This Week's Drashot

The Western Wall on Tisha B'Av

A Rationale for the Fast

Friday, 27 July 2012

Some years ago, whilst serving in the US Navy I volunteered for aircrew duty.  As a candidate for combat flight, I had to attend a course called SERE.  The name is an acronym for Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.  Someday, I will be happy to regale you with some stories from this unique training.  For now, suffice it to say that we had to march vigorously through a forest for three days with nothing to eat and very little to drink, whilst being pursued relentlessly by a simulated enemy.  On the third day, as I sat on a mountainside resting before the next task, I had an epiphany.  I thought, Now I know that Yom Kippur is no big deal.  And since then, I have never complained about having to fast:  not on Yom Kippur, not on any other day of obligation, and not for any medical test.

This is Shabbat Hazon, the Shabbat immediately preceding the Fast of Tisha B’Av.  Fast days are problematic for us Jews today.  I’m not sure why, but I do have some thoughts on the matter.

It’s not because of the greying of our congregations.  After all, anyone with a health condition that contraindicates fasting, and that includes many seniors, is not only exempt from fasting but is prohibited from doing so under Jewish law.  Also, pregnant or nursing mothers, among others.

I think the difficulty of observing fast days stems from ‘Religious Obligation Fatigue.’ We bristle at the notion that, because we are Jews, we are obligated to do this or refrain from doing that.  And this mindset is particularly true in Progressive Jewish Circles.

I’ve been told: “I’m Reform.  We don’t do kashrut.”  Or fasts.  Or learn Hebrew.  Or whatever.  There’s no question that some Jews who gravitate toward the Progressive expression, do so based on a desire for a Judaism that carries little – or no – element of obligation.

Without that element of obligation, there’s really no Judaism.  Most religion is based on some degree of obligation, and our religion epitomizes this.  But Judaism, even in its most vigorous forms, does not demand an ascetic lifestyle of us.  If we’re living in accordance with Torah, we’re living lives of joy, celebration, and yes, even fun!  But our Tradition does make demands of us.  So if we’re required to fast a handful of days per year, assuming good health and constitution, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

But the idea of ‘obligation’ doesn’t resonate in this age.  Perhaps this is because contemporary life in the secular realm imposes so many obligations upon us.

Our elevated desire for stuff and the impermanence of our marriage commitments forces women to engage in high powered careers and child-rearing, rather than choosing between the two.  As difficult as that choice can be, it probably isn’t nearly as hard as doing both…and doing both well.  So many of our women, even though they continually surprise us with what they are capable of accomplishing, feel stretched thin and stressed out.

On the subject of women!  The sexual revolution, my generation’s great ‘gift’ to the world, has brought women little joy.  Perhaps it should have freed women to enjoy sexual pleasure without worrying about the consequences of an unplanned or unwanted pregnancy.  Instead, it has made women feel forced to behave in the way that men do by instinct – to engage in serial casual relationships.  This, in order to ‘prove’ that they’re ‘liberated’ and freed from the constraints of bygone eras.  This, even though study after study shows that such behaviours bring women little or no lasting joy.

How about all the ways that we are able to instantly communicate with one another no matter where we happen to be?  These should be a blessing, but they have become a burden that prevents us from relaxing and unwinding.  Our weekly work hours have crept upward, and our ability to communicate blurs the line between work and leisure.  As a result, we seldom feel really relaxed.

Perhaps with all these additional ‘obligations’ imposed by contemporary life, it is not surprising that we rebel in the one area where we feel free to do so – religion.  To the ‘enlightened’ contemporary spirit, religion is after all a relic.  Many of us ‘cling’ to religion beyond reason, despite having been stripped of our faith long ago, out of a sense of loyalty, habit, or both.  Since we cannot rationally defend religious faith, we prefer it ‘lite.’  We want the ‘good’ effect of religion – the sense of belonging, the comfort of continuity, and the certainty of eternity – without it making any undue demands upon us.

Fast days, then are really a hard sell.  And this one, the Fast of Tisha B’Av that will begin at sunset tomorrow, is a particularly difficult sell in our Progressive communities.

What we’re commemorating with this fast, most elementally, is that both the First and Second Temples were destroyed on this day:  in the years 586 BCE and 70 CE, respectively.  So we’re mourning with this fast, that we no longer have the capability of offering animal and material sacrifices upon the fiery altar on Mt. Zion.  Now don’t get all broken up about that…

Seriously, I’m guessing there are few in this room tonight who in their heart or hearts, wish for the return of the priestly cultus.  Many Jews do so wish.  Among Orthodox Jews there is an intense longing for the coming of the Messianic Age.  This epoch, it is envisioned, will see the rebuilding of the Temple and the resumption of its sacrifices.  But not all Jews share that sentiment.  If not, why mourn publicly, including fasting, to commemorate the destruction of the means for conducting the sacrifices?

Maybe it adds to the motivation to fast and mourn that other, more recent tragic events have happened on Tisha B’Av.  The Jews were expelled from England by royal decree on the Ninth of Av in 1290.  And from Spain in 1492.  In 1914 on this Hebrew date, Germany declared war on Russia.  In the minds of many historians of the 20^th century, this outbreak of the First World War actually set the stage for the Second World War – and the Shoah.  Fast forward to the 1940’s.  Himmler presented the blueprint for the Final Solution on this day in 1940.  And in 1942, the siege of the Warsaw Ghetto began.

          So even if the idea of mourning the fall of the two Temples doesn’t move you to fast, it’s hard not to see the tragic element in the totality of tzuress that has befallen the Jews on Tisha B’Av.  One would have to be heartless to look at this great sweep of events and not wonder; what convergence of forces caused all those tragedies on this particular day in various years of our history? 

        The rabbis suggest that the biggest tragedy of the fall of the two Temples is that neither had to happen, and neither would have happened except for baseless hatred of Jew against Jew.  This sin’at hinam weakens us, enabling outside forces to exploit that weakness for their malevolent ends.

          If we accept this notion, then the lesson is clear.  Jewish disunity, to the point of baseless hatred, opens the door for bad things – very bad things – to happen to us.  We’ve always got an enemy waiting to destroy us.  We like to shrey gevalt about that, and perhaps we should.  But must we make that enemy’s ‘job’ easier by weakening our people with baseless hatred of Jew against Jew?

This is not to ‘blame the victim.’ But there’s no good reason the Jews should be victims again and again.  Even if it’s a given that we’re never going to agree on everything, why can’t we love our fellow Jew through our disagreements?  Why must we be so stalwart in our opinions, that we have trouble seeing the merits of those who differ?

Rabbi Irving ‘Yitz’ Greenberg, founder of Clal, said of Jewish sectarianism:  “It doesn’t matter what movement in Jewish life you belong to.  As long as you’re ashamed of it.” What I think he meant, is that we should hold our own movement up to the highest standards.  We should be ashamed when our own movement doesn’t live up to its promise.  This, instead of resenting the other movements for their shortcomings.  Greenberg is an Orthodox rabbi.  This Progressive rabbi agrees, and wishes his own movement would do better.

This is why you’ve heard me express dissatisfaction with Progressive Judaism tonight.  I’m proud to be a Progressive Jew.  But I’m ashamed of the ways that we do not live up to our potential as Jews.  It concerns me when we cannot model for our children a joyful and positive religious faith worth emulating.  It concerns me when I hear endless criticism of more traditional streams of Judaism from among our members.

This is something worth thinking about as we prepare for Tisha B’Av.  And if it’s worth thinking about, it’s worth acting upon.  Perhaps you shall fast starting tomorrow night, or perhaps you shall not.  Whichever the case may be, I hope you will take some time out to feel ashamed for the ways you fail to have positive regard for your fellow Jew.  Think about the unrealized potential; not only of our own Progressive Movement, but of the Jewish people as a whole.  If there were a keener sense of Jewish unity, we would be farther down the path of realizing our potential.  And we would be far less susceptible to the evil designs of our enemies.

It’s no fun to go without food and drink for 24 hours.  It’s not fun to have nagging obligations deter us from enjoying our weekend.  But I’m willing to do this, to help me to focus on what I need to do as a Jew.  I’m willing to do this, to help me remember to love my fellow Jew.  I’m willing to do this, to prepare myself to be a positive force in bringing unity and the strength that brings.  Will you join me?

Member of Black September on the balcony of the Israeli Athletes' Apartment
 in Munich, 1972 

Why Make the Olympics into Something They’re Not?

Saturday, 28 July 2012

I’m going to make a confession.  I’m not a big fan of the Olympic Games, or of large-scale sporting games or contests in general.  I never have been.  Over the years, people have looked upon me as un-manly or as otherwise suspect for my lack of interest in watching sports on television or going to the stadium to take in a game. But it’s just the way that I am.

          And I’ll be happy to tell you why I am the way I am.  I don’t find that athletic contests uplift the soul.  I have never had a talent for sports.  I completely lack the skills necessary to throw, catch, run and whatnot.  As a child, I was always the odd one left standing after the two teams had chosen sides, or I was the last one chosen.  In sports such as baseball or football, I could be consigned to a position where I wouldn’t damage the team’s chances too much.  In a rotating position sport such as volleyball where I could not be shunted aside, my teammates were always invading my play zone.  This, because they didn’t believe that I would perform at a critical moment.  So the whole youth athletics thing was heartbreaking for me, not uplifting.  And the heartbreaking aspect is not that I do not excel in such contests.  It’s that children, even at a very young age, are focused on winning to the exclusion of all other benefit from sport.

          So I never pushed my children to go out for sports.  I would never be one of those parents who try to live out their dreams of athletic glory, and the disappointments of their own failures, through their children.  I just wanted my children, when they weren’t busy with school work, to have fun.

          Some people think that athletics build character, and I’m sure they can. But the generalisation is inaccurate.  Look at the scandals that plague athletics, both amateur and professional.  Look at the number of times that elite athletes have engaged in doping, or taken steroids or other performance-enhancing drugs.  Look at the aggressive and anti-social behaviour of so many elite athletes, both on and off the field.

          But the tawdry behaviour is not limited to the athletes themselves.  No, elite athletic contests, whether amateur or professional, seem to bring out the worst in their coaches, organisers, and officials.  And fans!  None of those involved seems to be free of pressures to behave in unethical ways, and many succumb to the pressures.

          The joy of sport is not lost on me.  But it is tempered by the way that sport seems to make people behave.  Combined with my own experiences where playing sports was more an ordeal than a joy, it leads me to see sport as something that can be positive…but often, sadly, is not.  It’s seldom about building character.  It’s simply about winning.  And that, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing.  But it’s no great virtue either.

          For that reason, I’m not terribly up in arms about the controversy over the Summer Olympics about to kick off in London this weekend.  Unless you have spent the past few weeks buried in the sand or on a deserted island without TV and cell phone service, you know what I’m talking about.  This Olympic Games marks the 40^th anniversary of what is arguably the most tragic event in the history of the games.  40 years ago, terrorists of Black September stormed one of the apartments of the Israeli Olympic team in Munich, took 11 members of the team hostage, and murdered all of them.  One German officer was also killed in a failed rescue attempt.

          It is not to the shame of the Olympic Games that this attack happened.  Nobody blames the Olympics for the savagery and opportunism of the Palestinian terrorists.  It was clear, as has been abundantly documented for the record that the West German government wilfully failed to prepare for the eventuality of the attack despite being tipped off in advance.  They also badly botched the rescue attempt.  These shortcomings were not the fault of the Olympic organisers or participants.  But it can be argued that it was to the shame of the event’s organisers and participants that the games went on almost as if the hostage-taking had not taken place.  And I am hereby making that argument.  Only a handful of individual athletes withdrew from the game in solidarity with their murdered Israeli colleagues.  The team of the Philippines returned home.  The Egyptian and Algerian teams left, but preposterously because they stated they feared Israeli reprisals against them, not out of protest for the murdered Israelis.

          It is also to the shame of the Olympic Games, that a minute of silence was not observed last night during the games’ opening ceremonies in remembrance of the 40^th yahrzeit of the murdered Israeli athletes.  In 2010 at the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, a moment of silence was observed for an athlete who died in a training accident while preparing for the games.  Nobody minded.  But the International Olympic Committee has repeatedly declined to hold a moment of silence for the Israeli athletes.  And not just this year.  This year’s campaign for a moment of silence is a replay of a similar campaign during the run-up to the 2002 Winter Games, marking the Israelis’ 30^th yahrzeit.

          It is unfortunate that some of us Jews believe that the world does not care about the lives of Jews.  It is unfortunate that some of us Jews believe that we are actively hated by people all around the world, from a wide variety of religious and national traditions.  But it is most unfortunate that events such as the Olympic Games’ clear callousness toward the Israeli athletes murdered 40 years ago, give even the Jew who is not inclined to paranoia, cause to think these things.  And remember that thinking the world is against you doesn’t necessarily make you paranoid.  Especially when there is enough evidence of the world’s being against you to make a rational case for the existence of that hatred.  And I think that there is enough evidence, by a mile.

          What should individual delegations, including the Israelis, do?  I’m not the one to prescribe.  But I think a number of meaningful gestures are possible.  Teams could march into the stadium wearing black armbands.  Or with their national colours at half-mast.  There are a number of ways to make a clear statement while still participating.  But I don’t know about you; I’m not holding my breath waiting to see what the various delegations do.  Even the American and Australian teams, even after President Obama and Prime Minister Gillard publicly advocated for the moment of silence.

          So watch the Olympics, cheer for the winners of the various contests, and root for the Australians – or whoever rates your loyalties – to bring home medals.  Enjoy the games.  Take pleasure at the sight of young people reaching for their personal best.  But do not be fooled into thinking that sporting contests and the athletes who compete in them represent that which is best in a nation.  To be sure, there are many athletes who are outstanding young citizens.  But there are many competing who sadly, care only about themselves.  And do not be fooled into thinking that the Glory of Sport is a pure spirit that brings goodness into the world.  Sport is exciting and fun.  But there is nothing especially ‘pure’ about sport or its participants.  And there is nothing especially ‘pure’ about the Olympic Movement in particular.  As soon as we accept that, we can cease being continually disappointed by its organisers and participants.  

          But even though I advocate we not be overly exercised at the Olympic Movement, doesn’t mean we do not express our most profound grief and disappointment through prayer.  To that end, in a few minutes when we stand to unite our voices in the Mourners’ Kaddish, I shall to offer the prayer of the Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, Lord Jonathan Sacks, to mark the 40^th yahrzeit of the Israeli athletes.

(The prayer reads:)

Almighty God:

We, the members of this holy congregation,

Together with members of all World Jewry and the Righteous of the Nations who are so moved,

(The previous line in Lord Sacks’ prayer reads “Together with members of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth”)

Join our prayers to the prayers of others throughout the world,

In remembrance of the eleven Israeli athletes

Brutally murdered in an act of terrorism,

At the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich,

Because they were Israelis,

Because they were Jews.

At this time in the Jewish year,

When we remember the destructions of our holy Temples,

And the many tragedies that have befallen our people throughout history,

We mourn their loss

And continue to protest against those who hate our people.

We pray to You, O God:

Comfort the families and friends of the Israeli athletes who continue to grieve

And grant eternal life to those so cruelly robbed of life on earth.

Just as we are united in grief,

Help us stay united in hope.

As we comfort one another under the shadow of death,

Help us strengthen one another in honouring life.

The Olympic message is one of peace, of harmony and of unity,

Teach us, Almighty God, to bring reconciliation and respect between faiths,

As we pray for the peace of Israel,

And for the peace of the world.

May this be Your will and let us say: Amen

Lord of the Ages, remember...

David Berger

Yossef Gutfreund

Moshe Weinberg

Eliezer Halfin

Mark Slavin

Yossef Romano

Kehat Shorr

Andre Spitzer

Amitzur Shapira

Yakov Springer

Ze’ev Friedman

(In Hebrew) …who have gone on to Eternity, by the merit that all of us pray for the remembrance of their souls.  Please, G-d of Mercy and Forgiveness, let their souls be bound up in the bond of life, and may their rest be honour, and let us say, Amen.

Drashot for Mattot/Masei - Enjoy!

Refugees seeking asylum in Australia

Friday, 20 July 2012

To Give Sanctuary or Not

Last week, I groused jokingly that Australian politics seem rather boring to provide much grist for my pulpit speaking.  Then, of course I conceded that the tameness is more likely a reflection of my not yet catching the subtleties of the various policy discussions here.  A lot about Australian life comes with layers of subtleties attached.  This is especially so, compared to the public discourse in the USA.  In America, there’s a raw edge to just about every public exchange.  Here, the language and tenor of the disagreements often seem more civil.  Probably, returning to my lack of grounding in the subtleties, the operative word should be ‘seems.’  But in this regard I’m sure you will all assist over time with the Education of Rabbi Don.

As I watch the evening news, it has become clear to me that there is a particular public policy issue, about which Australians disagree deeply.  And that is the issue of whether – and how – asylum seekers are welcomed on your shores.  The public debate comes along with considerable name-calling.  That informs me that the disagreement is driven by raw emotions that make it difficult to get to the essence of the issue.  In this same way emotions create difficulties in the Public Square in my own country.  So here’s one American’s take on this particular issue:

Australia likes to see herself as an enlightened nation with regard to the acceptance of those who are persecuted in their home countries.  Successive governments have upheld definitions and principles hammered out in the United Nations.  But detractors from within, call Australia a racist and xenophobic country.  She can easily agree to UN proclamations, this argument holds, because she is after all an island nation and unlikely to experience floods of refugees.  Except that now, a constant flood of refugees is trying to reach Australia by boat.  According to these detractors, this brings out the ‘truth.’  Australia likes to sound ‘enlightened’ on the issue when there is no danger of being overwhelmed by refugees.  But Australia is at her heart an insular country who is ambivalent at best about sharing the good luck she enjoys.

It’s a complex issue, and the emotional tone of the discourse makes it difficult to get to the facts.  That makes it almost impossible to have the kind of conversation that might lead to coherent public policy.  As a result, timid politicians find creative ways to avoid taking bold steps to solve the problem.

In this week’s Torah reading, from Parashat Masei, we shall read of the Cities of Refuge.  Our Wandering-in-the-Desert narrative is coming to an end; next week we begin the reading of the Book of Deuteronomy, the final of the ‘Five Books of Moses.’  Throughout the past many weeks, we’ve seen instructions intended to set up a just and civil society in the Land that the Israelites shall soon occupy.

Refugees are on my mind this week, because we read tomorrow about the Cities of Refuge.  G-d instructs the Israelites to establish six such cities.  They will provide a sanctuary for any man who kills another accidentally.  This acknowledges the raw feelings one experiences upon the untimely death of someone close.  The Torah teaches us to value human life.  It informs us that the spilling of blood is a terrible thing.  The ‘natural’ instinct therefore, is to try to avenge the killing.  The Cities of Refuge provide a safeguard from vengeance killing of one who is guilty of involuntary manslaughter.  They provide a defence against more needless killing.  They provide no sanctuary for one who kills with malice.  The murderer cannot use the Cities of Refuge to avoid his penalty.  But more about that tomorrow.

So the Cities of Refuge are not about providing a place for the one who is in danger in his own country and thus feels he must flee to someone else’s country to stay alive.  But the principle behind the cities, is the avoidance of unnecessary death.  Therefore, the Parashah of the cities is entirely relevant to the conversation about providing safe refuge to asylum seekers in our age.

Jews are instinctively, and distinctively, sympathetic to the plight of refugees.  To be otherwise, we would have to be heartless.  After all, we have been the beneficiaries of open borders.  And the victims of closed borders.

In the late nineteenth century, Jewish refugees fled en masse from persecution in Eastern Europe.  We were able to find safe havens in the Western World, but particularly in the English-speaking world:  North America, the United Kingdom, and the nations of the Commonwealth.  We were not only accepted for entry in these places.  We flourished, and continue to flourish in these lands we’ve been fortunate to reach.

In the 1930’s the opposite occurred as Nazi hegemony spread over mainland Europe bringing severe persecution to Jewish populations.  Of course, the Death Factories of the Final Solution could not even have been imagined by most people before the 1940’s.  Even so, the history of the 1930’s shows ever-increasing marginalization of Jews in lands where they had formerly felt secure.  And for those who saw the Handwriting on the Wall and wanted out, the borders were largely closed.  But even as Nazi persecution of Jews and others reached its logical conclusion, there was little chance of finding a place of refuge.

Given this history, it is no surprise that the plight of refugees finds resonance among Jews.  The UPJ’s Jewish Religious Action and Advocacy Centre, the JRAAC, recently published a statement on the plight of Refugees and Asylum Seekers in Australia, Israel and around the world.  It invokes the well-known dictum found in Exodus 23.9: “You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.”

These words of Divine commandment have influenced Jews for thousands of years to identify with the World’s oppressed.  We sympathise not only with their physical condition but also their feelings as being homeless among the world’s nations.  At the same time, we recognise that not all refugees are valid seekers of political asylum.  At any given moment in history, there are myriads of individuals on the move not because of fears for their safety.  People flee their own countries for various reasons.  Perhaps they have committed serious crimes at home.  Or perhaps, they are simply in search of a better material life.

Here in Australia, as in other wealthy countries that are magnets for refugees of all kinds, there is a process in place to sort out the true political refugees from those looking for an easier life.  The former receive refugee status, while the latter are only accepted subject to specific limitations and quotas established by law and with input from the Public Square.  These quotas are the ammunition of those who claim Australia is racist.  But the JRAAC statement does not criticise the existence of these limitations and quotas.  It only asks that applicants for refugee status be accorded safe haven and every hospitality whilst their cases are investigated, in compliance with the UN position.  The JRAAC statement urges the Australian Government to operate within this parameter, and to work to make such determinations as quickly as possible.

As I said, a complex issue.  Does Australia have a humanitarian challenge on her hands?  She does for sure.  While boatloads of would-be refugees flounder in the Indian Ocean while trying to reach Australian soil, the country has a reasonable responsibility to deploy her navy to provide safety for these souls in danger.  Humanitarian concern – and pragmatism – also counsel for taking steps to avoid the departure of these boats, to find ways to process asylum seekers before they set sail.  These needs may logically lead to devoting more resources to the refugee problem.  That is, of course a hard sell in these economic times.

As a relative stranger to these shores myself, I’m not the one to say how this should be done.  But I do wish to say is that in this, as in all complex issues, it is not helpful to let emotions determine how we respond to one another.

Is Australia a ‘racist’ country?  I suspect not.  Okay, I’m pretty sure not.  And the application of the label ‘racist’ by those who believe Australia is not doing enough to address the plight of refugees, is not helpful.  In support of this assertion I can point to the public forum in the USA.

As you know, America made history almost four years ago by electing a president who has, in his own words, “a funny name . . . (and) who doesn’t look like all those other presidents on the dollar bills.”  President Obama said this jokingly, but the truth is that America voted for him, and put him in my nation’s highest office, despite – maybe even because of – how his name sounds and what he looks like.  And yet, every time someone in America criticises the President, for whatever reason, he’s in danger of being called ‘racist’ by someone within hearing.

This name-calling discounts that there are competing worldviews extant, and that President Obama represents but one such worldview.  Most of the President’s most vocal critics voice similar criticism of other politicians of the Left.  They probably didn’t have much positive to say about President Clinton in his day.  They are likely to have similarly negative reactions to those who represent this worldview in our House and Senate.  Labels such as ‘racist’ are thrown about liberally by participants in the public discourse as a way of shutting down the conversation by discrediting their detractors.

I don’t know the best response to the challenge of refugees and would-be refugees in Australia.  I haven’t been here long enough to absorb all the intricacies of the issue.  But I do know that it is not helpful to label those with whom you disagree with pejoratives such as ‘racist.’  It is hurtful, and unhelpful in sorting through complex issues, to dismiss your opponents and their concerns.  It also immunizes us to real racism when we see it; not good.

It is good that we Jews, given our history as a people and given the Torah’s wisdom, instinctively sympathise with the plight of those who are less fortunate than us.  How helpful it would be if we also applied the wisdom that the Talmud propounded in characterizing the dispute between the schools of Hillel and Shammai.    The two schools opposed one another bitterly in the competition to influence the emerging body of Jewish religious law.  Most decisions came down on the side of the students of Hillel.  But at the same time the Talmud proclaims in Eruvin 13b: Eilu ve’eilu divrei Elokim Chayim hen.  Both of these – the opinions of both opposing schools – are the words of the Living G-d.

Let’s each of us let our disagreements lead us to honest conversation about how to solve the Big Issues.  And let’s learn to see our opponents in the resulting debate as having the same good intentions that we have.  Let’s learn to step back from the emotions stirred up by the debate and say, “I disagree with you.” Rather than: “You’re racist.”  When we learn to do that, when we learn to see the good in the one who might be our opponent in any given issue, then we contribute to the solving of problems and to Tikkun Olam.  May we be agents for only good in the world around us.  Shabbat shalom. 

Saturday, 21 July 2012

Sanctuary for Murderers?

My country, the USA is often maligned in the international forum.  A certain amount of criticism is expected when one is a large and wealthy country whose policies have such a strong effect on the entire world.  Let’s be honest.  Australia is a wealthy country, but her population is comparatively small.  She is a country of 22 million people.  Any decision made in Australia, for Australians is not likely to echo around the world.  At least, not with the same impact of decisions made in my country of over 311 million, with the world’s largest economy.  So America is always in the sights of the world, and everything we do with which one disagrees, is examined and criticised.  Often bitterly.  Because America’s actions so impact the rest of the world, this criticism only goes with the territory.

A criticism one often hears about America, is that she is alone among the Western Nations in having capital punishment.  It is often stated, that this puts America in league with the likes of Iran, Russia, and China.  Meanwhile, ‘enlightened’ nations gave up executing criminals, no matter what their crimes, a long time ago.  None of the EU countries has Capital Punishment.  Nor does Canada, nor Australia.  Israel has it, but only for the crime of genocide.  And in Israel’s 64 years as a state, only one man – Adolph Eichmann – has ever been executed.

Even Mexico, the USA’s neighbour to the south which is often criticised as a backward and lawless country, does not execute criminals civilly.

Several arguments are frequently offered against execution of criminals.  The first argument is that people of colour are disproportionately represented among those sentenced to death.  The death penalty is therefore, inherently racist. 

The second argument says that criminals are sometimes exonerated years after being sentenced.  Sometimes new evidence, or new witnesses surface to shed light on old cases.  Sometimes it comes out long after the fact, that investigators and prosecutors either botched their cases or were even guilty of falsifying evidence.  The danger of the Death Penalty is clear.  If the sentence in such cases was life imprisonment, the wrongly-convicted can then at least have some of his life back.  But if the wrongly-convicted has been executed, that is obviously not possible. 

The final argument against capital punishment says that the very instinct to put murderers, and perhaps other violent offenders to death is wrong.  It represents at its heart, not an instinct for justice, but one for vengeance.  The instinct to execute criminals then is patently flawed from the get-go.

This morning’s Torah reading is about the very real instinct for vengeance.  It doesn’t repudiate this instinct.  Rather it counsels an amelioration of the instinct for vengeance in cases of accidental death.  It does so for one reason only; the shedding of innocent blood, even the blood of one who has killed, is a crime in and of itself.

G-d instructs the Israelites to establish six Cities of Refuge in the Land they are about to occupy and in which they will establish their state.  When it happens that one man accidentally kills another, he may flee to one of these cities.  Once the killer is within their sanctuary, the avenger is forbidden to pursue him.  He may live out his natural life within the City of Refuge without fear for his life.

There is a juxtaposition of this instruction to provide sanctuary for the accidental killing.  And that is that those found guilty of wilful, violent killing must be put to death.  The Cities of Refuge should not be seen as an argument against capital punishment.  They are not a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card for killers.  Rather, they should be seen as a limitation to the application of vengeance.

The provision of the Cities of Refuge acknowledges the very human instinct to avenge a killing.  The Torah does not repudiate this instinct.  What it does, is limit the capability for an avenger to strike.

Michael Dukakis, then governor of Massachusetts, ran for the US Presidency against George Herbert Walker Bush in 1988.  Governor Dukakis was widely criticised for a response he gave to a question from the moderator in one televised debate between the candidates.  Journalist Sam Donaldson asked Dukakis, who was a consistent critic of the Death Penalty, if he would think differently if evil struck his own household.  What would he think if his own wife were brutally attacked and raped?  It was a shocking question, but Dukakis’ response was perhaps more shocking to the nation.  Instead of acknowledging what an outrage such an attack would represent, Dukakis gave a measured and rational argument as to why the Death Penalty does not solve the problem of evil in our midst.

For his measured response to the perhaps-unfair question, Dukakis was criticised for being an unfeeling bureaucrat, rather than a man with the passions and instincts that other men share.

The Parashah of the Cities of Refuge acknowledges the instinct to vengeance.  It acknowledges this passion.  It does not repudiate it.  It does not deny human nature.  It simply places limits on one’s ability to avenge an accidental killing.  If the killer manages to reach one of the Cities, he may live unmolested therein.  Inside, he is protected from an avenger.  But this protection does not extend to the wilful killer, one guilty of aggravated murder.  The murderer, according to Jewish Law, is liable for the Death Penalty. Some would argue that the requirements set by Jewish Law made it virtually impossible for a court to carry out an execution, and there is probably truth in this argument.  If so, the point is that G-d in the Torah upheld the concept of a life for a life, while the Rabbis created further safeguards against the killing of the innocent.  No proponent of the Death Penalty thinks it should be applied automatically for certain classes of crimes.  In my own country, every conviction in a case where the prosecution is seeking the Death Penalty must be followed by what amounts to an additional trial.  This is the trial to determine if the Death Penalty should be applied in the particular case.

When one really thinks about the Cities of Refuge, one realizes that they really represent a prison.  If the accidental killer leaves their sanctuary, the avenger may kill him.  His sanctuary therefore represents a life sentence without parole, a permanent exile from one’s home and family, to a place full of unfortunate people running for their lives.  It’s not a killer’s paradise.  It does not free the accidental killer to an enviable life.  It is easy to see the essential unfairness of it.  But it is not about fairness at all.  The Cities of Refuge are about stopping the additional shedding of innocent blood.  Period.

The Parashah of the Cities sends the message that innocent blood shall not be shed.  Many people kill accidentally.  It is an unfortunate fact the one person may unintentionally cause the death of another through carelessness or negligence.  In contemporary civil law we have statutes that provide for penalties, sometimes severe, for those found guilty of unintentionally killing another.  Fines, community service, and incarceration serve to tell the killer and society that causing another’s death, even unintentionally, brings consequences.  The consequences are particularly severe in cases where the guilty party’s behaviour could have been predicted to cause death.  For example, when one drives intoxicated and kills someone in an accident.  A person convicted of vehicular manslaughter after driving drunk can get a particularly sever sentence.

But after the unintentional killer’s sentencing, the aggrieved family members of the one killed are not allowed to exact further vengeance.  This, even if they justifiably think the court’s sentence was too light.

In case you haven’t yet figured it out, this is not a sermon for Capital Punishment.  Nor is it a sermon against it.  As I pointed out earlier, many good arguments can be made against – and for – the Death Penalty.

I don’t agree that the Death Penalty is inherently racist, although to be sure racism of those involved in the justice system can unfairly influence when the Death Penalty is applied.  Likewise, I agree that there is the possibility that tainted evidence or testimony, or botched investigations, can unfairly influence a verdict in a capital trail.  That’s why there is, at least in America, a system of automatic appeals.  This causes the typical person sentenced to death, to be in prison at least 10 years – and in some case up to 20 years!

So my point is not whether the Death Penalty is a good idea or not.  My point is only that G-d, through the Torah acknowledges very real human instincts.  And the Torah’s legislation attempts to ameliorate the consequences of human instincts when they would lead to additional injustices.  The message of this Parashah, of the instruction to set up the Cities of Refuge, is quite simple.  The shedding of innocent blood is not just a stain on the perpetrator.  It is, rather a stain on the very land and its inhabitants.  The very ground cries out for the injustice of innocent blood spilled.  Therefore, life must be preserved.  This, even when very real and understandable emotions would lead one to seek to end another’s life.  And even if the means of preserving life, a life sentence to a City of Refuge is, in and of itself, unfair.  Because the shedding of blood – even innocently – carries consequences.  Let us understand the G-d’s intent through this teaching.  Let us always err, if we must, in favour of the preservation of life.  Shabbat shalom.

  

Drashot for Shabbat Parashat Pinchas - Enjoy!

Finding Meaning in Adversity

A Drash for Shabbat Pinchas

Friday, 13 July 2012

Rabbi Don Levy

There’s a delightful joke that I’ll risk telling – the risk being that it doesn’t ‘translate’ culturally for an Australian congregation.  Here goes.

There was a small Baptist church in the American Heartland – what you would call ‘the Outback’ and what we snobs from one of America’s two coasts like to refer as ‘Flyover Country.’ You know, the parts of the country one flies over when travelling from one to another of the places that ‘matter.’

So this church was one of those old fashioned timber buildings.  It was growing old and was weather-beaten and badly needed new paint.  The pastor, an ageing man serving an ageing congregation, announced before the collection one Sunday that that day’s offering was specifically to buy what was necessary to paint the church.  But when the money was counted, the pastor knew it wasn’t enough to buy sufficient paint to cover the entire building.

After fretting about the situation for some time, the pastor bought as much paint as he could.  He thinned the paint with water to stretch it.  He painted the building.  Working all day, going up and down the ladder continually, he managed to finish the job.  The thinned paint managed to cover the entire building.  He went to sleep, exhausted, and woke up the next morning.

There had been a rainstorm during the night.  When the pastor stepped out of his parsonage to walk the few steps to the church, he was aghast to see that the thinned paint had run in the storm and was largely washed off the building.

The pastor fell on his knees and prayed.  He asked G-d repeatedly what he should do.  Suddenly, a voice came out of the heavens.  It said:

Repaint, and thin no more!

Repaint, and thin no more!  It was the logical answer, because after all, this is the bottom line in every Christian sermon, preached from every Christian pulpit on every Sunday – and on Wednesday evening, for those Christians who can’t get enough on Sunday.  Repaint, and thin no more!  That is to say:  Repent, and sin no more!

Okay, I hope you understand that I’m being humorous here.  As least I’m trying to be humorous.  I’m not at all contemptuous of my Christian neighbours and the message of their religion.  Even if it were true that the bottom line of every Christian sermon was repent and sin no more, what would be so terrible about that?  An unhappy truth is that we – humanity – spread a lot of suffering around in the world because we ‘sin’ – we behave badly toward one another.  Repent and sin no more is, in nutshell, the theme of Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the Jewish year…get your tickets now!

So if every Christian sermon has the same bottom line – and I can’t really say that it does – that’s not a bad thing at all.  But in Judaism, things are a little more complex.  We have all kinds of sermons, with all kinds of bottom lines, and I’m guessing that you’ve heard just about every kind delivered from this pulpit.  There are midrashic sermons.  Mystical sermons.  Political sermons.  Movie and book review sermons.

If you’ve been following my pulpit speaking, you’re by now aware that I tend to stick to sermons of the most basic kinds.  I’m not against giving a political sermon, but Levy’s First Commandment is:  Thou shalt preach a political sermon no more frequently than once a year.  It usually takes me that long to recover the good will of the people I offend when I give a political sermon.  Besides, there doesn’t seem to be too much in Australian politics that is sermon-worthy.  I mean. Let’s face it:  your politics here are rather plain vanilla!  Maybe that’s because I’m too new here to catch a lot of the subtleties.  Perhaps in a couple of years’ time I’ll feel confident enough to try to sermonize on them.  But then we’re back to Levy’s First Commandment!

The type of sermons, from which I really shy away are the last category – movie and book reviews.  Want movie reviews?  Get on the wold wide web and search for ‘Rotten Tomatoes.’  Or try the site ‘IMDB – Internet Movie Data Base.’ In either place, you can read movie reviews to your heart’s content.  Want book reviews?  Amazon.com is chock full of them.  The New York Times will give you more professionally-crafted ones.  I could probably write a movie or book review well enough to be useful if I had a good reason to do so.  However, I’m guessing it would not make a compelling reason for you to attend services here on a Friday evening.

So I don’t give reviews…but I do sometimes give recommendations.  And tonight, I’d like to offer a quick recommendation for an unknown book by an unknown author.  I’ve just finished reading the book, and it resonated very deeply with me.  The book is I Was Young and I Wanted to Live by David Huban.  It’s not an easy book to find; nobody in the Land of Oz seems to have a copy for sale.  I happened into it because the author is the cousin of Marika Maselli, one of our members here.  Marika loaned me a copy of the book to read.  It is a journal of one young man’s experience in the Shoah, the Nazi Holocaust that engulfed Europe between the 1930’s and 1945, when World War II ended.

Marika’s cousin, David – his original Hungarian name was Denes – embodied the ordinariness that I talked about at my induction sermon a couple of weeks ago.  He was not a brilliant scholar.  He was not a world-class athlete.  He had no outward talent or quality that would make one predict that he was the one in thousands who would survive while others perished.  No, he was just an ordinary man, with an extra-ordinary will to live.  He was young, and he wanted to live.  He looked at the lot he’d been dealt in life.  To come of age as a Jew in Europe during a time that has few parallels in the world’s history.  And he wanted to live.  So badly did he want to live, that he had the will to overcome the same adversity that sapped the will to live of so many others.

In the late 1930’s the Nazi restrictions against Jews arrived in young David’s small town in Slovakia.  The town had originally been in Hungary until after World War I.  As a teenager, he faced a big world that didn’t want a part of him.  A world that preferred him dead.  A world that looked upon him, a young man who happened to be Jewish by birth, with scorn and loathing.  But David Huban was not about to accept the death sentence that the world had pronounced upon him.

Has anybody here ever attended a dying parent or other relative?  If you have, maybe you watched them fight death.  Perhaps they fought for a long time.  And then, suddenly they stopped fighting.  If you were there at that moment in a person’s life, you knew it.  You could see it in their eyes, in their face.  When that person lost the will, the fight to live, they died.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Death is, after all simply part of life.  Guess what?  We’re all going to die.  Surprise!  May it come for each of us, only at the end of a long, happy and productive life, and with little pain or suffering.  Amen. 

David Huban looked at the world around him, at people his age and younger dying for no reason save the hate toward them that was being spewed about.  And he made a choice.  I’m going to live.  He fought to live.  Through the months in concentration camps.  Through harrowing encounters.  He didn’t live because he was extraordinarily heroic.  Or clever.  He was actually both:  heroic and clever.  But that’s not why he lived.

He lived because he chose to live.  He chose to live.  He had to live if he was to fulfil his promise to his parents.  As he ran for his life to the Hungarian border when the Slovakian Nazi collaborators.  He promised his parents that he would survive.  He promised that he would return.  Unfortunately, his parents did not.  But that’s another story…

The message from I Was Young and Wanted to Live, then, is a simple message.  One that resonates with a simple man like me.  It is this.  We can complain all we like about our lot.  Or we can decide to overcome, and thrive.  To live.  As this one extra-ordinarily ordinary Jewish teenager did, when his world collapsed around him.

So now it’s Shabbat.  Shabbat sets in here, in our part of the world, earlier than in most of the rest of the world.  As it does, let us celebrate life.  Let us lay aside whatever may have been troubling us over the last six days.  Let us decide to live.  To overcome adversities small and large.  To live, and to make our lives count.  Shabbat shalom!

Finding Meaning in a ‘Lost’ Ritual

A Drash for Parashat Pinchas

Saturday, 14 July 2012

Rabbi Don Levy

I sometimes joke that during the period of about three weeks starting with the first of Tishri, we Jews easily succumb to ‘Religion Fatigue.’  Starting with Rosh Hashanah and ending with Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah, with Yom Kippur and Sukkot in between.  We have what amount to four major festival days of obligation.  Each has its own theme, its own feel, and its own rituals.  Its own joys.  To miss any one of them, to let it pass by without celebrating or observing it, is to miss an opportunity for a wonderful and meaningful occasion.  So why would one ignore one of these major festivals?  Religion Fatigue.  We get tired of coming to the synagogue, tired of seeing the same people yet again, tired of ‘being good.’  Tired of the rabbi’s sermons.  Tired of re-organizing our daily and weekly routines to fit the once-per-year marathon of festivals.

It’s ‘worse’ in Orthodox and Conservative Judaism, you know!  They still double the days of the festivals.  This is a holdover from the ancient times when word of the sighting of the New Moon in Jerusalem could not quickly reach diaspora communities.  At the same time, astronomical calculations were not so precise as today.  A New Moon could be predicted only within a span of two days.  So outside of the Land of Israel, when the New Moon in Jerusalem determined the exact times to observe the festivals, they were done for two days to make sure the community observed it on the correct day, which would be one of the two.  Why, after all would the community want to risk inadvertently transgressing G-d’s law by observing the festival on the wrong day?  The second day was a safeguard against that possibility.

Fast forward to the Nineteenth Century.  Removal of the second day of festivals was one of the first reforms enacted within the movement which came to be known as Reform Judaism, the spiritual forebear of our Progressive Judaism.  The reformers realized they didn’t need the second day to make sure the congregation would get the ‘right’ day.  By that time, the science of astronomical calculation had advanced to where the New Moon could be predicted years in advance, and very precisely.  At the same time, it was noted that the second days of festivals were often burdensome to members of the community who had a pay check to earn, a business to run, a profession to practice.  Going back to the period in Tishri, it meant four days of lost work – and four days when one must knock off somewhat early to prepare.  This, rather than eight days plus lost in most years.  Since we’re not reclusive and must function in the greater world, it made perfect sense.

The more traditionalist versions of Judaism retained the second day.  The rationale was that, even if it is no longer a necessary step to make sure we observe the correct day, it is after all a tradition!  Additionally, as my Orthodox colleagues like to say, we’re not living in the Land of Israel.  We therefore need the extra spiritual lift that the extra day provides.  Want to see how many Jews think they need an additional day’s ‘spiritual lift’?  Attend an Orthodox congregation on the second day of Rosh Hashanah.  They’ll be glad you did; you’ll help them to make a minyan, since most of their members are not present after the first day.

But before you accuse me of criticising Orthodox Judaism, understand that that is not my intent here.  I’m only making a statement about us Jews and our lack of sitzfleisch.  We can only sit in shul so many hours.  We get Religion Fatigue.  This fact transcends ‘denominational’ lines! 

In this morning’s reading from Parashat Pinchas, I read of the sacrifices to be offered in the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary, for weekdays, Sabbaths and New Moons.  When King Solomon built the Beit Mikdash, the permanent Temple on Mount Zion, the rituals until-then associated with the Mishkan were transferred to that venue.  When the Beit Mikdash was destroyed, these sacrifices went away…at least until sometime in the future when the Temple may be rebuilt.  Most of us in this room this morning are not waiting ‘with bated breath’ for that to happen.  Even the great Rambam, Moses Maimonides who lived in the 12^th century and died in 1204 of the Common Era did not.  He suggested that the cultus of priests and sacrifices was a transitionary phase.  He thought it was intended to take us from ancient pagan worship to the ‘pure’ ‘sacrifice of the heart’ – prayer and worship as we know it.  But that’s another sermon, for another day…

Since we no longer offer the kinds of sacrifices detailed in today’s reading, how are we to benefit from this reading?  Obviously, in a historical context.  Our reading of it connects us to what our distant ancestors did, even if we’re no longer doing it.

Our ancestors celebrated joyously when the New Moon appeared.  Most of us today, if we’re not fishermen or farmers, barely notice the cycles of the moon.  They have very little to do with our day-to-day reality in our mechanized, hermetically-sealed worlds.  Not so our ancient forebears.  In the pagan times that predated the development of the worship of the One G-d – the religion that came to be known as Judaism – the people were thankful for the appearance of the New Moon.  It meant that the light that brought a certain comfort in the night was not going to be snuffed out.  The appearance of the New Moon gave them renewed hope that life would continue.

Although the era of Torah took away that fear that the waning moon heralded the end of the world, we know that old habits die hard.  So the Torah commanded offerings of thanksgiving upon the appearance of the New Moon.  As the message of Torah began to really sink in, the reason for celebrating the New Moon shifted.  All the festivals are calculated by the appearance of the New Moon.  Therefore, each New Moon’s appearance heralds the coming of the festive days that will occur in that month.

There are no festive days in the month that will begin with the appearance of the New Moon on this coming Friday.  The New Moon that we just announced before we put the Torah away.  This will be the New Moon of Av.  Av is the month on whose ninth day we observe a fast for a string of tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people on the same date in various years of history.  The Ninth of Av – Tish B’Av – occurs on the 29^th of July this year.  But more about that next week.

So Rosh Chodesh – the New Moon festival – helps to being us a sense of Chadash – newness – as we mark the passage of time.  The Jewish calendar is like life itself – joyous occasions alternating with sad occasions.  Together they form the rhythm that is the cycle of the year – the cycle of our lives.

Celebration of Rosh Chodesh has fallen into obscurity in much of the Jewish world today.  But there are progressive congregations that have reclaimed it.  In many places it has been re-invented as specifically a women’s holiday.  Why so?  For reasons that I need not get into, cycles of the month are seem as symbolic of women’s reality.  When Aaron and the people Israel were sinning by putting their precious metals together to craft the Golden Calf, the women of Israel steadfastly refused to willingly give up their gold ornaments.  At least, there is a Midrash that informs us of this.  Now, if you ask me, I don’t think the women were so afraid of sin…I think they were just unwilling to give up their jewellery!  But be that as it may.  From this narrative tradition, and the symbolic connection of monthly cycles with the female body, comes a custom.  The custom is to declare Rosh Chodesh a ‘women’s holiday,’ a day when women are not obligated to do any work and when they can relax and celebrate.  Many congregations have created women’s Rosh Chodesh groups for worship, study and fellowship.  Is this something that could take hold here?

So we read of the Rosh Chodesh offerings today.  On this Shabbat when we announce the coming of Rosh Chodesh Av this coming Friday.  The message, to me, is this.  Celebrating Rosh Chodesh, the New Moon needn’t be a ‘lost’ ritual.  Even if our concerns are not the same as those of our ancient forebears, we can find a rationale to stop our busy routines and mark its passage.  We might use it as a reminder of the lives of our distant ancestors.  Or we might use it to create new and meaningful ways to celebrate our lives today.  Either way, we do well by not succumbing to Religion Fatigue, throwing up our hands, and shouting, Enough!

Rosh Chodesh informs us that all which is stale can be as new.  We can breathe new life into ancient customs.  Next week, with Temple Shalom’s AGM behind us, we can commit ourselves anew to the life of our community.  Instead of perpetually looking back, we can look forward.  Even as the New Moon informed the ancients that life would not end anytime soon, we can take comfort that we are not through yet.  We can move forward from strength to strength.  May G-d grant us the vision to make it so.  May the coming Rosh Chodesh serve as a reminder of the possibilities, with which G-d has blessed us.  Shabbat shalom!