Open Your Eyes and You Shall See: A Reflection for Parashat Vayeira, Saturday, 31 October 2015

You’ve heard the expression, there is none so blind…as he that will not see.  Ray Stevens made the declaration in his 1970 song, Everything is Beautiful.  The expression points out that we have a habit of closing our own eyes and therefore missing opportunities.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve missed seeing something that was right in front of my face.  But I didn’t see it, because I wasn’t looking for it.  Or perhaps, I had let my despair of the moment cloud my vision.

          Criminal investigators will tell you that eyewitness accounts of events are the most unreliable in trials.  Their eyes fail them, or they simply filter what they do see through their unique prejudices.  Through the lens of their preconceived notions.  Everybody involved in criminal justice learns to fear the declaration, I saw it with my own eyes.

In more traditional congregations, two days of Rosh Hashanah are observed.  The Torah portion for the first day is the 21^st chapter of the book of Genesis.  The reading for the second day is the 22^nd chapter of Genesis.  In less traditional congregations, where only one day is observed, the reading for that day is typically the 22^nd chapter.

          Genesis 22 is therefore the better-known of the two readings.  And that’s not a bad thing.  It is, of course, the narrative of the binding of Isaac.  The story that is considered of central importance for defining Hashem, the G-d of Israel.  And distinguishing Him from the gods of the ancient pagan cults.  This G-d made it clear through the experience of Abraham and Isaac, that a totally new order had been decreed. That the age of human sacrifice was finished.  What could be more central to the Jewish worldview?

          But Genesis 21, included in today’s Torah reading, gives us an important glimpse into a critical aspect of human nature.  It’s also an important message to get every year as we enter the New Year.  It’s a message of hope, but it’s even more than that.  It’s the message that success is in front of our faces, if we will only allow ourselves to see it.  

It’s the narrative of the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael, from the household of Abraham.  As we remember, G-d promised Abraham and Sarah a child in their old age.  But Sarah didn’t believe it would happen.  How could it?  She was in her 80’s when the promise was made.  Abraham was in his 90’s.  The Torah tells us that, when G-d’s messenger bought this promise to them, חדל להיות לשרה ארח במשים.  In other words, she was well beyond menopause.  But when she laughed at the notion that she would have a child, she expressed it in terms of Abraham’s incapacity: ואדוני זקן - My husband is OLD!  Now this was pre-Viagra, but even an old man can sometimes surprise you.  On the other hand…a woman’s menses are a prerequisite for her getting pregnant.  So Sarah sent her handmaiden, Hagar, to Abraham’s bed and Hagar conceived, and delivered, Ishmael.

          But then – surprise of surprises! – G-d’s promise came to pass.  Sarah did conceive, and she gave birth to Isaac.  So there were two boys playing around in the camp, Ishmael and Isaac.  And every time Sarah saw Ishmael, or heard his squeals of joy, it was a stinging rebuke because she had not believed in G-d’s promise.  So great was her continued distress, that she asked Abraham to send Hagar and the boy away.  She needed peace, even if that meant she would lose the services of her maidservant.

          So Abraham set Hagar and Ishmael on a journey to Hagar’s people in Egypt.  He gave them provisions and directions.  Hagar was greatly distressed, as one would imagine.  It was not only the stress of the journey.  She also felt a loss that she had not born the heir to Abraham’s legacy, as Sarah had promised her.  She was so upset that she could not function.  When the provisions ran out, she sat down on the ground and sent her son away.  She cried out to G-d, saying she didn’t want to see her son die of thirst in the desert.

          Now G-d had told Hagar that He’d blessed Ishmael, and he was not going to die as a child in the desert.  But Hagar in her misery refused to believe it, just as Sarah had refused to believe she would conceive.  G-d comforted her.  And our reading informs us:  ויפקח אלקים את-עיניה ותרא באר מים – So G-d opened her eyes, and she saw a water spring.  We need to listen closely to this, because the Torah is not being elliptical here.  Hear it literally:  she saw a water spring.  Not, G-d provided a water spring.  The spring was there all along.  But Hagar in her misery did not see it, right there in front of her eyes.

          I don’t know about you, but I sometimes behave like Hagar.  I allow my misery of the moment to close my eyes so that I miss what is simply there in front of them.  We all do this at times.  Each one of us has, at one time or another, allowed ourselves a deep funk that denied us a clear vision of the means of success.  I’m not talking simple optimism and pessimism.  I’m talking a deep despair that clouds our vision…and clouds our thinking.  Hagar had descended into that despair. 

Some people seem to be perpetually beset by it.  Everybody knows someone who is so pessimistic that they go through life lashing out at everybody and everything for denying them the happiness and the success that they deserve.  When, all along, the means to that happiness and success are right in front of their eyes.  Most of us are not thus.  We fall for it on occasion, not constantly.  But occasionally, or constantly…there is an antidote.

          And that antidote is to believe!  Just because things aren’t presently working out in the way you wish for, is no reason to allow a darkness to cast a pall upon your whole world.  Once Hagar was able to look beyond her distress and disappointment, she saw the means to salvation that had been there all along.  We, too.  When we learn to take a deep breath and open our eyes to what’s in front of our faces, we can step out of the despair brought on by any failure or disappointment.  And we can move forward.  To happiness.  And success.  Shabbat shalom. 

Try to Get Out of Dodge: A Reflection for Parashat Vayeira, Friday 30 October 2015

In our time, right now as we sit in all our comforts, hundreds of thousands of refugees are on the move.  Mainly from Syria and Iraq, Afghanistan and Eretria.  Lands riven by civil war and insurgency.  A flow of humanity is on the move.  A human tsunami.  Through Turkey and across the Aegean Sea to Greece.  Up the Balkan Peninsula.  And, from the shores of Libya to Lampedusa and other islands to Italy.  In almost all cases, their goal is the Heart of Europe.  Especially Germany, whose very welcome refugee policy is a legacy of its role as occupier and conqueror in the last century.

Tempers are flaring all over.  The refugees are themselves unruly.  There have been documented cases of them acting not like a tidal wave but as a mob.  They have destroyed food and water given to them by relief agencies, because it wasn’t to their liking for one reason or another.  The refugees fight one another, they fight the authorities, and they refuse efforts to encamp them in an orderly manner.  They only want to reach the countries of Northern Europe.  The countries with the strongest social safety nets.  With the most benefits for refugees.

          In those countries, including Germany, Great Britain, and the Scandinavian lands, there is a rising tide of sentiment against giving the refugees a home.  The numbers of overwhelming, to the point where they threaten to stretch to the breaking point the very safety net that attracts them.  Additionally, the refugees are Muslims.  The presence of large numbers of Muslims in these countries has changed societal dynamics.  And many veteran citizens believe, not for the better.  The newcomers are deeply devoted to their religion, which is seen as an alien force in these historically Christian, and now almost entirely secular lands.  There have been outbreaks of violence by the Muslims as young people, unable or unwilling to assimilate, fall prey to opportunistic jihadist factions.  The Europeans already feel that they’ve lost control of their destiny, and now a flooding tide of refugees threatens to further overwhelm them.

          The other night, Clara and I were watching a television program on ABC, about the refugees in Europe.  It tried to put a good face on the Germans.  It showed how protesting mobs are putting pressure on the Bundesrat to unseat Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany and her Christian Democratic Union, whose hold on the government a few months ago was quite secure.  And the program also showed how everyday Germans are reaching out to the newcomers with little acts of kindness.

Since I’ve gone on at considerable length about the refugees in Europe, you’re probably guessing that I’m about to make a statement of either solidarity or revulsion.  With either the refugees themselves or the Europeans.  If so, I’m afraid that you’re going to be disappointed if you were looking forward to hearing my stance.  Or, relieved if you were dreading my stance.  Because I’m not a political scientist.  I’m a Rabbi.  My expertise isn’t in judging the good or bad in great movements of people.  Rather, it’s in the texts of classical Judaism.  And the lesson they come to teach.

One of those texts is the Mishnah.  Tractate Avot is arguably the best-known part of the Mishnah.  Actually, it’s arguably one of the best-known classical Jewish texts, period.  So in Avot, we find the following good advice.  במקום שאין אנשים, תשתדל לצאת משם.  Translated loosely, it means:  In a place where there are no human beings, try to get the heck out of Dodge.

Okay, okay!  I lied!  Actually, the Mishnah advises:  במקום שאין אנשים תשתדל להיות איש.  In a place where there are no human beings, strive to be human.  Although it might not be clear from the Hebrew, ‘human beings’ in this context does not mean simply units of the species homo sapiens.  Rather, it means good people.  People who act human:  that is, in the way that a good person acts.  The Hebrew ish/person here is used in the same that, in Yiddish, we use the word mentsch.  Strictly speaking, it means a person.  But it has come to mean…a person.

So the Mishnah’s counsel is clear.  Whenever you find yourself in a place where people are cruel and inhuman, the solution is to try ever harder to act out of your own humanity.  But human history has taught us that sometimes, when we’re surrounded by inhumanity, we cannot make a notable difference by working harder to act human.  Take Lot, Abraham’s nephew.

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayeira, we see Abraham arguing with G-d for the people of Sodom and Gemorrah.  G-d has told him that he’s going to destroy the cities, whose wickedness has come to G-d’s attention.  Abraham argues, so to speak, with G-d against destroying the good with the bad.  Abraham manages to get G-d to agree that, if ten righteous men can be found amongst the inhabitants of the cities, He will spare the cities from destruction for the sake of those ten.  After concluding this agreement, Abraham walks away, secure in the belief that he has saved the cities.  G-d goes on to destroy the cities, secure in the knowledge that there are no ten righteous men.

But there is Lot, Abraham’s nephew.  G-d doesn’t forget Lot.  He sends His angels to Sodom to test Lot’s righteousness against the wickedness of the place.  Found to have merit, he is told to get the heck out of Dodge.

Why do G-d’s angels give Lot the opposite advice that the Mishnah gives?  Because there are limits to what one righteous man – or woman – can achieve in a place where wickedness is so prevalent that ten righteous ones cannot be found.  The Mishnah’s counsel assumes that one person’s attempts to transcend the un-righteousness of the place will resonate against others.  Will inspire them to act more righteous.  But the behavior of the Sodomites, towards the angels who were clearly not recognizable as other than normal travelers, proves that Lot could not even begin to make a difference.  Lot had clearly tried.  He remained amongst the Sodomites in hopes of bringing Goodness to the wicked.  He was clearly following the sage advice that was later published in the Mishnah, but which is a cornerstone principle he would have known.  But the angels’ mission was to show him the futility of his quest.  And escort him and his family to safety.

   In this context, we can understand the impetus of many, to stay put and try to improve things when darkness descends over their country.  Who look out and see that there are no human beings.  Or perhaps, there are people who are afraid to be human beings.  And are waiting to be inspired by the one person who is willing to stand up to tyranny.

And we can also understand why others can’t see any alternative to getting the heck out of Dodge.  Whose despair over surviving the tyranny that surrounds them is too overwhelming.  Who pack up their meager belongings and hit the road.

We, the West, did not act to help the Syrians and others to overcome and push back the darkness that had descended upon their lands.  Perhaps we didn’t possess the means.  Perhaps we didn’t possess the will.  Now, hundreds of thousands of refugees are on the move.  Another mess in the world.  More human suffering.  G-d, give us the wisdom to react in ways that protect our own world.  And which express our highest human ideals.  For the sake of Your world.  For the sake off Your Name.  Shabbat shalom.

Yer Outta Heah! A Reflection for Parashat Lech Lecha, Friday 23 October 2015

I’m half Brooklynite.  My mother was born and raised in Flatbush.  That’s the real Brooklyn.  Not Williamsburg, the Brooklyn of the Satmarer.  Nor Crown Heights, the Brooklyn of the Chabadniks.  Nor Boro Park, the Brooklyn of the misdnagdim.  Nor Park Slope, the Brooklyn of the Yuppies.  I’m kidding about all the above not being the real Brooklyn!  Those neighbourhoods, and others, are part and parcel of the incredible mosaic of cultures that is New York City’s most populous borough.  If Brooklyn were its own city, it would have more than 2.6 million people.

          Billy Joel famously sang that he was in a New York state of mind.  Barbra Streisand made the most famous and soulful recording of the song.  But to New Yorkers in general, Brooklyn represents a unique state of mind.  It’s more brash, rougher around the edges, more in-your-face than the vibe of the city’s other boroughs.  It’s really the most ‘New Yawk-ish’ of New York’s five boroughs.  And Brooklyn has its own unique dialect of New York-ese.  Hey, you!  Yeah, you!  I’m talkin ta you!  One time, I made a joke about the different voices one can program into a satnav unit.  In America, the standard voice says, “Missed turn; recalculating.”  The Australian version is more polite.  It doesn’t even point out that you erred; it just tells you:  “Recalculating.”  The Brooklyn version is far less polite.  It tells you: “Hey, You!  You missed yer turn!  Go back!”  Okay, in actuality there would be at least three expletives in the pronouncement…

          Once, I told the joke about the Brooklynese satnav to my mother.  She rubbed her chin and said:  “That doesn’t sound Brooklynese.  That sounds Eye-talian.”  And maybe she has something there.  The stereotypical soul of Brooklyn, the one we saw in Saturday Night Fever, is after all heavily influenced by the profusion of working-class ethnic Italians in the borough…

          Probably no pronouncement better illustrates the Brooklyn state of mind, and the Brooklynese dialect, than the way a Brooklynite would tell someone to go away.  Hey!  Yer outta heah!

Since I began trying to explain the meanings in the Torah portions to my students and my communities, I have struggled with how to explain the words Lech Lecha.  In the opening phrases of this week’s portion, we read:  ויאמר יי אל אברם לך לך מארצך וממולדתך ומבית אביך אל הארץ אשר אראך…Hashem said to Abram:  lech lecha from your country, from the land of your birth, from the house of your father, to the land I will show you.  Lech Lecha is usually taken to mean literally, “go for yourself.”  In other words, “go for your own benefit.”

But that, at least on the surface, makes little sense.  Abram’s calling was not just for himself.  It was much bigger.  Abram’s calling was for the purpose of founding a people who would be privileged to serve G-d in the unique role of a nation of priests, a light to the nations.  They would ultimately be given the Torah as a repository of wisdom for the benefit of all of humanity.  So Abram’s need to roll on out of Haran wasn’t only for himself…not by a longshot.  Translating lech lecha as “go for yourself, go for your own benefit” just doesn’t seem to capture the enormity that was the purpose behind Abram’s need to trek to the Land of Canaan.

It took me a long time to appreciate the three things Abram must leave behind in order to fulfill his destiny:  your country, the land of your birth, the house of your father.  Abram’s family sojourned in Haran as refugees from their ancestral land – Ur of the Chaldees.  They were allowed to live there at the sufferance of the local ruler, who saw Abram’s father Terah as benefiting the city because of his wealth and business acumen.  So at least on the surface, G-d’s instruction to Abram to abandon his country, the land of his birth, and his father’s house makes no sense.  Only the third of the three descriptions seems relevant.

But in reality, it’s all relevant.  All three descriptions.

We need to see Abram’s journey not only as spatial, but as spiritual.  From Ur of the Chaldees, to Haran, to Egypt, the world of Abram’s birth was in the grip of avodah zarah – of the worship and serving of pagan gods.  Abram had to make a physical journey, away from the relative comforts of his family and their wealth, in order to fulfil his destiny.  But more, he had to leave behind a worldview that was preventing the world from breaking free of service to the imaginary gods of cults requiring human sacrifice to assuage their appetites for man’s subservience.  The physical journey – his separating himself from the comfort of the familiar – was a necessary prerequisite if he was to achieve the spiritual journey.

So Abram had to see himself as leaving, not only his father’s house, not only the city where his family had been residing as outsiders.  He had to see himself as separating himself from an entire world.

Almost everybody whom Clara and I encounter these days, has travelled a physical journey.  As indeed, you who know us know that we have as well.  Here in Queensland, Australia, most of the people whom we meet have come here from elsewhere.  Either elsewhere in Australia or, more often, another country and continent altogether.  Even if they were born in Australia, their parents likely came from elsewhere.  We meet very few individuals with deep roots here.  Lest you think I’m making a criticism of Australia, know that I mean this as a compliment.  It is clear that Australia is a magnet for those who are searching.

But there is a more important question than why people migrate to Australia.  And that question is:  do they find what they’re looking for here?  In other words, does the physical journey necessarily lead to the realisation of the spiritual quest?

For Abram, the physical journey to Canaan was only the start of the realisation of his quest.  But it was not the genesis of his sense of being called to something different.  If you take the midrashic view seriously, Abram had deep reservations about the social order into which he’d been born.  So the physical journey represented far more from its outset, than just a quest for different horizons.  It represented the first steps towards realisation of his unique destiny.  It was G-d’s call for Abram to begin the journey, that set him on that path of realisation.  But it was his conviction that there was something better, the opened his heart to receive and heed G-d’s call.

For you hearing (or reading) this who have voluntarily experienced displacement from the land of your birth, I have a question.  In coming here to Australia – or wherever your journeys took you – did you find the peace of mind that you sought?  Having travelled far to settle in an unfamiliar land, did you find what you were searching for?  If not, then the journey is not over.  Because at the end of the journey is the satisfaction that comes from having arrived.

Abram knew this.  Through his journey that starts with this week’s Torah reading, we see him constantly growing in stature.  We see him transition from Avram – exalted father – to Avraham – father of many.  We see him move forward.  We see him retreat and regress.  We see him as a general in a war of rescue.  We see him as a philosopher, arguing with destiny.  In all his adventures and misadventures, we see him moving ever closer toward the goals that his progeny will ultimately realise in his name.  But he travels much of the road there himself, clearly defining the path for those who will follow.

That Abram achieved greatness is self-evident.  He achieved greatness by fulfilling his destiny, his calling.  But it all began with G-d’s voice telling him, Lech lecha.  Had G-d been a Brooklynite, it would have been more like, Yer outta heah!  Perhaps the idea of Hashem as a Brooklynite is not that outlandish.  Many of us have known G-d to instruct us in the most emphatic terms when necessary.  A polite lech lecha will send some of us packing.  But some of us require a sharp yer outta heah!  But even the latter is easy to ignore if we are too self-satisfied in our own particular exile.  Shabbat shalom. 

Jewish Journeys Weekly Newsletter

Dear Friends,

Another Shabbat approaches!  Friday evening 6.30PM at the Levy's for the service welcome the SHabbat followed by dinner.  Vegetarian this week, so if anybody wants to bring a dairy dessert that will be fine.  Saturday morning 10.00AM at the Southport QCWA Hall.  Morning service followed by no-hostt lunch out for those wishing to join.  So far it looks like Great Greek Cafe is a winner, but maybe someone has an altternative they'd like to try!

I'm trying to start Thursday evening classes in Brisbane; 6,30PM for Basic Hebrew, 7.30PM for (Re-) Discovering Judaism.  I'd like to start next week if enough are interested.  If you are - interested - or know of someone who migght be, please do not delay to let me know!

Hoping everybody is having a great week and looking forward to seeing you on Shabbat...

Rabbi Don

A Dark World: A Reflection for Parashat Noah, Saturday 17 October 2015

Many of you saw the movie, Noah, which came out last year.  It was generally well-received.  How could it be otherwise?  Russel Crowe as Noah, Jennifer Connelly as his wife Na’amah, and Emma Watson as Ila his daughter-in-law!  It was well-received, although it did engender some controversy.  The latter largely based on the degree, to which the film departed from the Biblical narrative.  That didn’t bother me.  I understand the concept of artistic licence.  The rectangular-shaped ark didn’t do much for me, though.  It didn’t look…well, ark-y.

          Despite the liberties taken by the production team with the details of the story, I liked the movie because it captured the dark, sinister feel of a world that descended into anarchy.  That’s the essence of the word hamas, as in ki-temaleh ha-aretz hamas – the entire world is full of lawlessness, a statement about the world’s condition when Noah received his calling. (Genesis 6:13)  It’s tempting to associate the Hebrew word hamas, with the terror organisation by that name in Gaza.  Actually, the word hamas in Arabic, means ‘enthusiasm.’  Interesting.  Lawlessness in Hebrew, Enthusiasm in Arabic.  But I digress…

          When I saw Noah last year, I could certainly relate to the earth before the flood.  In reality, it is not too different than the world we are experiencing today.  We try to kid ourselves.  To turn our backs to what is happening in the world and even in our own country.  To live as if everything was just peachy.  But it isn’t.  There is extant in our world today, a lawlessness, an anarchy.  And a denial that it’s there.  We don’t have the confidence that comes from living in a world that is guided by predictable, familiar, and supportable values.  We therefore find the foundations of our sense of security crumbling just a little more every day.

          If so for us, how much more so for our cousins in Israel today!  Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock recently, you’re surely aware that there is a wave of violence engulfing Israel.  Some say that it represents a Third Intifada.  Khaled Elgindy, a former advisor to the Palestinian Authority and a fellow at the Brookings Institution, quoted by Theresa Welsh in US New and World Report on Tuesday, says no.  But when Elgindy, who is definitely in a position to say so, tells us why he believes it isn’t, his statement is very telling.  He says that this doesn’t represent a Third Intifada, because unlike the previous iterations there is no “political leadership organizing and driving the insurrection.”  Read that again.  Remember how, at the time, we were told that the violence was a spontaneous uprising on the street?  Thanks, Mr. Elgindy, for finally telling the truth.  But the truth about the current situation being the start of Intifada III is…well, probably.

          It’s not just the violence, although that in and of itself would be bad enough.  Israelis are used to living under siege.  That doesn’t make it right.  But that does give them more toughness than the rest of us, when things go south.

          What really stings are the condemnations of Israeli measures to keep their citizens safe.  And responding the only valid way when violent attackers are apprehended.  It took my breath away – although I guess it shouldn’t have – when President Abbas of the PA, screamed on Wednesday that Israeli police had killed two Palestinian teenagers “in cold blood.”  The teenagers in question, bloody knives in their hands, were running away after having attacked random Israeli victims in front of the Jerusalem central bus station.  Had they been killed, it would certainly not have been “in cold blood.”  But guess what?  They were in fact not killed!  News video from later that day showed them in hospital in Israel, smiling and recovering.

          It should also not have taken our breath away when, two years ago, US Secretary of State Kerry, in effect, threatened Israel with a “Third Intifada.”  Now I’m not saying that Kerry ordered it launched two weeks ago.  But he certainly gave the Palestinians permission.  With that statement.  Not to mention, by rewarding Iran whilst her leader is shouting “Death to Israel” and bankrolling Hamas and Hezbollah, with a nuclear deal that in effect gives them billions of assets now frozen in US banks.  The fact that the Third Intifada – or whatever it is – was begun almost immediately after the US Senate failed to thwart President Obama’s gift to Iran, is telling.

          So, yeah.  It is easy to have the sense that any remnant of order and logic are crumbling before our very eyes.  If I didn’t see that rainbow in the sky now and then, I would be continually wondering when the next flood will come.  Some days, I feel like Russel Crowe, fighting off the gang of Tubal-Cain as the rain begins to fall and he tries to storm the ark.

          That said, we should see current events, or any events, as being there to test us.  When adversity strikes and threatens the order that we depend upon, we aught to redouble our efforts to live according to Torah.  In every way possible.  In the midst of chaos, we should work twice as hard to live an ethical life.  To maintain, and increase, our integrity.  It is precisely when things are difficult, that we need to ask ourselves if we are thinking, speaking, and acting in a constructive way.  When we do so, it not only helps us fight despair.  It also brings meaning to adversity.  Shabbat shalom.  And I really do mean it!

Good Enough: a Reflection for Parashat Noah, Friday 16 October 2015

Almost everybody has heard of the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, by Rabbi Harold Kushner.  It was a great read, and an easy read.  It was essentially a commentary on the Book of Job.  Kushner set out to answer the question of why Divine Justice sometimes seems so…unjust.  If you haven’t read it, find a copy and invest a few hours in a book that will be life-changing.

Early in my rabbinate, one day a package arrived in the post.  It was a publisher’s gratis copy of Kushner’s then-new book, How Good do We Have to Be?  Back then, whenever a book of Jewish interest would be published, they would send gratis copies to Reform Rabbis.  I suppose, on the assumption that most of us would read it.  And if we thought it was worthwhile, we would recommend it from the pulpit.  The gratis copies of books don’t come anymore.  It was the one fringe benefit of the job.  Oh, well…

So a new Kushner book – given that When Bad Things Happen is one of the best Jewish books of our lifetimes – is an exciting event!  After dinner, I sat down on the sofa and began to read.

So, I imagine the question is now swirling about in your minds:  how Good does Rabbi Kushner think we have to be?  Don’t worry, I won’t make you read the book!  I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version.  Ready?  How good do we have to be?  Drumroll, please…Good Enough!  That’s the essence of Kushner’s answer.  We have to be Good Enough.  Good enough for what?  Good enough…to Do Good.

Think about it.  Most of us struggle throughout our lives to Do Good.  Sometimes we succeed.  Often we don’t.  Along the way, one cannot predict exactly how and when they’ll succeed in Doing Good.  Nor can one predict exactly how and when they’ll fail.  There’s seldom any rhyme or reason.  Logically, one would think that the imperfect person would tend to succeed in the little matters.  And fail in the big matters.  And there would be a sort of cut off score, if you will.  A point at which Doing Good gets so difficult that those with lesser levels of Propensity to Good in them would start failing to Do Good when the reach challenges at that level.  Everybody would have such a cut-off.  Smaller than that, or easier than that, we manage to Do Good.  Bigger than that, or more difficult than that, we stop managing.  It’s like math problems.  Up to the level of complexity that we can handle, we manage to solve them.  Reach our level of competence, and solving them is hit-or-miss.  Above that level, we stop trying altogether.

But Doing Good is not like solving math problems.  Some people succeed in Doing Good in really spectacular ways.  And fail in little ways.  It’s not really less logical…it’s illogical altogether!  But that’s human nature.  There is such a complex mix of influences which, at any given moment, conspire to turn us toward The Good or not.  In some ways it’s complexity.  But it’s more complex than that.

Good Enough.  That’s how Good we have to be.  Good Enough…to do Good.  Which brings me to Noah.

Our Torah portion this week is Noah.  It begins:  Eileh toldot Noah.  These are the offspring of Noah.  It’s the second weekly portion in the Book of Bereishit.  Before the text proceeds to name the offspring of Noah, it adds parenthetically:  Noah ish tzadik tamim haya bedorotav.  Et ha-Elokim hithalech Noah.  Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation.  Noah walked with G-d.

The sages of the generations have zeroed in on the phrase a righteous man, blameless in his generation.  What exactly does it mean?  I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version.  Noah was Good Enough.  Good enough to do Good.  And – here’s the rub – there was no logic to when he succeeded in Doing Good and when he failed.  Asked to undertake the monumental project of building an Ark and gathering two of each animal aboard it, he did.  Okay, mostly…he somehow missed the unicorns.  But what a project!  We all know and love Bill Cosby’s famous skit about Noah.  Where he portrays Noah as a reluctant actor.  Can I even mention Bill Cosby anymore?  The Torah gives no hint that Noah resisted being drawn into this project.  After G-d gives Noah a lengthy description of the Ark and tells him what to do with it and why, the text tells us:  Kein asa.  So he did.

He did.  He did Good in a big way.  And then as soon as the flood waters receded, he made some hooch and got drunk with his sons and they performed some, er, let’s say abominations.  So Noah was Good Enough.  He was Good Enough to perform a monumental effort that the Torah credits as saving humanity to carry on after the Flood.  An act of immeasurable Good.  But then, he got drunk and couldn’t keep his pants zipped up.

And we’re sometimes like that.  We can come through in big ways, perform big acts of Good.  And then something small trips us up.  And then we’re no longer Good.  We’re remembered for that non-good act.  Whatever it was, small or large, that tripped us up.  The people who matter most to us, will have a tendency to look at us and remember only that time when we somehow, for whatever reason, failed to do Good.

And then, sadly, we stop seeing ourselves as Good Enough.  And then we don’t see ourselves as Good Enough, then we reduce our propensity to Do Good.  Because we’ve been dragged down to a lower level, so to speak.  We’ve lost the self confidence that tells us that we can Do Good.  We cease to believe in ourselves.  Because others, who are aware of our failing, no longer believe in us.

If someone who is close to you generally Goes Good, but has failed on rare occasions, I want you to think about how you see them.  Do you look at them through cynical eyes, knowing that they’ve failed?  How about cutting them a little slack?  Maybe they were like Noah.  They were Good Enough.  Good Enough to Do Good…until some situation came along that tripped them up.  We all have our failings.  Wouldn’t it be better if we defined one another, not by our failings, but by our successes?

I submit to you that it would.  So why is it the opposite?  Why do we define others by their failings?  I think it’s like this.  As we struggle to Do Good, we get frustrated at our own failings.  Which are going to happen, given human nature.  And because we have removed ourselves from our pedestals because of our own failings, we somehow take comfort from pulling others off their pedestals.  So we don’t have to feel inferior to them.  The way we relate to one another becomes based on seeing one another’s dark side.  If he has a dark side, then I can’t be blamed for my dark side.  So in effect, we expend all kinds of emotional energy tearing one another down.  Whilst instead, we should be building one another up.  Each of us can be Good Enough.  We only need to be inspired to reach for it.

Lift one another up.  A simple, yet effective strategy for increasing the Good in the world.  Help one another to be Good Enough.  And work to be Good Enough ourselves.  And always, every day, a little more Good.  Shabbat shalom.

Jewish Journeys: Weekly Newsletter

Dear Friends,

Forgive me for not sending a notification earlier in the week...I'm afraid I've been a bit busy!  But the schedule for this Shabbat is the 'normal' one:

-Friday evening 6.30PM @ the Levy's:  service followed by dinner.  $15 per person donation except members.

-Saturday morning 10.00AM @ Southport QCWA Hall:  service.  $15 per person donation except members.

After the service last Saturday, a number of us went out together for lunch at the Great Greek Cafe in Southport.  All agreed that it was a worthy venue for lunch after the service:  $20 ffor two courses, including a glass of wine, friendly staff and a lovely garden in the back.  My guess is that, for those wishing to go out together, this will become our 'regular haunt.'

Hebrew classes start up this week:  Intermediate Biblical Prayer Book Sunday morning 10.00AM at Reva's home; Basic Hebrew Reading Monday evening 7.00PM at the Levy's.  Contact me for additional information.

I have two people interrested in the short class 'As Kosher as You Wanna Be'  I was going to do this three consecutive Wednesday evenings starting this week, but we could work out some other arrangement.  Maybe next Shabbat afternoon, after the service?  Let me know if you're interested, and if so what sort of schedule will work for you.

Hope everybody's had a good week and looking forward to seeing you tomorrow and Saturday!

Rabbi Don

Final Notice for Tonight

Dear Friends,

i know it's late but it was suggested that I offer a bit of explanation as to what is happening tonight, so that you'll have a better sense of what we'll be doing...or what you'll be missing.

Last Sunday evening, we celebrated the start of Sukkot together.  We performed netilat lulav ve'etrog, the waving of the lulav and etrog in six directions.  Then we shared dinner in Paul's sukkah, the ritual booth ereected for the festival.

Sukkot is a seven-day festival.  Today - before sunset - is the seventh day, known asHoshana Rabba - the Great Hosannah.  'Hosannah' means 'please save us.'  This parade with the lulav and etrog, expresses our hope that G-d will continue to bless us and keep us as he has blessed and kept us in the past, even during the 40 years' wandering.

With the sunset this evening begins Shmini Atzeret, 'the Eighth [Day] of the Festival,' which is an oppotunity to close the festival with a Yizkor (Memorial) service.  Progressive Judaism - and all Judaism in the Land of Israel - combines Shmini Atzeretwith Simchat Torah, 'Rejoicing of the Torah.' (Our Orthodox cousins outside Israel will celebrate Simchat Torah from sunset tomorrow.  Simchat Torah celebbrates the completion of the annual cycle of reading the Torah by completing it and then going immediately to begin the new cycle.  That's done at the morning service, but at the evening service (tonight) we dance with the scrolls.

So tonight, we'll observe Yizkor, then dance with the Torah, and...of course...eat!  It should be fun; I look forward to seeing you there.  If you have not booked, come anyway; as always, I'm sure we'll have more than enough food for everyone.

Aside from this, I draw your attention to the Jewish Journeys website.  Several months ago, I posted part one of an essay on Jewish choices and diversity.  I've just posted parts two and three of the essay.  You can find it at:   http://www.jewishjourneys.com.au/writings/

Enjoy and Chag Sameach!

Rabbi Don