When You Believe: A Drash for Shabbat Shirah, Friday 30 January 2015

Ever seen Jews march in such an orderly fashion?
I haven't...

I like to tell about how my faith developed.  I started out as an absolute rationalist.  To me, ‘faith’ was not about belief at all, but about intellect.  ‘Jewish Faith’ meant having enough of a grasp of the principles, philosophies, and history of Judaism, to where one could participate with competence.  And speak with authority.

          Along the way, experiences added to make me understand that it’s not all rational.  There were many stages along the way.

          Once, a Christian colleague, a female evangelical pastor, reminded me of Genesis 15.6:  Abraham believed Hashem, and he credited it to him as righteousness.  In other words, belief = righteousness.  We had been having a discussion, okay perhaps an argument, about the centrality of faith.

          I dismissed my colleague’s point.  The Hebrew ‘he’emin,’ in my colleague’s NIV Bible as ‘believed’ more properly means, ‘was faithful’ as in ‘was steadfast.’  I felt really clever.  In retrospect, I should have felt glib.

          Because ‘he’emin’ really does mean ‘he believed.’  There is righteousness in belief.  But in our rationalism we are so afraid of irrational faith that we rebel against the idea.  Judaism is not a religion that requires irrational faith of us.

          And I stand by that view.  But just because something isn’t rational, does not mean that it is irrational.  The opposite of rational is arational.  This isn’t semantics.  Irrational means contrary to rational.  That is, in opposition of that rationality might argue.  Arational on the other hand, simply means, not dependent on rationality.  And that’s a big difference.  Jewish faith is never irrational.  But it is often arational.

There is a delightful, and instructional, midrash on this week’s Torah portion.  This week’s portion is Beshallach, in which appears the Song of the Sea.  This is the Israelites’ song, celebrating their rescue when the Red Sea parted for them yet closed in on the pursuing Egyptians.  We’re very familiar with a couple of lines of the song, because we sing them in every service:  Mi chamocha b’eilim Adoshem; Mi kamocha nedar bakodesh; Adoshem yimlock le’olam va’ed.

Well, the midrash tells us that the Israelites stood at the shore of the sea looking at the deep before them, aware of the advancing Egyptians, and despaired.  But one man, Nachshon ben Aminadav, had the faith to step into the waters.  And when he did – only when he did – the sea parted for the Israelites to pass through.

There are a number of important lessons to be learned from this midrash.  For one, Hashem provides miracles, but it is not until we recognize and accept them, that they do us any good.  This reminds me of the story of the man who drowned in the floodwaters when Hurricane Katrina drowned New Orleans.  First there was ample warning over the radio and television, not to mention loudspeaker trucks cruising around the city’s residential neighbourhoods advising residents to evacuate.  But this man did not.  “G-d will save me,” he said.  When the floodwaters began rising, the Coast Guard came around in a boat, urging residents to hop aboard and be saved. “G-d will save me,” the man said.  As the waters continued to rise, an Army helicopter came around looking for people to save.  The man did not signal for the helicopter. “G-d will save me,” he said.  Finally, the waters completely engulfed his house.  As he was about to drown, he upbraided G-d. “Why didn’t You save me??!” he demanded.  And G-d answered with a shrug: “I sent you advance warnings.  Then I sent you a boat.  Then I sent you a helicopter.  What else was I supposed to do??!”

Jewish audiences love this story, because it points out that faith, in the end, is rational.  But what it also points out is that, at some point, you have to believe.  You have to believe that G-d will save you.  Only then will you be ready to recognise and accept salvation when it comes.  The man in the story, although he kept repeating “G-d will save me,” didn’t really believe it.

It’s like in the 21^st chapter of Genesis, where Hagar is despairing because her son, Ishmael is about to die of thirst in the desert.  The Torah tells us that Hashem opened her eyes, and she saw a nearby spring whose water kept them alive.  The implication is that the spring was there all the time.  Hagar only had to have enough faith to actually see it, for it to save them.

When the movie The Prince of Egypt came out, I like many others watched in wonderment as our Jewish story came alive in a big-budget animated production on the big screen.  But some of my more-rationally minded colleagues felt the need to nitpick the film.  Among the parts they didn’t like was the central song, When You Believe, which later became a hit recorded by Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey.  There can be miracles when you believe, to some rabbis, was not only simplistic but smacked of Christian faith more than Jewish.  Whilst the debate raged, I felt a bit self-conscious.  I’d been moved by hearing the little girl sing sweetly ashira ladoshem ki ga-oh ga’ah / Mi chamocha ba’eilim Adoshem / Mi kamocha nedar bakodesh.  Wow!  I’d thought.  The entire world is hearing the words of our central text, sung in Hebrew on the big screen.  I’d been so moved that the theological difficulties of the song went right over my head!

But of course, there were no theological difficulties presented by the song.  If it resonated, that’s because it should!  There can be miracles when we believe.  If we refuse to believe, we close ourselves off to the miracles that surround us.  Shabbat shalom.

What’s Your Story? A Drash for Parashat Bo, 23 January 2015

In Jewish life, narratives are important.  We understand the centrality of Telling our Story.  That’s why we gather every year for Passover, to recount our deliverance from slavery to freedom.  That’s why we read the Torah publicly, every year, through the Shabbat morning readings.  By repeating the story again and again, we inscribe it indelibly in our consciousness.  We make it our own.

In his drash this week, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks points out that in American civic life, the story, the words, is the key.  He points out how, in all the important monuments in Washington DC, the walls of the structures are covered with the words of the person memorialised therein.  He explains how this shows that, for his American cousins who see themselves as a Covenant People, the Story is key.  For each person remembered as great, their words are presented as proof of that greatness.  Their words tell that person’s Story.  They offer an important glimpse into the person’s thinking that caused them to rise to greatness.  In egalitarian America, these words are key.

Rabbi Sacks also points out that, in his native Great Britain, the monuments do not display the subjects’ words.  In all cases he cites, the only words inscribed on the monuments, are the person’s name.  In the case of Churchill, the inscription does not even include his given name!  His surname is enough to identify him.  Nelson Mandela and David Lloyd George apparently needed their given names.  Not mentioned by Rabbi Sacks, on one of London’s monuments the words of the subject are inscribed – on Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square.  There, one finds: “England expects every man will do his duty.”  I’m guessing Nelson said this to his crew as the battle of Trafalgar began.  But Rabbi Sacks’ word are well-taken; in memorialising her heroes, the British Empire has a different approach than the United States, where Rabbi Sacks now lives.  He asserts that this difference is attributable to the British seeing their country as a bastion of tradition and place.  This is, of course very different from the national self-image in America.

Earlier this week, the world witnessed a particular American ritual where the national story – according to the sitting president – is told.  In the annual State of the Union Address, the President tells the national story and lays out his vision for the year to come.  It’s a very intricately choreographed ritual, with accepted tropes.

This weekend, we will celebrate Australia Day.  The celebration resembles the American way of Telling the National Story, more than the British way which assumes the Story is not the key thing.  Over the last few days, individuals being honoured with nominations for the Australian of the Year Awards, have been showcased on the ABC.  The use of these people’s stories to tell the greater National Story hints to me, that Australia’s self-image more resembles America’s than Great Britain’s.  Australia’s national conscious requires the use of individual narrative in a way similar to the way that America’s leads her to preserve not only the deeds, but the words of those seen as exemplars of the national spirit.

In Judaism, and in the national civic life of the USA and of Australia, we understand the importance of narrative.  To the point that in all three places, we preserve and repeat the words of those who have come before us.  The words are so powerful.  They are themselves, witnesses to the greatness of the nation.

How unfortunate that many individuals waste words in the spreading of gossip.  Gossip is almost always injurious to its subject, whether intended that way or not.  I can tell you how gossip with me as its subject has affected me recently.  I mention this not to whinge and say, Woe to Me.  Rather, I mention it to illustrate the danger of the practice of spreading rumour.

During our recent absence of three weeks from the Gold Coast, I’m aware that there were rumours flying around that I was looking for a job in the USA.  This, to ‘rescue’ us from Australia.  So let me lay the rumour to rest:  I did not go job hunting during my recent visit home.  We went to visit our children, my mother, and my siblings…period.  If we leave Australia in the near future, it will not be because I’ve lined up a job in the USA, or anywhere else.  It will be – iff we should happen to leave Australia – because of visa issues.  Period.

Associated with the above rumour, was that I was expected to make a Big Announcement last Friday evening at this service.  Presumably, it would be the announcement that Clara and I would be leaving Australia because I’d taken a job elsewhere.  So of course, last week there was no such announcement forthcoming.  Perhaps whoever was propagating this rumour now feels silly for having done so.  And will use that silly feeling as a motivator to avoid spreading rumours next time.  And I use the term ‘silly’ because in this case, the rumour was not ill-intentioned, and its negative effect would appear to have been limited.

But many rumours are spread maliciously, the information contained in them being not only false but adverse and spread solely for the purpose of discrediting he subject person.  Once again, I can give a personal example – one of a rumour about me that is circulating right now.  Apparently it is being said by someone in the local community, that Rabbi Levy is un-kosher because he apparently cannot read from the Torah.  Now it may very well be, that the person spreading this rumour is not aware that I’ve read Torah publicly, countless times during my time on the Gold Coast.  But the person, to whom the rumour was repeated – and who reported its propagation to me – certainly is aware and has witnessed my reading Torah any number of times.  I don’t mention names and specifics because I do not want to publicly shame anybody here, only to illustrate the dangers of gossip.  You can see the dangers inherent when people gossip-monger.  It is therefore everybody’s responsibility to put a stop to the practice.  First, to learn to hold one’s own tongue.  And second, when on the receiving end, to rebuke the person spreading the rumour.  Especially when the person on the receiving end is actually in the position to dispute the rumour factually.

To illustrate how easy it is to fall into the trap of spreading, and responding to gossip, I must relate a true story that occurred yesterday and today, and which embarrasses me.  Someone offered a piece of juicy gossip about another person in the community.  I didn’t object or rebuke, because it was something I already knew – so no harm done.  But this morning, the person phoned me and apologised for saying it.  They were entirely sincere in repenting of what they’d said.  But in truth, I was the culprit because I hadn’t even gently rebuked them at the time.

Everybody has been asked, and probably many times, What’s Your Story?  There’s a loaded question!  It might be asked to mediate a dispute between two parties.  Or by a magistrate trying to arbit a lawsuit.  Or simply by a friend, trying to get to the bottom of a rumour.  It can be asked ironically, the emphasis on Your implying that the person’s version of the story is understood from the get-go to be not true.  It can be asked in frustration, in trying to get to the bottom of some matter.  It can be asked in amusement.  It can be a clever pick-up line in a singles’ bar…not that I’ve used it in that way, at least not recently!  Or, it can be asked with none of the above baggage.  It can imply that each one of us, in recounting any particular events, has a unique view based on the facts as we’ve observed them, as well as the particular ‘baggage’ that we bring to our view of those facts.

Each one of us has his or her individual Story.  And our nations have their collective Story.  That includes the Jewish Nation.  We repeat Our Story every year, lest we forget it.  We repeat Our Story each year, lest it cease to define us.  We repeat Our Story every year, lest we lose our sense of collective purpose.

Let’s dedicate ourselves anew to the re-telling of Our Story whenever the opportunity presents itself.  Perhaps if we do so, we will lack the time and energy to spread, or give ear to, “stories.”  Think about it.  Shabbat shalom.

Five Important Lessons

Day after day, people forward to me interesting e-mails that someone forwarded to them.  Those that are jokes, sometimes elicit a chuckle but more often are crude.  Those that are inspirational stories, sometimes elicit a smile but are seldom worth passing on.  This one was.  These five stories were so moving to me that I wanted to pass them on here.  One would hope that they're true stories, but even if they're only apocryphal, they still present important lessons for life. 1 - First Important Lesson - Cleaning Lady. During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade. "Absolutely, " said the professor.. "In your careers, you will meet many people.  All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say "hello." I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.  2. - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain  One night, at 11:30 p.m., an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960's. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxicab. She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read: "Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits.  Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's' bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others." Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole.  3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those who serve.  In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" he asked. "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it. "Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?" he inquired. By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she brusquely replied. The little boy again counted his coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left.  When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table.  There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies. You see,  he couldn't  have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.  4 - Fourth Important Lesson. - The obstacle in Our Path.  In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway.  Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock.  Some of the king's' wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply walked around it.  Many loudly blamed the king for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way. Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables.  Upon approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway.  The peasant learned what many of us never understand! Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.  5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts....  Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare & serious disease.  Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.  The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes I'll do it if it will save her."  As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?" Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her.

Je Suis…Qui? A Drash for Friday, 16 January 2015

My blog has been quiet for several weeks as I've been on holiday.  I offer you the following thoughts for this week...

Muslim Terrorist after shooting spree at Charlie Hebdo

Being a rabbi is similar to other occupations, in that there are specific tasks I’m called upon to do that are easy.  There are other tasks that are difficult.  And there are still other tasks that are downright impossible.

          The impossible tasks mostly have to do with bringing comfort to people in extreme situations.  How is it possible, for example, to bring comfort to someone who has just lost a revered parent or a beloved spouse or partner?  It can be utterly impossible.  And if so, how much more impossible to bring comfort when a parent has to bury their child?  When faced with such a task, I pray for words that will bring comfort.  But usually, the best that I can offer is a pathetic, “I’m sorry.”

          Another impossible task is to bring comfort or meaning when a public act of evil brings death and suffering.  An example was when I stood before my congregation at the US Air Force Academy on Rosh Hashanah in the year 2001.  It was only six days after the attacks of September 11^th 2001.  I had completed my sermons for all the services weeks earlier.  I’m guessing they were good sermons; I’m told that I’m not a bad preacher!  But I have no memory as to what they said.  My congregation never even heard them.  Instead I stood, dumbfounded as to what I might say to bring some sense to the events of the previous week.  I asked my congregants’ forgiveness for my inadequacy, and I then offered them a chance to vent their own feelings.  And then I continued with the service, asking G-d to give us a repentant heart that we might find renewal in that difficult time.

          This week might have been another such occasion.  Last week, whilst Clara and I were in Colorado, another act of terror shook the world.  Everybody knows the sequence of events.  On Wednesday morning, two Muslim terrorists killed 12 innocent people in and around the offices of the weekly satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo, meaning ‘Charlie Weekly,’ in Paris.  By the time the drama reached its conclusion on Friday afternoon, 17 innocents were dead including four patrons at a crowded kosher supermarket in central Paris.

          As I said, this might have been one of those occasions when I had little or nothing to say.  This is the first Shabbat in Australia, since the violent conclusion of the Paris massacres.  But it wasn’t really a shock.  It came only weeks after the December Martin Place killings in Sydney.  And in the wake of numerous atrocities committed in recent months by ISIS in Syria and Iraq, and Boko Harem in Nigeria.  And the attack on the Jewish museum in Belgium, back in May.

          I don’t have any words of comfort tonight, but perhaps I can help make sense of what is happening in the world.  I can only cry “Nonsense!” to the notion that anything that any of the victims did, caused the violent attacks.  So what that the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo lampooned the Prophet Muhamad and various Islamic leaders?  That’s why they died a violent death?  Did any of the four victims of the Hyper-Cacher siege draw cartoons insulting to Muslims?  No, the only thing they were drawing was breath, until their lives were snuffed out.  Their only ‘offence’ was that they were Jews. 

We have to stop drawing these false cause-and-effect relationships regarding Muslim terror.  We must recognize them for what they are.  They are part of a long campaign by elements of Islam, to conquer and subdue the Western countries that have given them sanctuary.

          Pope Francis disappointed me when he equivocated on the Charlie Hebdo killings.  He condemned them, but then he softened the condemnation by criticising Charlie’s lampooning of Muhamad.  This Pope has been lauded for many words and acts in his short tenure as pontiff.  But here, he missed an opportunity to offer moral clarity. As did Muslim leaders, failing to effectively counter the fulminations of the clerics who warned of additional violence if the mocking of Muhamad doesn’t stop.

Should we look upon all Muslims with suspicion, hold them at arm’s length?  No.  But in any case, holding them at arm’s length would be redundant in that the Muslims in Australia tend mostly to keep to themselves.  And that’s unfortunate.

          I’ve had a few close associations with a few Muslims since 9-11.  When they complained to me about Muslims and Islam being largely mis-understood by their neighbours, I told them as gently as I could that to stop playing the victim.  Stop denying that in Islam there is a hatred of the West even whilst enjoying its freedom and prosperity.  Muslims might encourage one another to forge close associations with their non-Muslim neighbours.  And ask for help in learning the ways of the host society.  And be ready and willing to condemn elements in Islam which commit atrocities.  During the Martin Place siege I thought about how powerful it might have been if Muslims had spontaneously gathered on the street outside the Lindt Café – or as close as the police would have allowed them – holding signs saying “Not in My Name.”  There are Muslims who speak out.  But there are not enough.  And sometimes, too often, they sound less than unequivocal.

          Yes, that’s a big responsibility to ask of everyday Muslims.  Not everybody is up to it.  But think of what a powerful witness it would be.  And think of the confidence it would help foster, iff it were combined with more conversations and interactions with their non-Muslim neighbours.

          What a gesture it would be if we, as a group, would reach out in friendship to a Muslim congregation in our city.  I hesitate to ask us to, only because our group is small and lacks self-confidence at this point.  But imagine how powerful it would be!  I can tell you that just ‘up the road’ from us, in Toowoomba, there is a lot of reaching out across religious lines, and it serves that city well.  How much better a place the Gold Coast would be if it were happening here as well.

          Last week, in the wake of the death and destruction visited upon their city, Parisians began appearing in public loudly proclaiming, and wearing buttons, saying “Je suis Charlie”; I am Charlie.  The cry was taken up outside France, notably among certain Hollywood personalities.  At a mass rally in Paris on Sunday, the buttons were very much in evidence.  It would have been nice see a significant contingent of Muslims at the rally, wearing the buttons.  There were too few.  It would have been nice to also see buttons proclaiming, “Je Suis Hyper-cacher.”  The attack on Charlie Hebdo, reveals the intolerance of much of the Muslim world.  The attack on Hyper-cacher reveals its anti-Semitism.  An opportunity to proclaim a different course, was lost.  Shabbat shalom.