Ten Minutes Torah

By Cantor Hayley Kobilinsky

In the game “Truth-or-Dare,” I choose “truth” nearly every time. I’m not much of a dare-taker. Thus, if you and I were playing “Special Edition Truth-or-Dare: High Holy Days,” I would confess that the prayer Avinu Malkeinu provides me with both my second-favorite liturgical moment and my second-greatest pet peeve of the year’s liturgy. (Note: Even though I may have to repent for it, I will leave you in suspense about my favorite liturgical moment and my greatest liturgical pet peeve. Also, “Special Edition Truth-or-Dare: High Holy Days” is fictional, although I hereby declare copyright in the event Mattel or Hasbro comes knocking at my door.)

My “Avinu Malkeinu pet peeve” has to do with the fact that many people don’t realize that “Avinu Malkeinu,” translated literally, means “Our Father Our King;” in an effort to make our God-language gender neutral, we often leave that phrase without translation, and just translate the rest of the sentences which follow. (Some prefer to translate the words as “Our Creator, Our Sovereign,” or “Our Parent, Our Ruler” as alternatives.) While I appreciate gender-neutrality when referring to God, the words “Our Father Our King” always stirred within me a certain deep understanding or inspiration, even as a child, and I miss saying them on the High Holy Days. Furthermore, it saddens me to think that, were I growing up in a synagogue which didn’t explain the meaning of “Avinu Malkeinu,” choosing instead to use the Hebrew alone, I would not likely have ever discovered its unique perspective on our relationship with God. In any case, and for whatever reason, in Avinu Malkeinu, the masculine language did not bother me. Instead, I would be transported to another level of prayer. I still remember learning (at Hebrew Union College) from Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman about the opportunities for prayers (and their musical settings, of course) to transmit a sense of majesty and mystery. I have always felt the majesty and mystery in Avinu Malkeinu, and it is a combination of the holiday, text, and music which make Avinu Malkeinu my second-favorite liturgical moment.

The folky, easily-singable, and most popular setting that most of us sing on the High Holy Days, with a classic “Jewish sound” much like Havah Nagila, is used to chant the final phrase of the multi-statement formula: ” Avinu Malkeinu, choneinu va’aneinu, ki ein banu ma’asim. Asei imanu tzedakah va’chesed v’hoshieinu.” (Our Father, Our King, be compassionate to us and answer us, for we have little merit. Treat us generously and compassionately, and redeem us.) We conclude the litany of ways in which we have sinned by asking to be saved. The melody is plaintive and simple, yet powerful to hear, especially with hundreds of people singing along. (LISTEN)¹

Much as I love the way in which the folk Avinu Malkeinu sums up the feel of the High Holy Days, it alone would not be enough for me. I must also chant the famous setting by Max Janowski, written in the 1960s. The melody begins simply enough, the notes rising and falling quietly, echoed by the choir, then modulating higher and higher, louder and louder, and a low note drums like the tolling of a bell or a slow march. His harmonies reveal a jazz influence which is both subtle and seductive. The melody peaks with a plea for a good year, and then gently concludes with the request that our voices be heard. I may be accused of sentimentalism, but so be it: Max Janowski’s Avinu Malkeinu (LISTEN)² is my all-time, hands-down favorite piece of Jewish music.

Despite the fact that some congregations would be up in arms if they did not get to hear the above two pieces, there are many other beautiful and emotional settings of these words. There are countless versions intended to be sung without accompaniment in a traditional setting, and contemporary composers such as Michael Isaacson and Danny Maseng have written entirely new settings that are powerful in their own right. Here are examples of an unaccompanied traditional setting (LISTEN)³ and a more modern setting (LISTEN)⁴.

In Israel, popular music has historically drawn upon biblical stories and Jewish liturgy, blending them with the musical sounds of the era. Thus a rock version by Israeli singer Gad Elbaz bears no resemblance to the versions heard above but is still emotional and moving in its own right, with stylistic hints of his Moroccan ancestry and modern Orthodox male pop singers. It bears mentioning that Avinu Malkeinu has also entered American pop culture and beyond, through its well-known melodies. Not only did Barbra Streisand record a unique version of Janowski’s Avinu Malkeinu, but her version was then remixed in the “house music” style by popular Israeli DJ, Offer Nissim. (This may be the first and only time you will ever see “Avinu Malkeinu” and “house music” in the same sentence; they couldn’t be more opposite.) The traditional folk version has also been remixed by the popular jam band Phish and the Scottish “post-rock” band Mogwai.

It may seem like an odd choice for a rock band to riff on a traditional religious prayer, and yet, it has happened many times (and in varied genres). The text of Avinu Malkeinu can certainly be a dose of reality, one might even say a punch in the gut. It cuts through our empty promises, mistakes of the past, and uncertainty in our ability to do better. It returns us to square one: We are not perfect, we have not made the right choices, we firmly will ourselves to do better, and in the interim, ask for patience. In this way, the words and melodies of the heartfelt Avinu Malkeinu connote some intangible sense of what is important in Judaism. Harking back to my now-copyrighted “Special Edition Truth-or-Dare: High Holy Days,” since I took the “truth” option, that leaves you, my reader, with “dare.” Here is your challenge: explore how different melodic settings of this timeless piece of liturgy can be surprising, jarring, and yes, even inspiring.

1. Avinu Malkeinu, folk tune, arr. Stephen Richards, Transcontinental Music Publications, sung by Cantor Hayley Kobilinsky
2. Avinu Malkeinu, by Max Janowski, Friends of Jewish Music Publications, sung by Cantor Lisa Levine
3. Avinu Malkeinu, by Israel Alter, Cantors Assembly, Inc. Publications, sung by Cantor Hayley Kobilinsky
4. Avinu Malkeinu, by Michael Isaacson, Transcontinental Music Publications, sung by Cantor Hayley Kobilinsky

Hayley Kobilinsky is Cantor of Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, NY, where she has served for the past eight years. Hayley is also an adjunct professor at the Hebrew Union College’s Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music, and is President of Kol Hazzanim – Westchester Community of Cantors. Hayley recently began assisting in the coordination of Thursdays’ 10 Minutes of Torah.

By Loree B. Resnik

Yes, I admit it. I am a woman, the oldest of the baby boomers, who struggled and championed women’s rights in America. I think my adult children and their spouses might secretly like to ask me to “give it up already,” “chill” or however one says such things today. Still, I continue to struggle with women’s rights, what they mean to societal norms, and how they impact us both here in North America and, of course, in Israel. For I have two “isms” in my life-feminism and Zionism. Commenting on the Parasha (weekly Torah portion) that has always been the most difficult for me, Tazria, (“when a woman gives birth”) I am compelled, once again, to look at the issue of women’s alleged impurity and the call for separation following childbirth this Parasha presents to us.

I have read many discussions of these issues and this Parasha. I understand the concept of spiritual vs. physical, of why there are differences between the length of time of separation for a male child and a female. Still, I am compelled to examine this Parasha in the light of Israel today where the call for separation has slipped into segregation. For me, it simply cannot be that a Parasha that so often separates us physically, not spiritually, was meant to convey a message of segregation. I proudly wear my button that identifies me as a Freedom Rider in Israel. Working with the wonderful staff of the Israel Religious Action Center and our own ARZA interim Director, Barbara Kavadias while in Jerusalem this past fall, I had the amazing experience of riding in the front of the bus to help break down barriers. While not Rosa Parks, I swallowed being glared at by Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) men as we women proudly took our seats and enabled, by our example and presence, a small group of eight and nine year old girls coming from their Orthodox Day School to ride home in the front of the bus.

Instead of reading the Parasha as enforcing separation, I see it as celebrating motherhood, as allowing the bonding of women to their daughters as they passed down an ancient heritage to modernity. While we still want mothers and daughters to bond, today we promote other kinds of bonding as well. As I devote myself to raising sacred resources for ARZA in my retirement years, I seek to connect our young women and our young men in America to those in Israel who want to work toward an Israel that is democratic, pluralistic and truly exemplifies living Torah.

Do I discount the differences between our genders? Never. The more we learn about the brain, about language usage and about emotional development, the more we learn that “Men are From Mars and Women are From Venus,” the more we know of these differences. Perhaps our ancient ancestors knew this too and looked for ways to strengthen our bonds to each other by enforcing our differences. And yet, as I look at Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel, I know that we have the most important of things in common. We are proud Jews. We love Israel and will always think of it as a beacon of light in a sometimes desperate world. And, I think, for most of us here and in Israel, whatever our bodily functions or our spiritual need for separation during illness or after childbirth, we need not be segregated on a bus. Separate on a bus is not equal. Wearing a tallit does not make that most beautiful spiritual garment unclean because it covers the graceful and delicate neck and shoulders of a woman nor does it turn the woman into something other than a woman.

We Reform Jews know how much women have added to our Movement as Rabbis and Cantors, as Executive Directors and Educators in every realm of Jewish life. As I have been fortunate enough to witness; their strength, their commitment and their leadership among the clergy in Israel is honored and revered by many. But it is not just female Reform leaders we are proud of. We take pride in the real Israel that is universally known: the Israel that elected Golda Meir, the Israel that understood the need for quality child care for women who worked on the kibbutzim, the Israel where men and women were partners in helping to settle the land, as well as partners in defending our home. These people, this Israel, is the one that captured our hearts and spoke to our souls.

Why else would so many of us work so hard for ARZA? Our mission is to build bonds, not just between mothers and daughters, but between North American Reform Jews and Israel as we help build a flourishing Reform movement there. It is our task to bring the sacred to the secular, to help build a modern, democratic, Jewish state. We know that with your help we can make this dream a reality.

Loree B. Resnik, FTA, is the Vice Chair of Financial Resources of ARZA. She is the Executive Director Emeritus of Suburban Temple-Kol Ami in Beachwood, OH and a past President of the National Association for Temple Administration.

By Rabbi Rick Jacobs

For too much of Jewish history Jewish women did not count. Consider the opening of the Book of Exodus:

“Eleh sh’mot b’nai Yisrael – These are the names of the children of Israel.” (Exodus 1:1)

The text then goes on to name only the male children of Israel: Reuben, Simeon and Judah… but there is no mention of the female children of Israel. There definitely were many female children of Israel who were there but the opening of Exodus doesn’t see fit to mention them. The Biblical text seems to be telling us that: “girls don’t matter.

Pharaoh also believes that “girls don’t matter” as he commands the Hebrew midwives to kill only the Israelite boys as soon as they are born. Pharaoh is willing to let the Israelite girls live because they pose no threat. Pharoah, like so many others before and since, greatly underestimates the leadership strength of Jewish women.

A closer reading of Exodus reveals that the story of our liberation depends first and foremost upon strong, brave, God-fearing women. All of Jewish history would not have taken place had it not been for the women. Moses and so many others would never have lived if it hadn’t been for Shifra, Puah, Yocheved, Miriam and Batya.

During this year in which we joyously celebrate WRJ’s Centennial, we must make sure that in recounting the history of our Reform Movement we properly recall “Eleh sh’mot b’not Yisrael” – the names of the strong, courageous, visionary women of NFTS/WRJ who were loving midwives and nurturers of this great Movement that continues to re-shape Jewish life for the better.

Wise, Kohler, Eisendrath, Plaut, Schindler and Yoffie are the names that come to mind when we think about the founding and expansion of our Reform Movement but we would do well to add the names of Carrie O. Simon, the first president of NFTS, together with the many who followed in her footsteps, including, among others, Norma Levitt, Constance Kreshtool, Dolores Wilkenfeld, Judith Hertz, Judith Rosenkranz, Judith Silverman, Helene Waranch, Rosanne Selfon and WRJ’s current president, Lynn Magid Lazar.  And the professional leaders of WRJ–from the remarkable, essential Jane Evans (who served from 1933-1976) to our current executive director, Rabbi Marla Feldman–who have shaped this remarkably wise and effective organization of Jewish women.

WRJ raised the funds and built a dormitory at HUC in Cincinnati along with funding many scholarships to help generations of rabbis prepare for careers of Jewish service. WRJ raised the funds and lobbied to build our first New York headquarters at 838 Fifth Avenue. NFTY, the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, and our Israel Movement also have been the beneficiaries of WRJ’s generosity and vision. Today, generous funding from WRJ provides scholarships for many of our Movement’s young people to attend URJ camps and Israel programs, as well as supports some of our newest initiatives, including the Campaign for Youth Engagement. Quite simply, we would not be the vital Movement we are today without the many gifts of WRJ.

But NFTS/WRJ also were the voice of conscience of our Movement as they spoke up for civil rights, fair employment practices, child labor legislation and the elimination of capital punishment to name just a few of the social justice causes they helped champion.

And WRJ has brilliantly re-invented itself to keep pace with the changing lives of women and congregations. Sisterhoods remain a vital part of nearly 500 congregations, supporting youth scholarships, religious schools, capital campaigns, and countless other facets of synagogue life. During my tenure as the rabbi of Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale, I was privileged to partner regularly with our chapter of WRJ. How blessed I have been—and continue to be—to work closely with WRJ leaders who embody Reform Judaism’s ideals of innovation, learning, creativity and commitment. Without a doubt, WRJ is an exceedingly important force for growth and regeneration in our Reform Movement.

During this WRJ Centennial year we are so grateful for the tremendous role WRJ has played in enabling the URJ to come so far. In the coming years, as we work to reimagine Jewish life in North America, I envision that WRJ certainly will play an important role in charting the journey ahead.

Eleh sh’mot b’not Yisrael – These are the names of valiant, wise, visionary and generous Women of Reform Judaism who have helped bring us to our current numeric and spiritual strength.

May the Holy One of Blessing continue to bless the inspiring Women of Reform Judaism.

Rabbi Richard Jacobs is president of the Union for Reform Judaism.

2013, April 13 3 Iyyar, 5773

2014, March 29 27 AdarII, 5774

2015, April 25 6 Iyyar, 5775

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Title Yom HaShoah: The Remembrance of Many

By By P.J. Schwartz, 4/05/2013

• 
  

Each year on the 27^th day of Nisan, a two-minute siren is sounded throughout Israel. The entire State of Israel comes to a complete halt. Even in the minutes before the siren is sounded, the busy-ness of the streets gradually slows down: bulldozers are turned off; cranes hang empty in the air; cars get parked on the sides of streets, their occupants standing silently alongside their vehicles. On Yom HaShoah, the nearly six million Jews annihilated as part of Hitler’s plan to systematically exterminate the world’s Jews are remembered.

The Israeli law commemorating the Holocaust was enacted in 1953, and in the intervening years-as the impact of the Holocaust has become fully evident-Yom HaShoah has evolved into a day of remembrance for both Israelis and Americans. Although there are few established rituals associated with the day, many families and congregations light yellow yahrzeit candles to keep alive the memories of those killed during the Holocaust. In some communities, these candles represent individual voices of Holocaust victims, whose stories may be retold during a memorial service. In other communities, six yellow candles-representing the six million Jews killed- are lit. As Rabbi Irving Greenberg notes in The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays, “in a day that started with no inherited form, how powerful is the religious spirit that instantly picked out a symbol so totally rooted in tradition yet so contemporary.”¹ Indeed, as Rabbi Greenberg also notes, the only “fixed” element of a Yom HaShoah observance has been lighting the yahrzeit candles.

Our Union of Reform Judaism encourages us to use this day to raise awareness about anti-Semitism and inequality, both of which persist today. Other observances focus on a Walk of Remembrance in which participants walk in silence, stopping at pre-arranged memory markers that represent specific Holocaust events. Reading Holocaust poetry, performing plays, and hearing firsthand accounts from survivors are other ways to commemorate Yom HaShoah.

Because Yom HaShoah challenges the covenantal relationship between God and the Jewish people, it forces us to question God’s presence in our lives, to struggle with the reality that our world remains filled with inequality, and to vow “Never again,” pledging to do our part to ensure the world never sees another holocaust. And yet, even as the day contradicts our “normal” pattern of religious observance, it still allows us to reflect upon the atrocities all people have faced and recall the memories of those individuals-known and unknown-who came before us. Yom HaShoah enables us to think about how our understanding of God has evolved, and to ask what place God has in our lives. It gives us the moment in which we not only remember all the good that we have lost, but also the good that can flourish and thrive today.

From Israel’s momentary silence on Yom HaShoah we learn that life continues, even after catastrophe. When the two-minute silence ends, we see that lesson powerfully as shops resume their business, bulldozers and cranes carry on with their tasks, people return to work, and drivers restart their cars, continuing on to their destinations. Here in North America, Yom HaShoah gives us an opportunity to recall those who came before us, to consider the meaning of Judaism in our lives, and to adhere to the Prophetic mandate of our ancestors. On this day, we advocate for ourselves and others, as well as the past, the present and the future. With individual and collective effort-on this day and every day-we can preserve the memory of what was lost and rediscover the light of Judaism, which burns much like the light in a yahrzeit candle.

1. Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays (Simon and Schuster, New York, 1988): 341-342.

P.J. Schwartz is a fifth-year rabbinic student at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, OH, and holds a master’s degree in educational administration with a specialization in Jewish studies from Xavier University.

Yom HaShoah: The Remembrance of Many

No One Superior

Springs Means Sports and Nostalgia

Let My People Go… Forth to the Wedding Chapel!

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Title Yom HaShoah: The Remembrance of Many

By By P.J. Schwartz, 4/05/2013

• 
  

Each year on the 27^th day of Nisan, a two-minute siren is sounded throughout Israel. The entire State of Israel comes to a complete halt. Even in the minutes before the siren is sounded, the busy-ness of the streets gradually slows down: bulldozers are turned off; cranes hang empty in the air; cars get parked on the sides of streets, their occupants standing silently alongside their vehicles. On Yom HaShoah, the nearly six million Jews annihilated as part of Hitler’s plan to systematically exterminate the world’s Jews are remembered.

The Israeli law commemorating the Holocaust was enacted in 1953, and in the intervening years-as the impact of the Holocaust has become fully evident-Yom HaShoah has evolved into a day of remembrance for both Israelis and Americans. Although there are few established rituals associated with the day, many families and congregations light yellow yahrzeit candles to keep alive the memories of those killed during the Holocaust. In some communities, these candles represent individual voices of Holocaust victims, whose stories may be retold during a memorial service. In other communities, six yellow candles-representing the six million Jews killed- are lit. As Rabbi Irving Greenberg notes in The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays, “in a day that started with no inherited form, how powerful is the religious spirit that instantly picked out a symbol so totally rooted in tradition yet so contemporary.”¹ Indeed, as Rabbi Greenberg also notes, the only “fixed” element of a Yom HaShoah observance has been lighting the yahrzeit candles.

Our Union of Reform Judaism encourages us to use this day to raise awareness about anti-Semitism and inequality, both of which persist today. Other observances focus on a Walk of Remembrance in which participants walk in silence, stopping at pre-arranged memory markers that represent specific Holocaust events. Reading Holocaust poetry, performing plays, and hearing firsthand accounts from survivors are other ways to commemorate Yom HaShoah.

Because Yom HaShoah challenges the covenantal relationship between God and the Jewish people, it forces us to question God’s presence in our lives, to struggle with the reality that our world remains filled with inequality, and to vow “Never again,” pledging to do our part to ensure the world never sees another holocaust. And yet, even as the day contradicts our “normal” pattern of religious observance, it still allows us to reflect upon the atrocities all people have faced and recall the memories of those individuals-known and unknown-who came before us. Yom HaShoah enables us to think about how our understanding of God has evolved, and to ask what place God has in our lives. It gives us the moment in which we not only remember all the good that we have lost, but also the good that can flourish and thrive today.

From Israel’s momentary silence on Yom HaShoah we learn that life continues, even after catastrophe. When the two-minute silence ends, we see that lesson powerfully as shops resume their business, bulldozers and cranes carry on with their tasks, people return to work, and drivers restart their cars, continuing on to their destinations. Here in North America, Yom HaShoah gives us an opportunity to recall those who came before us, to consider the meaning of Judaism in our lives, and to adhere to the Prophetic mandate of our ancestors. On this day, we advocate for ourselves and others, as well as the past, the present and the future. With individual and collective effort-on this day and every day-we can preserve the memory of what was lost and rediscover the light of Judaism, which burns much like the light in a yahrzeit candle.

1. Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays (Simon and Schuster, New York, 1988): 341-342.

P.J. Schwartz is a fifth-year rabbinic student at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, OH, and holds a master’s degree in educational administration with a specialization in Jewish studies from Xavier University.

Yom HaShoah: The Remembrance of Many

No One Superior

Springs Means Sports and Nostalgia

Let My People Go… Forth to the Wedding Chapel!

By Rabbi Edwin Goldberg

Many years ago, during the Yom Kippur morning service, a certain rabbi was interrupted (albeit politely) by the oldest member of the synagogue. He asked if he could ascend the bimah and ask the rabbi a question. How could the rabbi say no? Here was the question: “On the High Holy Days how many Avinu Malkeinus are there?” Avinu Malkeinu is the liturgical interlude that appears throughout the service on the Days of Awe. This was, in fact, a trick question. The rabbi thought about the numerous repetitions of this recitation and blurted out something like, “100.” The gentleman, showing an amused grin, barked out, “No, Rabbi. In Judaism there is always just one Avinu Malkeinu.” Of course, theologically he was correct: we believe in one God.

A version of this declaration appears almost two thousand years ago, in the Talmud. From the beginning, Avinu Malkeinu was understood to be an appeal for God’s mercy.

Rabbi Eliezer once stood before the Ark [during a drought] and recited the twenty-four benedictions for fast days but his prayer was not answered. Rabbi Akiva stood there after him and proclaimed: “Avinu Malkeinu, our Father, our King, we have no King but You; our Father, our King, have mercy upon us” and rain fell… (Babylonian Talmud Taanit 25b)

Avinu (our father) represents God’s compassion. Malkeinu (our king) signifies God’s stern, judgmental face. Avinu Malkeinu asks that God’s judgment be tempered by God’s mercy.

The theme of moving God from judgment to compassion is widespread throughout the Days of Awe, and is also a request applied to ourselves. Just as we wish to know God’s mercy, so should we show mercy to each other and to ourselves.

Throughout the Days of Awe, Avinu Malkeinu is recited before the open Ark, as was done by the ancient rabbis. The beginning of each line is the same: “Avinu Malkeinu, we have sinned before You.” What follows is a specific listing of wrongdoings. The list varies in each service. The composer Max Janowski set one such list to music, and Barbra Streisand even recorded it.

In the work of creating a new Reform machzor, there has been an effort to find a different word to characterize our moral challenges, as we stand before God. The word “sin” carries a great deal of cultural baggage in our country. Often it is considered in a Christian context, as in “a state of sin.” Judaism does not understand sin in this way. For Jews, sin is a matter of missing the moral mark. It is not a state of being; it is a matter of doing something wrong.

In order to find a new but faithful way of translating the notion of sin into a modern idiom, the editors have been piloting this version:

“Avinu Malkeinu, we come before You in our brokenness.”

Why such an approach? “Brokenness” captures our need for healing and repentance without using metaphors all too often associated with images of hell and damnation. It’s not that there are not consequences for our acts; and “brokenness” means more than a need of healing. We must take responsibility for our choices. “Brokenness” does not get us off the hook. But it does offer a way of dealing with our shortcomings without putting us on the defensive or allowing us to slide into a non-Jewish view of sin.

In its original context in the Talmud, Avinu Malkeinu was recited in response to a drought. The idea was that a drought must have been caused by God due to our moral failings. Throwing ourselves on God’s mercy was our best hope for salvation from starvation.

Theologically, such thinking is very problematic for us. Most of us–including myself–do not believe that God punishes us with droughts. We also know that good people often suffer and bad people go unpunished. Nevertheless, we also believe that righteous people know they are responsible for their actions, even if—being human—they will never meet the highest of Divine expectations. So we do our best and hope that God understands.

When I recite or listen to Avinu Malkeinu, this is my prayer: God, help me become a better me. Even when I miss the mark. Even in my brokenness.

Rabbi Edwin Goldberg has served as the senior rabbi of Temple Judea in Coral Gables since 1996. In July he will begin serving as the senior rabbi of Temple Sholom of Chicago. He is the coordinating editor of the forthcoming CCAR Machzor and is the author of five books. His newest book is, Saying No and Letting Go: Jewish Wisdom on Making Room for What Matters Most.

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Title Galilee Diary: On The Barricades

By Rabbi Marc Rosenstein, 4/03/2013

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The Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. Here they first attained to statehood, created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books.
     -Opening sentences of the Israel Declaration of Independence, 1948

During the 1930s and 40s, the able-bodied men of the Jewish community of Palestine were often called up to defend the community against violent attacks. Non-combatants were encouraged to volunteer to fill in for the defenders in their civilian jobs – especially urgent agricultural tasks. And so it happened that when the 12^th graders of the elite Herzliya “Gymnasia” (high school) in Tel Aviv had a confrontation with Baruch Ben Yehudah, their principal, who refused to give them permission to miss classes and exams to go help out in border settlements, the students noticed that their principal was speaking through his tears.

I was reminded of this touching story recently when students in the Israeli Rabbinical Program requested, for the second time in two weeks, to be excused from class in order to participate in a demonstration protesting state discrimination against liberal Jews’ right of religious expression in the Jewish state. This request raises two different dilemmas:

1. The relative importance of school-learning vs. real-life action in the educational process. This is an eternal dilemma, at every level of education, and has no clear-cut answer; in our case, obviously we don’t want rabbis who flunked Torah class because they were out marching; on the other hand we don’t want learned rabbis who don’t feel an obligation to play an active role in tikkun olam. And there are a lot of demonstrations in Jerusalem…
2. The question of the appropriate approach to resolving the lack of religious pluralism in the Jewish state. It is tempting to frame this issue in terms of the civil rights struggle in the United states. However, I’m not sure the cases are really parallel. In the struggle for civil rights, years of sit-ins and pray-ins and mass marches came to remind the leadership of the nation – and everybody else – that the values on which the country was based were being violated. There was no acceptable counter-argument: the United States imagined itself to be a land of freedom, equality, and dignity – in the end, there was no case to be made for denying those rights to anyone. The struggle was unbeatable because it came to remind us of what we said we believed in.

Israel’s declaration of independence, unlike that of the United States, begins with the words above. Israel is a democracy – but first, it defines itself as a Jewish state. For over a century we’ve been arguing over what that means, and there is no consensus. Does the Jewishness of the state imply a norm of religious practice? State authority for religious functionaries? Culture? A dominant ethnic group? A set of moral values? Particular borders? None of the above? It would be interesting, and perhaps even useful, to have a serious conversation about these different options, in which partisans of each would listen to and take seriously each others’ concerns and aspirations. However, such conversations rarely take place, and what is left is a discourse of force. Those who shout the loudest, or get the most front-page column inches, or the most arrests, or the key ministry in the coalition, perceive themselves as winning – and the others as losing. Which is OK, I suppose. Until the next round. There’s a familiar slogan that one hears around here: “the only language the _____ [the other side] understand is force.” Unfortunately, it’s apparently fallacious, because no matter how loudly we speak that language, the other side never seems to get it (nor do we, when we are the other side). And so, after a century, the various struggles to which we are a party remain unresolved. Perhaps we should take a break from force, and try to find the shared values, the overarching principles, the common interests, to which we can all pledge allegiance, in order to find a language that we can speak to each other, and understand.

Galilee Diary: On The Barricades

Galilee Diary: Birds Without Borders

Galilee Diary: Starting Over

Netanyahu Forms Coalition in Nick of Time

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Title Galilee Diary: On The Barricades

By Rabbi Marc Rosenstein, 4/03/2013

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The Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. Here they first attained to statehood, created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books.
     -Opening sentences of the Israel Declaration of Independence, 1948

During the 1930s and 40s, the able-bodied men of the Jewish community of Palestine were often called up to defend the community against violent attacks. Non-combatants were encouraged to volunteer to fill in for the defenders in their civilian jobs – especially urgent agricultural tasks. And so it happened that when the 12^th graders of the elite Herzliya “Gymnasia” (high school) in Tel Aviv had a confrontation with Baruch Ben Yehudah, their principal, who refused to give them permission to miss classes and exams to go help out in border settlements, the students noticed that their principal was speaking through his tears.

I was reminded of this touching story recently when students in the Israeli Rabbinical Program requested, for the second time in two weeks, to be excused from class in order to participate in a demonstration protesting state discrimination against liberal Jews’ right of religious expression in the Jewish state. This request raises two different dilemmas:

1. The relative importance of school-learning vs. real-life action in the educational process. This is an eternal dilemma, at every level of education, and has no clear-cut answer; in our case, obviously we don’t want rabbis who flunked Torah class because they were out marching; on the other hand we don’t want learned rabbis who don’t feel an obligation to play an active role in tikkun olam. And there are a lot of demonstrations in Jerusalem…
2. The question of the appropriate approach to resolving the lack of religious pluralism in the Jewish state. It is tempting to frame this issue in terms of the civil rights struggle in the United states. However, I’m not sure the cases are really parallel. In the struggle for civil rights, years of sit-ins and pray-ins and mass marches came to remind the leadership of the nation – and everybody else – that the values on which the country was based were being violated. There was no acceptable counter-argument: the United States imagined itself to be a land of freedom, equality, and dignity – in the end, there was no case to be made for denying those rights to anyone. The struggle was unbeatable because it came to remind us of what we said we believed in.

Israel’s declaration of independence, unlike that of the United States, begins with the words above. Israel is a democracy – but first, it defines itself as a Jewish state. For over a century we’ve been arguing over what that means, and there is no consensus. Does the Jewishness of the state imply a norm of religious practice? State authority for religious functionaries? Culture? A dominant ethnic group? A set of moral values? Particular borders? None of the above? It would be interesting, and perhaps even useful, to have a serious conversation about these different options, in which partisans of each would listen to and take seriously each others’ concerns and aspirations. However, such conversations rarely take place, and what is left is a discourse of force. Those who shout the loudest, or get the most front-page column inches, or the most arrests, or the key ministry in the coalition, perceive themselves as winning – and the others as losing. Which is OK, I suppose. Until the next round. There’s a familiar slogan that one hears around here: “the only language the _____ [the other side] understand is force.” Unfortunately, it’s apparently fallacious, because no matter how loudly we speak that language, the other side never seems to get it (nor do we, when we are the other side). And so, after a century, the various struggles to which we are a party remain unresolved. Perhaps we should take a break from force, and try to find the shared values, the overarching principles, the common interests, to which we can all pledge allegiance, in order to find a language that we can speak to each other, and understand.

Galilee Diary: On The Barricades

Galilee Diary: Birds Without Borders

Galilee Diary: Starting Over

Netanyahu Forms Coalition in Nick of Time

By Blu Greenberg

In every generation, Jews have understood the significance of the Revelation of Torah in their lives. We have studied and written and taught about the meaning of Torah and its relevance to contemporary circumstances. With the publication of The Torah: A Women’s Commentary in 2008, the teachings of women scholars and Jewish professionals on the significance of Torah in their lives had not been shared in such a dedicated work. The “Contemporary Reflections” section in The Torah: A Women’s Commentary “enable us to hear women’s voices that reckon with divine revelation….each essay shows the significance of Torah as a record of God’s revelation to Israel: it is a repository of Jewish memory, however incomplete, from which we, as individuals and as members of contemporary Jewish communities, can attempt to hear and understand the voice of God.” (Ellen Umansky, “Women and Contemporary Reflection,” The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, page ix)

This piece has been excerpted from The Torah: A Women’s Commentary, pages 632-633.

All Israel is a kingdom of priests (Exodus 19:6). Some among them are priests of priests. At the top of the priestly pyramid stands Aaron, the kohein gadol (high priest). The kohein gadol is vested with considerable power and responsibility. Though everything is new-and no models exist for him to follow-Aaron carries out his role with great competency and dignity as he offers up the first sacrifices to God.

In Parashat Sh’mini, we find ourselves with Aaron and his family at an exhilarating moment. It is the climactic eighth day of dedication of the Tabernacle. Exultant and joyful, Aaron and his sons bless the people-and the glory of God appears before all. A fire of heavenly origin consumes the sacrifices in their entirety; the people fall on their faces in awe and love of God. Aaron’s joy must surely be overflowing.

Suddenly, the scene turns into heartbreak. Though not commanded to do so, Nadab and Abihu, Aaron’s elder sons, put incense into pans and bring it as an offering. Instantly, a fire of God leaps out and consumes them. Aaron is devastated. These two sons were outstanding young men: they were deemed worthy of ascending Mt. Sinai in a most prestigious order-after Moses and Aaron, and before the 70 elders-and worthy of participating in the festive meal at which God’s face was shown (Exodus 24:1, 9-11).

What could have happened? We struggle to understand. Was this a punishment from God, or a random accident? What crime could they have committed that was so heinous as to warrant death by flash fire? Perhaps they were acting out of enthusiasm and desire to serve. Perhaps they were overcome simply by the pure joy of being in the presence of God-and wished only to increase·awe in the hearts of the people. And even if they were guilty of not following God’s word to the last, did not their father Aaron have credit in the storehouse of good deeds? Was there not some milder punishment that could have been meted out on the scale, such as that meted out to other miscreants in the Torah?

Yet despite the fact that they performed everything else properly and created a glorious Tabernacle celebration, despite their father’s merit or their own, they are swiftly cut down.

When I was growing up, my high school Torah teacher, Mar Yerushalmi, communicated unequivocally to his students that Nadab and Abihu were punished for the grave sin of eating in the place where they should not have. Whenever a student would be caught chewing gum in class as we studied Torah with Rashi’s commentary, Yerushalmi would remind her of Nadab and Abihu. On the one hand, this devout teacher was implying that the sons were guilty and deserved what they got; on the other, likening their crime to a teenager’s act of chewing gum in the wrong setting was his way of subtly suggesting to a class of impressionable teenagers that he, too, felt the punishment did not fit the crime.

The Torah narrative teaches us that Moses struggles with the same issue, trying to find an explanation. He wants to offer consolation to his beloved brother and closest friend, yet he takes care not to betray his responsibility as the leader who must teach the people to follow God’s law. “This is what Adonai meant by saying, ‘Through those near to Me I show Myself holy’” (10:3). Moses’ delicate message to the people-and his only consolation to Aaron-is that this was not a random act but a sentence decreed on those closest to God, who are thus held to a higher standard.

What was Aaron’s response? Two simple words: .vayidom Aharon (“And Aaron was silent”). The word vayidom means more than he kept quiet-vayishtok. Aaron responded with a profound, shattering silence, a stunning silence, a shocked silence. He does not justify the cruel decree by blaming his sons and accepting their fate as punishment for their sins. Yet, neither does he revolt or protest God’s action. Total silence.

Aaron’s response is the profoundest human and religious response to the reality that there are times when good people die unjustly or are consumed in tragedies that seem to be arbitrary, shocking, without justification, and with nothing to ameliorate the pain and loss of those who love them.

A few years ago, in 2002, my beloved son JJ, age 36, was killed while riding a bicycle in Israel. He had arrived the night before to celebrate the holidays with the whole family and was bicycling with his brother to visit his sister in Zichron Yaakov, when a young driver ran a yellow light with great speed-and took JJ’s life in an instant. JJ loved Israel, family, Judaism, athletics, God, nature, and life; and he was celebrating all of these loves when his life was snuffed out.

When my husband and I sat shiva, most people came with no forethought agenda or explanation, though a few-out of good intention and compassion-tried to justify God or soften the loss by giving it some meaning. “He was so good that God needed him by His side” was one such attempt, to which on one occasion-unable to hold back my words-I responded, “But we on Earth need him more!” Most people understood at the deepest level that there was nothing that could justify, nothing that could offset the pain or soften the blow, and they wisely remained silent. And we ourselves were silent, as there were no words we could speak that would make any sense of it.

At times, devout members of religions that affirm an afterlife are tempted to say that the deceased is “in better place-living a better life in a better world”; or they are tempted to suggest that there must be some sin or error or judgment that has brought this fate upon the victim. Such persons cannot tolerate the thought that what has happened is unjustified, for it violates their deepest principles about good and evil, reward and punishment. They need somehow to internally rationalize and justify a reality in order to bring the world back to proper equilibrium.

The Jewish laws of bereavement, so exquisitely tuned to the needs of the mourners, stipulate that the shiva visitor should not speak until the mourner speaks. I had always thought that the point of that precept was to ensure that the conversation would flow to the place the mourner needs it to reach. But I now understand that the halachah enjoining the comforting visitor to hold back in silence serves a different function: to caution against offering a rationale for the decree of death. The deeper human religious response is to be silent, to live with the contradiction, and to affirm that we need not force meaning into tragedy. Sometimes, the deepest response of love is to be silent.

Blu Greenberg is the founding President of the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance and has been active in Jewish feminism since the early 1970s. Her writings include On Women and Judaism: A View From Tradition (1981) and How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household (1985).

2013, April 6 26 Nisan, 5773

2014, March 22 20 AdarII, 5774

2016, April 2 23 AdarII, 5776

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Title S’firat HaOmer: The Omer Period in Jewish Life

By Rabbi Richard N. Levy, 3/29/2013

With all the preparations for the Pesach seder, you would think that once we celebrated our departure from Egypt we could relax and enjoy a good meal while the children search for the afikoman. And that is true for the first night. But by the second night, we are again enjoined to set our eyes on the future-forty-nine days in the future, in fact, when we arrive with the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah.

The mechanism to connect the Exodus with the giving of the Torah is a simple one-counting the days. In Leviticus 23:15-16 we are commanded to bring an omer, “a measure of grain” and then to count seven weeks, a total of fifty days from the second day of Pesach (as the Rabbis interpret these verses). In fact, this counting provides the name for the holiday for the giving of the Torah, Shavuot, meaning “weeks.” So important is this counting that we thank God for commanding us to do it, saying a blessing before we mention the number each night until Shavuot. The process is called S’firat HaOmer, the Counting of the Omer.

S’firah is the Hebrew word for counting, which the mystics of the Kabbalah identified with the name for each of the manifestations of God in the world. There are ten s’firot, but only the lower seven are accessible to human beings. Seven weeks, seven s’firot-that couldn’t be a coincidence, the kabbalists believed. So they transformed the mechanical counting of days into an enumeration of the Godly qualities which, they argued, Jews needed to incorporate before they were worthy to receive the Torah. The s’firah period is thus a period of tikkun, “correction,” of the raw selves that were exploded out of Egypt into the pure n’shamot, “souls” who deserved to be given the mitzvot of the Torah.

What are these seven s’firot, these seven qualities? The first is Chesed, love; the second is its opposite, G’vurah, strength or restraint; the third is Tiferet, glory, or Rachamim, compassion. If love and restraint are opposites, compassion resolves the tension-compassion is based on love, but not unconditional love; it is a love that is combined with a certain restraint or objectivity. The remainder of the lower s’firot are Netzach, endurance; Hod, splendor; Yesod, physical rootedness; and Malchut, awareness of the dominion of God. These also form triads, echoing the balance of opposites and their resolution. The kabbalists divided the seven weeks into the seven s’firot, encouraging us to concentrate on “fixing” the lack of love in our lives during the first week of the Omer, the lack of restraint during the second week, the lack of compassion in the third week, and so on.

• 
  

As though this were not enough to concentrate on, they divided the seven days of each week into s’firot as well, so that on the first day of the first week we are to work on the love within love; the second day of the first week on the restraint within love; the third day of the first week the compassion within love, and so on. On the first day of the second week we are to work on the love within restraint; the second day the restraint within restraint, and so on. That’s a lot to work on in seven weeks!

Most prayer books, including Mishkan T’filah (p. 570), include a script for the blessings and the counting of each day. One can also purchase artistic S’firat HaOmer calendars-or you can make one yourself (it is not easy to remember to do the counting every night!). There is no official text, however, for contemplating the s’firot, though some are starting to write contemporary texts. In the absence of these, one might begin a discussion with the family members gathered around the seder table on the second night of Pesach when the counting begins, if you hold a seder on that night. Each person might be asked to reflect on a different s’firah; on nights where two s’firot are being considered, two people might have a dialogue as to how their qualities relate to each other.

This period of tikkun, “correction” of the self, culminates with Tikkun Leil Shavuot, an all-night study session on the first night of Shavuot, which traditionally draws on selections from all the books of the Hebrew Bible, as well as selections from the Talmud and the Zohar. Modern tikkunim are more heterodox in their selection of study materials, and many do not last all night. The common understanding of this rite ties it to the inability of the Israelites to stay awake the night before the Torah was given; by spending the night in study till dawn we try to correct for the weakness of our weary ancestors who were, after all, only three months removed from slavery.

There is another dimension to the period of the S’firat HaOmer, a quasi-historical one. There is a widespread custom not to cut one’s hair or hold weddings or other communal celebrations during this period. Many people tie these semi-mourning customs to the tradition of a plague that is said to have befallen Rabbi Akiba’s students during the second century CE, which was lifted on the thirty-third day of the Omer, Lag BaOmer. Numbers in Hebrew are often abbreviated using the individual Hebrew letters from alef to tet for the numbers one through nine, and letters from yod through tzadi for the tens (twenty through ninety). The remaining letters in the alphabet represent the hundreds. Thus thirty-three in Hebrew combines the letters lamed (thirty) and gimel (three), and if you put them together they spell Lag. Mourning restrictions are traditionally lifted on Lag BaOmer, which is therefore observed as a joyous day in Israel with the lighting of bonfires.

The Omer period reminds us of many truths: that freedom needs to be balanced by laws, by Torah; that the period leading up to the giving of the Torah offers us an opportunity to internalize the mitzvot of Torah, and its teachings; and that above all, by counting the days, we remember to make our days count, as a reminder that we count, and that God counts on us.

Rabbi Richard N. Levy is Rabbi of Campus Synagogue and Director of Spiritual Growth at the Los Angeles Campus of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. He is the author of A Vision of Holiness: The Future of Reform Judaism (URJ Press).

S’firat HaOmer: The Omer Period in Jewish Life

Let My People Go… Forth to the Wedding Chapel!

A Real Passover Miracle in Calcutta

Evolutionary Tradition (#BlogExodus, Day 10)

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Title S’firat HaOmer: The Omer Period in Jewish Life

By Rabbi Richard N. Levy, 3/29/2013

With all the preparations for the Pesach seder, you would think that once we celebrated our departure from Egypt we could relax and enjoy a good meal while the children search for the afikoman. And that is true for the first night. But by the second night, we are again enjoined to set our eyes on the future-forty-nine days in the future, in fact, when we arrive with the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai to receive the Torah.

The mechanism to connect the Exodus with the giving of the Torah is a simple one-counting the days. In Leviticus 23:15-16 we are commanded to bring an omer, “a measure of grain” and then to count seven weeks, a total of fifty days from the second day of Pesach (as the Rabbis interpret these verses). In fact, this counting provides the name for the holiday for the giving of the Torah, Shavuot, meaning “weeks.” So important is this counting that we thank God for commanding us to do it, saying a blessing before we mention the number each night until Shavuot. The process is called S’firat HaOmer, the Counting of the Omer.

S’firah is the Hebrew word for counting, which the mystics of the Kabbalah identified with the name for each of the manifestations of God in the world. There are ten s’firot, but only the lower seven are accessible to human beings. Seven weeks, seven s’firot-that couldn’t be a coincidence, the kabbalists believed. So they transformed the mechanical counting of days into an enumeration of the Godly qualities which, they argued, Jews needed to incorporate before they were worthy to receive the Torah. The s’firah period is thus a period of tikkun, “correction,” of the raw selves that were exploded out of Egypt into the pure n’shamot, “souls” who deserved to be given the mitzvot of the Torah.

What are these seven s’firot, these seven qualities? The first is Chesed, love; the second is its opposite, G’vurah, strength or restraint; the third is Tiferet, glory, or Rachamim, compassion. If love and restraint are opposites, compassion resolves the tension-compassion is based on love, but not unconditional love; it is a love that is combined with a certain restraint or objectivity. The remainder of the lower s’firot are Netzach, endurance; Hod, splendor; Yesod, physical rootedness; and Malchut, awareness of the dominion of God. These also form triads, echoing the balance of opposites and their resolution. The kabbalists divided the seven weeks into the seven s’firot, encouraging us to concentrate on “fixing” the lack of love in our lives during the first week of the Omer, the lack of restraint during the second week, the lack of compassion in the third week, and so on.

• 
  

As though this were not enough to concentrate on, they divided the seven days of each week into s’firot as well, so that on the first day of the first week we are to work on the love within love; the second day of the first week on the restraint within love; the third day of the first week the compassion within love, and so on. On the first day of the second week we are to work on the love within restraint; the second day the restraint within restraint, and so on. That’s a lot to work on in seven weeks!

Most prayer books, including Mishkan T’filah (p. 570), include a script for the blessings and the counting of each day. One can also purchase artistic S’firat HaOmer calendars-or you can make one yourself (it is not easy to remember to do the counting every night!). There is no official text, however, for contemplating the s’firot, though some are starting to write contemporary texts. In the absence of these, one might begin a discussion with the family members gathered around the seder table on the second night of Pesach when the counting begins, if you hold a seder on that night. Each person might be asked to reflect on a different s’firah; on nights where two s’firot are being considered, two people might have a dialogue as to how their qualities relate to each other.

This period of tikkun, “correction” of the self, culminates with Tikkun Leil Shavuot, an all-night study session on the first night of Shavuot, which traditionally draws on selections from all the books of the Hebrew Bible, as well as selections from the Talmud and the Zohar. Modern tikkunim are more heterodox in their selection of study materials, and many do not last all night. The common understanding of this rite ties it to the inability of the Israelites to stay awake the night before the Torah was given; by spending the night in study till dawn we try to correct for the weakness of our weary ancestors who were, after all, only three months removed from slavery.

There is another dimension to the period of the S’firat HaOmer, a quasi-historical one. There is a widespread custom not to cut one’s hair or hold weddings or other communal celebrations during this period. Many people tie these semi-mourning customs to the tradition of a plague that is said to have befallen Rabbi Akiba’s students during the second century CE, which was lifted on the thirty-third day of the Omer, Lag BaOmer. Numbers in Hebrew are often abbreviated using the individual Hebrew letters from alef to tet for the numbers one through nine, and letters from yod through tzadi for the tens (twenty through ninety). The remaining letters in the alphabet represent the hundreds. Thus thirty-three in Hebrew combines the letters lamed (thirty) and gimel (three), and if you put them together they spell Lag. Mourning restrictions are traditionally lifted on Lag BaOmer, which is therefore observed as a joyous day in Israel with the lighting of bonfires.

The Omer period reminds us of many truths: that freedom needs to be balanced by laws, by Torah; that the period leading up to the giving of the Torah offers us an opportunity to internalize the mitzvot of Torah, and its teachings; and that above all, by counting the days, we remember to make our days count, as a reminder that we count, and that God counts on us.

Rabbi Richard N. Levy is Rabbi of Campus Synagogue and Director of Spiritual Growth at the Los Angeles Campus of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. He is the author of A Vision of Holiness: The Future of Reform Judaism (URJ Press).

S’firat HaOmer: The Omer Period in Jewish Life

Let My People Go… Forth to the Wedding Chapel!

A Real Passover Miracle in Calcutta

Evolutionary Tradition (#BlogExodus, Day 10)