mitzvah to “love” must involve something other than feelings.

The spiritual teacher David Steindl-Rast writes that there’s one thing that characterizes “love” in all its forms – erotic, romantic, familial, tribal, national, spiritual, religious, and even love we feel for our pets. That one thing is found in our yearning to belong to and be connected with something greater than ourselves.

“Love,” he says “is a wholehearted [and willful] ‘yes’ to belonging” (Essential Writings, p. 73) with all the implications that attachment to, responsibility for and accountability with others bring.

Our yearning to belong inspires greater understanding of who we are and what is our role in the world. That yearning links us heart to heart and soul to soul with others, with creatures large and small, with nature, the universe, the cosmos, and God.

Jewish mystics taught a central truth; that we are physically and spiritually part of a vast Oneness. We share common origins and a common destiny with each other and with every people and nation. Consequently, we’re responsible for one another and accountable for how we behave with family, friend, foe, and stranger.

Too often our idea of “self” (as suggested in “You shall love your fellow as yourself”) is limited to our little egos. If that verse, however, is to mean something then we need to think about “love” differently; not as a feeling but as an attitude of the heart.

V’ahavta understood this way enables us to fulfill the commandment “to love our fellows” because our response to them isn’t based in a feeling but as an act of will when we take responsibility for others because we belong to each other as part of the great Oneness of humankind.

Second – What does it mean to “love” someone as we love ourselves?

Maimonides taught that if it’s ever a toss-up between saving our own lives and saving another, we’re obligated to save our own lives first.

Nachmanides added that what we wish for ourselves we must wish for others whether we know them or not, like them or hate them.

Third – Does this commandment demand that we “love” our enemies in some way?

No. Indeed, there are some people we can’t wish well as we wish for ourselves because their deeds are too heinous to tolerate or forgive.

That being said, I’ll never forget Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin’s words on the White House lawn at the signing of the Camp David Peace Accords with Egypt in 1978.

Begin told the world that the Jewish people considers it amongst the greatest of mitzvot to make of a “ra” ( an “evil” person – an enemy) into a “rea” (“a fellow” – a friend).

Though Egypt and Israel are hardly “friends” as we understand friendship between nations, since that day (September 17, 1978) there has not been one day of war between Israel and Egypt.

Though Judaism doesn’t command us to “love” our enemies, tradition requires us to give a penitent person a chance at reconciliation.

As a people we’re required always to act ethically towards everyone, including our enemies. In doing so we leave open the possibility of transformation should circumstances warrant (see Exodus 23:4).

It’s difficult to imagine peace given the hatred and mistrust that animates the current relationship between Israel and the Palestinians, but we ought to remember that once Germany was our people’s greatest enemy. Today Germany is the least anti-Semitic country in Europe.

Germany and Japan were America’s bitter foes seventy-five years ago. Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland were once killing each other. Today, these former enemies have laid down their guns and established peace.

The mitzvah of loving one’s fellows requires at the very least that we keep open our hearts to the possibilities of change in our relationships with our enemies for in the end, we are all related and we share a common destiny.

Shabbat shalom!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Believing in Miracles

When I think about God splitting of the sea I’m reminded of the story of Joey who when asked by his father what he learned in Sunday school explained that Israeli engineers laid pontoons across the sea so that the Israelis could cross over safely, attack the Egyptian army and win the 1973 Yom Kippur War. Then Joey told his father that the same Israelis snuck back and laid charges under the bridges so that as the Egyptians crossed the bridges, they exploded and the Egyptians drowned.

Joey’s father said: “You didn’t learn that in Sunday school?”

Joey confessed: “No Dad, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what my teacher really told us.”

To children and adults alike, the parting of the Sea of Reeds in the Exodus story is incredulous. What to make of it as it defies reason? Wouldn’t a more relevant liberation story be Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, Kings “I Have a Dream” speech, Natan Sharansky’s address to the sentencing Soviet court, or Israel’s Declaration of Independence?

The Kotzker Rebbe said: “Whoever believes in miracles is a fool; and whoever does not believe in miracles is an atheist.” Is there no middle ground?

How ought we to read the Exodus text?

Here’s another way.

Nachshon ben Aminadav, a little known figure in the Exodus story, took matters into his own hands and as the Egyptians advanced and Moses prayed Nachshon jumped into the waters and started swimming. The Midrash says that Moses’ faith and Nachshon’s activism persuaded God to split the sea.

I’m reminded of the story of the man caught in a flood. While standing on his roof he prayed that God would save him. In the next hour 3 helicopters and 3 boats arrived but he refused them all claiming that he’d rather wait for God to save him. When the flood waters engulfed him he complained bitterly to the Almighty: “I’ve been a good man my whole life, but when I prayed to You to save me, you ignored my plea!”

“Nebesh!” God screamed, “I sent you 3 helicopters and 3 boats. Next time, help yourself?”

So – what’s a miracle? Philosophers answer the question in the negative; what isn’t a miracle? Judaism teaches that a miracle isn’t the radical transformation of the natural world. Divine wisdom and goodness lie not in rupturing God’s reign of universal law, but in the reliability of the steady order of the world.

Rabbi Harold Schulweis put it this way: “Faith isn’t dependent on miracles….miracles depend on faith. And faith, far from blind, sees life’s deeper truths.”

However defined, no miracle without faith is possible. Rabbi Abraham Heschel noted that a miracle has less to do with great historical peak events as it does in our consciousness of what lies before us at all times: “To pray is to take notice of the wonder, to regain a sense of the mystery that animates all beings, the Divine margin in all attainments.”

Rabbi Akiba was challenged by the pagan Tineus Rufus: “Whose deeds are greater, those of God or humankind?”

Akiba replied: “Greater are human deeds.”

The pagan asked how he could make such a claim.

Akiba brought sheaves of wheat and loaves of cakes and asked, “Which are superior?” The great sage answered his own question: the loaves of cakes excel because they required a human being to take the wheat and make something life-sustaining.

The lesson of the Sea of Reeds isn’t in the splitting of the Sea. It’s in our conscientious capacity to take action and transform the world.

As we prepare Pesach this week, our nation’s teens marching for reasonable gun control this past week is a great example of how we humans can transform ourselves and our world.

THAT is a miracle.

Chag Pesach Sameach!

 

 

Moses and God’s Tears – A Poetic Midrash for Vayikra

So often God called Moses. / Three times they met / at the flaming bush / on Sinai and before the Tent of Meeting / that Moses might intuit God’s mind / and soothe God’s heart / as a lover comforts his beloved.

Since creation / God yearned to bridge the chasm / when the Creator pulled away / and opened space / to share the universe.

Yet the Almighty remained alone / exiled within the Divine Self / when the vessels shattered / and matter was flung to the far reaches of the universe.

The upper spheres were divorced from the lower / male from female / the primal Father from the primal Mother / Tiferet from Malchut / Hakadosh Baruch Hu from Shechinah / Adonai from K’nesset Yisrael.

Before time and speech / God appointed the soul of the Shepherd-Prince Moses / to be prophet / and endowed him with hearing-sight / wide-ranging wisdom and intuitive knowledge.

No one but Moses / had ever been so chosen or / to come so near to God.

Moses saw with his ears / heard with his eyes / tasted with his mind / and remained whole in the Light.

The prophet descended the mountain aglow / the primordial Light shielding him behind a veil / bearing on his forehead divine ink-drops / illuminating the earth’s four corners.

Moses descended upon angel’s wings / weightless and cradling the lettered-stone / inside the eye of raging winds.

Though a Prince in Egypt / Moses’ destiny was as a lonely shepherd / gathering sheep / and drawing the children of Israel to God.

God needed much from Moses / to bring the plagues / and show that there is no God but God / and liberate the people / and bring them to Sinai / and inspire with the Word / and create God’s house / that light might abide within every heart / and restore wholeness in the world.

After all of God’s expectations and demands / we might expect Moses’ strength to be depleted / to be exhausted to the bone and ready to say / “Enough! O Redeemer – find a new prophet / I can no longer bear the burden / and be Your voice and create bridges / You are Almighty God / I am but flesh / My strength is gone / My time expired!”

“Nonsense!” proclaimed the Eternal / “I am not yet ready for your retirement! / My world remains shattered / My light obscured / my heart aching / I need you to teach My people / and all people / instill in their hearts / a love that heals My wound / for I cannot do this for Myself.”

Alas, the Creator-Redeemer’s needs were clear / to be close to Moses and the people / that the prophet and Israel together / might wipe away God’s tears / and restore God’s heart to wholeness / and heal God’s Name to Itself / and bring peace.

Poem composed by Rabbi John L. Rosove

Notes about this poetic Midrash:

The first word that appears in this week’s Torah portion Vayikra (vav – yud – kuf – resh – aleph – “And God called Moses…”) ends with an unusually small aleph. This anomaly in what is called the k’tiv (written text) gave rise to much rabbinic interpretation over the centuries.

Rashi explained that the small aleph teaches the humility of Moses. Others said that the aleph is an introduction to the Levitical laws of sacrifice, which requires humility. A Midrash suggests that when Moses descended from Mount Sinai carrying the tablets of the law, he emitted a keren or (“a ray of light”) compelling Moses to shield his face with a veil because the people could not look upon him in such a state. The source of that ray of light was divine ink left over when Moses wrote a small aleph instead of one of normal size. The Midrash explains that Moses had sought to lessen his own stature by using a small aleph, but God restored the extra drops of divine ink by placing them upon Moses’ forehead.

The Midrashic literature comments at length about Moses’ experience meeting panim el panim (lit. “face to face” – metaphorically “soul to soul”) with God. Moses was first among God’s prophets. Though each prophet spoke God’s words, there never was another prophet like Moses nor, as the Torah explains, was there ever again a more humble human being on earth than Moses.

It is my fascination with prophecy that inspired me to write this poetic Midrash.

For those of you wishing more insight into Biblical prophecy, I recommend Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s “The Prophets” – publ. Jewish Publication Society, New York, 1962.

Shabbat shalom. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Judaism Matters – A review in the Jewish Press of Northern California

This appeared this week – fyi

https://www.jweekly.com/2018/02/15/liberal-rabbi-tells-jewish-millennials-judaism-matter/

Flags on the Bimah – Do they belong?

I was sitting in front of the ark this past Shabbat and ruminating during a few moments of quiet prayer about the two flags that have framed my synagogue’s ark for as long as I can remember – the American flag on one side and the Israeli flag on the other. I love them both, but I asked myself, ‘Do they belong here in our Sanctuary, in our house of prayer?’ After all, they are national symbols and not religious ones.

I took a look at what has been written in Reform Responsa literature over the past 50 years since the question first was asked of the Central Conference of American Rabbis Responsa Committee about the appropriateness of placing flags in the sanctuary of our synagogues.

Essentially, the following is what I gleaned from a number of Responsa (links below):

“Though the flags are not religious symbols, they are symbols of our spiritual and emotional attachment to our country and to the State of Israel.”

“As citizens of the United States, the American flag represents some of our most sacred American ideals, our acceptance of the responsibilities and privileges of citizenship, and our devotion to the prophetic ideals of social justice and freedom.”

“The State of Israel is the political embodiment of the age-old Jewish dream of national redemption, a dream that Jews have expressed in our prayers for two millennia, and the Israeli flag represents the prayers of the Jewish people for a return to the land of Israel and the re-establishment there of our Jewish national life.”

So, yes! They do belong, in my opinion, and as a consequence of my ruminations last week, I feel that these flags in fact add something to the iconography of symbols that characterize our holy spaces.

Sources – Central Conference of American Rabbis Responsa

Hatikvah and The Star-Spangled Banner – https://web.archive.org/web/20170824182820/http://ccarnet.org/responsa/rr21-no-5758-10/

Israeli flag on a synagogue pulpit – https://web.archive.org/web/20170824183123/http://ccarnet.org/responsa/arr-66-68/

National flags at religious services LXIV(1954) 79-80 – https://web.archive.org/web/20170824183218/http://ccarnet.org/responsa/arr-64-66/

Flags on the bimah – https://web.archive.org/web/20170824182928/http://ccarnet.org/responsa/tfn-no-5753-8-29-32/

 

 

 

 

Living in the Light, Being in the Light to Others – D’var Torah Bo

“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
And [people] forgot their passions in the dread 
Of this desolation; and all hearts 
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:…”

Lord Byron describes well what must have been the experience of the Egyptians when the 9^th plague of darkness befell them, as described in our Torah portion, Bo, this week.

This was not an ordinary darkness. So dense it was that a person couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Midrash says that this darkness, choshech, wasn’t of the natural world. It wasn’t a solar eclipse nor the darkness that comes on a moonless night. While it oppressed the Egyptians guilty of enslaving the Israelites, the sun and universe operated normally. It was as if each Egyptian was imprisoned in a black box of isolation.

This darkness catapulted the Egyptians back to a time before creation itself when “darkness covered the face of the deep.” (Genesis 1:2)

From where did this darkness come, and what did it mean?

In Psalms (105:28) we read: “Shalach choshech va-yach’shich – God sent darkness and it became dark.”

In our portion, God instructs Moses: “N’tei yad’cha al ha-shamayim vi-hi choshech… – “Hold your arm over the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched.” And Moses did so.

This darkness of heart and soul reflected the debased spiritual and moral condition of the Egyptians.

The Psalms (18:12) tell us something else as well: “Yashet choshech sitro s’vivotav sukato – He makes darkness be His screen round about him,” suggesting that the light that could not enter the Egyptian heart is always hidden, only with them it was nearly extinguished because they were slave-masters.

The Divine light, however, shone in all the Israelite dwellings. In its purest form it was a luminosity so brilliant that no one could see it and live. The mystics say that the Torah is a veil shielding the light which is revealed to each of us according to our capacity to fathom it.

Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher (14^th century Spanish Kabbalist) taught that God shut off every Egyptian’s antenna to receive this Godly light without interfering with the source of its transmission. But the Israelite antennae were open because our hearts were not hard.

What does all this mean for us?

If we live long enough we will suffer broken hearts. Some suffer chronic biochemical imbalances that need medical attention. Everyone needs love and support when we or our loved ones become ill, when we divorce and when a cherished loved one dies. Others among us lose our jobs and income. All these losses necessarily bring with them a pall of darkness.

Rabbi Isaac Meir Alter (19^th century Poland) taught that the worst darkness of all is that blindness in which one person will not “see another,” and will refuse to look upon another’s misery and to help him. Such a person who can’t see another will become incapable of “rising from his/her place,” that is, of growing spiritually and emotionally.

Rabbi Yochanan taught that every eye has an area of white and black. We might think that the human being sees out of the white part. But no; we see out of the black part, which means that when we’re in the dark we’re capable of seeing what is in the light, but when we’re in the light we cannot see what is in the dark. (Yalkut Shimoni 378).

In other words, there is always hope, and there is always light, even when we suffer our darkest moments. In Egypt, wherever a Jew went, light also went because the light was in them. That is what it means to be a Jew. To live the light, to be a light to others, and to hope.

Shabbat Shalom!

Why Judaism Matters – Letters of a Liberal Rabbi to His Children and the Millennial Generation

My book by the above title was first published in October, I wanted to offer it again. Here are the endorsements for the book on the book jacket. You can also check out what readers have said at amazon.com. This is not only for millennials, but for their parents and grandparents.

“John Rosove does what so many of us have struggled to do, and does it brilliantly:  He makes the case for liberal Judaism to his children. As Rosove shows, liberal Judaism is choice-driven, messy, and always evolving, “traditional” in some ways and “radical” in others. It is also optimistic, spiritual, and progressive in both personal and political ethics. Without avoiding the hard stuff, such as intermarriage and Israel, Rabbi Rosove weaves all of these strands together to show the deep satisfactions of living and believing as a liberal Jew. All serious Jews, liberal or otherwise, should read this book.” —- Rabbi Eric H. Yoffie is President Emeritus of the Union for Reform Judaism and a regular columnist for the Israeli daily newspaper Haaretz. 

“Rabbi John Rosove addresses his intellectual and well-reasoned investigation of faith to his own sons, which sets this book apart for its candor and its ability to penetrate not only the mind but also the heart.” — Matthew Weiner is a writer, director, producer, and the creator of the AMC television drama series Mad Men and he is noted for his work as a writer and producer on the HBO drama series The Sopranos and earned nine Primetime Emmy Awards Matthew has received nine Primetime Emmy Awards.

“Rabbi John Rosove gets it. Here is a religious leader not afraid to tell it like it is, encapsulating for his audience the profound disaffection so many young Jews feel towards their heritage. But instead of letting them walk away, he makes a powerful case for the relevance of tradition in creating meaningful lives. In our technology-saturated, attention-absorbing age, Rosove offers religion-as-reprieve, his fresh vision of a thoroughly modern, politically-engaged and inclusive Judaism.” —-Danielle Berrin is a columnist and cover-story journalist for the Los Angeles Jewish Journal. She is known for her Hollywood Jew blog, has appeared as a commentator on CNN and MSNBC, and published work for The Guardian, British Esquire, and The Atlantic. 

“Rabbi Rosove has written a wonderful book, a love letter to his children, and through them, to all our children. Prodigiously knowledgeable, exceedingly wise, and refreshingly honest, Rabbi Rosove has described why Judaism matters. It should serve as a touching testament of faith, spanning the generations for generations to come.” —-Rabbi Ammiel Hirsch is Senior Rabbi of Stephen Wise Free Synagogue, New York City  and is the co-author of One People, Two Worlds: A Reform rabbi and an Orthodox rabbi explore the issues that divide them with Rabbi Yaakov Yosef Reinman.

“Rabbi Rosove’s letters to his sons are full of Talmudic tales and practical parables, ancient wisdom with modern relevance, spiritual comfort, and intellectual provocation. Whether his subject is faith, love, intermarriage, success, Jewish continuity or the creation of a meaningful legacy, you’ll find yourself quoting lines from this beautiful book long after you’ve reached its final blessing.”  —- Letty Cottin Pogrebin is a writer, speaker, social justice activist, and author of eleven books including Deborah, Golda, and Me: Being Female & Jewish in America and Single Jewish Male Seeking Soul Mate. She is also a founding editor of Ms. Magazine, is a regular columnist for Moment Magazine.

“Rabbi John Rosove has given a gift to all of us who care about engaging the next generation in Jewish life. The letters to his sons are really love-letters from countless voices of Jewish wisdom across history to all those young people who are seeking purpose in their lives.  From wrestling with God, to advocating for peace and justice in Israel and at home, and living a life of purpose, this book is a compelling case for the joy of being Jewish.” —Rabbi Jonah Pesner, is the Director of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism in Washington, D.C and is Senior Vice President of the Union for Reform Judaism.

“If you’re a fellow Reform millennial, give yourself the gift of John’s insights. This book is written in a breezy, gentle, readable style that is welcoming without losing sharp insight. It makes an even better case for Judaism than challah. It was so enjoyable and refreshing to read and persuasive without ever being pushy. Rosove managed to do what only a truly worthy slice of kugel or chance viewing of Fiddler has done for me: reactivate my sense of wonder and gratitude about being Jewish. I am a huge WJM fan.” —-Jen Spyra is a staff comedy writer on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (CBS) and formerly was a senior writer for The Onion.

“John Rosove’s letters to his sons based on his life, philosophy, and rabbinic work address what it means to be a liberal and ethical Jew and a lover of Israel in an era when none are automatic. He writes in an unassuming personal style steeped in traditional texts as he confronts conflicts of faith and objectivity, Zionist pride and loving criticism of the Jewish state, traditional observance and religious innovation. He is never gratuitous and invites his readers into his family conversation because what he says is applicable to us all.” —-Susan Freudenheim is the Executive Director of Jewish World Watch, was formerly the Managing Editor of the Los Angeles Jewish Journal and an editor at the Los Angeles Times.

“Rabbi John Rosove has written a book of the utmost importance for our time. It is an imperative read for all those who struggle with the changing and evolving attitudes towards belonging, behavior and belief. His analysis, stemming from deeply personal contemplation and decades of rabbinic experience, offers clear yet sophisticated approaches to tackling the challenges facing this generation and those to come. This book offers a treasure of wisdom through the lens of Jewish texts – both ancient and modern – which help to frame life’s major issues taking the reader from the particular to the universal.  Israel is one of the most complicated of issues tackled in this volume and his chapter on Israel bridges the divide between Israel’s critics and staunch supporters offering a comforting approach to those who are deeply at odds with Israel and offers and important opportunity for a shift in our basic narrative.  Moving beyond the conversation of crisis is critical for the millennial generation.” —-Rabbi Josh Weinberg is President of the Association of Reform Zionists of America and is a leading young voice in world-wide Zionist politics and affairs.

 

A Pure Soul – Moses’ Selection as Prophet

 

Moses at the Burning Bush – Marc Chagall

The Book of Exodus is the story about God’s saving love for the oppressed Israelites. It begins with the birth of Moses, follows him as a young prince, as a rebel and outlaw, a shepherd, and THE prophet of God.

Why Moses? What was so unique about him that God chose him to be his most intimate prophet?

Moses was complex, passionate, pure, just, humble, at home nowhere, carrying his people’s burdens while hearing God’s words.

He was unique, the only prophet to speak panim el panim (“face to face”) with God. That is what my drash-poem is about. Moses is the most important Jew in our history and our gold standard of a religious, moral, and political leader.

In our time the world has benefited from Mahatma Gandhi, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, Dr. Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama, and Nelson Mandela. Nevertheless, Moses continues to stand alone.

A Pure Soul

I walk in a daze / Eyes sunk in creviced faces / Fettered to worldly tasks / Unable to glimpse rainbows.

I imagine Moses in Midian like that / Brooding in exile / Burdened by his people’s suffering / Knowing that each day / They scream from stopped-up hearts / Shedding silent tears.

A simple shepherd Moses / Staff in hand / Counting sheep / Until one day weaving among rocks / And bramble bushes / The shepherd / Heard thorns popping / Turning his head / His eyes opened / And he would never be the same.

God had from his birth taken note of him / And waited until this moment / To choose him as prophet.

Dodi dofek pitchi li / A-choti ra-yati yo-nati ta-mati. / Open to me, my dove / my twin / my undefiled one. (Song of Songs 5:2)

Moses heard God’s voice / And beheld angels, / His soul flowing in a sacred river / Of Shechinah light.

‘Why me? / Why should I behold such wonder? / Unworthy am I!’

God said / ‘Moses – I choose you / Because you are soft / Because you weep / Because your heart is burdened and worried / Because you know this world’s cruelty / And you have not become cruel / Nor do you stand idly by.

You are a tender of sheep, / And you will lead my people / With the shepherd’s staff from Egypt / And teach them to open their hearts / Without fear.’

Trembling, Moses peered a second time / Into the bush aflame / Free from ash and smoke.

His eyes opened as in a dream / And he heard a soft murmuring sound / Like the sound breath makes / Passing through lips. 

MOSHE MOSHE!—HINEINI!

Two voices—One utterance! / He hid his face / The more Moses heard / The brighter was the light / And he knew he must turn away / Or die.

The prophet’s thoughts were free / Soaring beyond form / No longer of self / To this very day / There has not been a purer soul than his.

God said ‘Come no closer, Moses! / Remove your shoes / Stand barefoot here on this earth / I want your soul.

I am here with you and in you / I am every thing / And no thing / And You are Me / I see that which is and which is not / And I hear it all.

Take heed shepherd-prince / My people‘s blood / Calls to me from the ground / The living suffer still / A thousand deaths.

You must go and take them out / Every crying child / Every lashed man  / Every woman screaming silent tears.

And Moses know this / “With weeping they will come / And with compassion will I guide them.” (Jeremiah 31:8) / The people’s exile began with tears / And it will end with tears.

I have recorded their story in a Book / Black fire on white fire / Letters on parchment / Telling of slaves / Seeing light / Turning to Me / Becoming a nation.

The Book is My spirit / The letters are My heart / They are near to you / That you might do them / And teach them / And redeem My world / That it might not be consumed in flames.

Poem composed by Rabbi John Rosove

 

The December Dilemma Revisited

Every year I’m asked what I think about Jews bringing Christmas trees into their homes. For Jews, my answer is simple – it’s inappropriate. But, when a Jew is married or living with a Christian, it isn’t an unreasonable request, as emotionally difficult as it may be, for the Jew to accept having a Christmas tree in the home. After all, for the Christian partner, the tree is a tactile and joyous symbol of the season, the coming together of family, and for more than 50% of American Christians (according to recent polls) the Christmas tree is representative of a deeply held religious belief in Jesus as the Christ Messiah.

For so many Jews, the thought of bringing a Christmas tree into the house feels like a betrayal against the Jewish people, Jewish tradition, Jewish history, and one’s own Jewish identity. Not only this. For Jewish couples to have a Christmas tree in their homes, unwittingly perhaps, is disrespectful of the sacred symbols of Christianity.

Though many regard the Christmas season in America as a secular celebration, the Christmas tree is far more than a secular sign of the season. According to many Christian religious authorities the tree represents the cross upon which Jesus was executed. The crowning star recalls the star over Bethlehem on the eve of the Christian savior’s birth. The tinsel represents angel hair. The bulbs recall the apple on the tree of knowledge and the Christian dogma of “original sin.” The holly wreath symbolizes the crown of thorns worn by Jesus as he carried the cross, and the berries are drops of blood symbolizing the Christian Messiah’s vicarious suffering for the sins of humanity.

For Jews to appropriate cavalierly the sacred symbols of another faith tradition for our own use and purposes is a profound act of disrespect.

All this being said, I confess that there’s something magical about this time of year. I personally love Christmas carols. I enjoy the smell of pine and the beauty of the tree decorated in my Christian friends’ homes. I appreciate it all and I value the deeper religious meaning of these symbols for Christians. But as Dr. Ron Wolfson of the American Jewish University has written, it is one thing for a Jew to “appreciate” Christmas and it is quite another for a Jew to “appropriate” Christmas as it is not ours to appropriate.

A good rule of thumb for Jews when questioning whether we should use a symbol is to ask if that symbol would be appropriate to place in a synagogue lobby.

“Of course not!” most of us would say. “After all – the synagogue is a Jewish house of worship, a place of study and assembly!”

Jewish tradition teaches that not only is the synagogue a holy place, but so too is the home which is called a mik’dash m’at (a small sanctuary). Therefore, what is observed at home ought not to conflict with what is observed in the synagogue.

I once suggested to an interfaith couple that was arguing vehemently about having a Christmas tree in their living room that the Jewish partner might consider creating a “fiction” whereby he would consider the corner of the house in which the tree is placed to be temporarily not part of his home. He’d be a “visitor” there and after the holiday, when the tree is removed, he could reclaim that space as part of his home. That bout of mental gymnastics worked for him, and I’ve suggested it to others as well.

What about the children of interfaith marriages? Can they be raised in both traditions, as so many couples claim to be doing?

I believe it’s a mistake to think that children can be raised in two different religious traditions. Not only is such an effort lacking in integrity, it’s confusing to children.

Judaism and Christianity fundamentally hold different religious world-views, theologies, beliefs, customs, rites, rituals, practices, histories, and traditions. One cannot be “half-Jewish” and “half-Christian.” One is either Jewish or Christian.

For parents of children who believe that during the Christmas season it’s easier to acquiesce to their children’s desires for Christmas in their own home, I have two responses. First, Judaism provides many ongoing opportunities for celebration including Shabbat every week, the holidays, festivals, and life-cycle events. And second, parents often say “no” to their children, whether it be “no” to more toys, television and social media time, high fat foods, and staying up late. Why should it be any different when it comes to having a Christmas tree in a Jewish home?

Parents need to be able to explain that Christmas does not belong to Jews. It isn’t our holiday. It’s certainly appropriate and even enriching for children to visit the homes of their Christian friends and relatives during this season and enjoy the holiday there, but they need to understand that Christmas does not belong in a Jewish home. Giving this clear message to our children is important for as we do so we are teaching them that we Jews have self-respect and that we respect others as well.

Hanukah – A Major Battleground for the Heart and Soul of the Jewish People

[The photo is of a Hanukiya from Ukraine (circa 1809) that is crafted in the style of the Baal Shem Tov. It is part of the Judith and Bernard Briskin Fine Judaica Collection at Temple Israel of Hollywood, Los Angeles.]

Without the success of the Maccabean Revolt in 165 BCE, there would be no Judaism, no Christianity, and no Islam today. That being said, what is the real story of Hanukah as opposed to the traditional story we teach our children?

The traditional story tells of the heroic battle of the Maccabean family against the Greeks, the Greek desecration of the Temple Mount, the miracle of the oil lasting eight days instead of one, the lighting of the Hanukiyah (the 8-branch Hanukah Menorah), eating latkes, and spinning dreidels, but this isn’t the true history of this holiday. The real history is more interesting and even more important for us in 21st century America and Israel (based on the 1st and 2nd Books of Maccabees).

The Maccabean Revolt was a battle for the heart and soul of Judaism and the Jewish people. That revolt affirmed Jewish self-identity and survival, themes that are applicable to every ethnicity, religion, and nation in the modern world.

A few years ago Dr. Noam Zion of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, spoke to the Board of Rabbis of Southern California on the theme: “The Reinvention of Hanukkah in the 20th Century as A Jewish Cultural Civil War between Zionists, Liberal American Judaism, and Chabad.”

He offered a comprehensive view of Hanukah from its beginnings 2200 years ago (165 BCE), and how it is understood and celebrated today by Israelis, American liberal non-Haredi Jews, and Chabad Lubavitch. Based on Hanukah’s history and the corpus of sermons written by rabbis throughout the centuries, Dr. Zion noted that three questions have been asked consistently through the ages:

‘Who are the children of light and darkness?’

‘Who are our people’s earliest heroes and what made them heroic?’

‘What relevance can we find in Hanukah today?’

Jewish tradition considers Hanukah a “minor holiday,” but Hanukah occupies an important place in the ideologies of the State of Israel, American liberal Judaism, and Chabad.

Before and after the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, the Maccabees served as a potent symbol for “Political Zionism,” for those laboring to create a modern Jewish state as a response to anti-Semitism and as a refuge for oppressed Jews the world over. The early Zionists rejected God’s role in bringing about the miracle of Jewish victory during Hasmonean times. Rather, they emphasized that Jews themselves are the central actors in our people’s restoration of Jewish sovereignty on the ancient land, not God.

For 20th century liberal American Jews Hanukah came to represent Judaism’s aspirations for religious freedom consistent with the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. Even as Hanukah reflects universal aspirations, the Hanukiyah remains a particular symbol of Jewish pride and identity for American Jews living in a dominant Christian culture.

For Chabad, Hanukah embodies the essence of religious identity on the one hand and the mission of Jews on the other. Each Hassid is to be “a streetlamp lighter” who ventures into the public square and kindles the nearly extinguished flame of individual Jewish souls, one soul at a time (per Rebbe Sholom Dov-Ber). This is why Chabad strives to place a Hanukiyah in public places. Every fulfilled mitzvah kindles the flame of a soul and restores it to God.

Dr. Zion concluded his talk to us rabbis by noting that the cultural war being played out in contemporary Jewish life is based in the different responses to the central and historical question that has always given context to Hanukah – ‘Which Jews are destroying Jewish life and threatening Judaism itself?’

The Maccabean war was not a war between the Jews and the Greeks, but rather a violent civil war between the established radically Hellenized Jews and the besieged village priests outside major urban centers in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). The Maccabees won that war only because moderately Hellenized Jews recognized that they would lose their Jewish identity if the radical Hellenizers were victorious. They joined in coalition with the village priests and together retook the Temple and dedicated it (The Hebrew Hanukah means “dedication”). That historic struggle has a parallel today in a raging cultural civil war for the heart and soul of the Jewish people and for the nature of Judaism itself in the State of Israel.

The takeaway? There is something of the zealot in each of us, regardless of our Jewish camp. If we hope to avoid the sin of sinat chinam (baseless hatred between one Jew and another) that the Talmud teaches was the cause of the destruction of the 2nd Jerusalem Temple in 70 C.E. (Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 9b), we need to prepare ourselves to be candles without knives, to bring the love of God and our love for the Jewish people back into our homes and communities. To be successful will take much courage, compassion, knowledge, understanding, faith, and grit. The stakes are high – the future of Israel and the Jewish people.

Is it any wonder that Hanukah, though defined by Judaism as a “minor holiday,” is in truth a major battle-ground for the heart and soul of Judaism and the Jewish people?

Chag Hanukah Sameach!