Let Them Do Their Jobs: A Drash for Parashat Bamidbar, Friday 23 May 2014

Once, more years ago than I care to think about, I was Training Officer for my naval field unit.  Part of my job was to manage training programs for very highly qualified personnel in four distinct specialties.  In a major reorganisation of our on-the-job qualification programs, our Operations Chief came to me and complained that the different programs did not look enough alike.  “Four specialties, one program!” he directed.  He wanted a more uniform structure.

I was an expert in only one of the specialties in question, and had a significant knowledge of a second.  To my eyes, the differences in the training programs reflected the differences in the target activities, the way the work was structured, and the personalities of those who had drafted the programs for me.  Needing to satisfy the Ops Chief, I sat down with the other three and tried to find a common format.  As is often the case with the highly qualified, none wanted to submit to major changes in the program he had painstakingly put together.  I could have pulled rank.  But for me to do so, and override the opinions of the three experts, would have been foolish.  So I listened to the three, succeeded in getting them to agree to minor changes in how things were stated in their standards, and made some minor changes in my own program.  I submitted to the Chief four programs that looked more alike than before.  And I also had the ammunition to explain why they couldn’t look identical.  The Chief approved, he passed the materials up the chain, and the programs went active.

On this occasion I learned an important lesson.  Don’t micromanage.  Do your job, and let others do theirs.  When you have experts upon whom you rely for tasks that you’re not able to do yourself, trust them to know the best way to perform them.  To question them – respectfully and for the purpose of better understanding their positions – is fine.  But to manage with a heavy hand is counterproductive.  It leads to bruised feelings and worse.  Afterward the experts will be reluctant to be forthright and will be less effective, thereby compromising the effectiveness of the entire organisation.  Later experience has informed me that, while I learned this lesson in the context of military service, it is just as applicable in the work world generally.  As it is in life, period.

Tomorrow morning, we’ll read the following from Numbers 1:50-53:

You shall put the Levites in charge of the Tabernacle of the Pact, all its furnishings, and everything that pertains to it.  They shall carry the Tabernacle and all its furnishings, and they shall tend it.  They shall camp around the Tabernacle.  When the Tabernacle is to set out, the Levites shall take it down, and when the Tabernacle is to be pitched, the Levites shall set it up.  Any outsider who encroaches shall be put to death.  The Israelites shall encamp troop by troop, each man with his division and under his standard.  The Levites, however, shall camp around the Tabernacle of the Pact, that wrath may not strike the Israelite community.  The Levites shall stand guard around the Tabernacle of the Pact.

To me, given my various experiences, the application of this message is clear.  When one person, or as in this case an entire class of people, is selected and highly trained for specific tasks, it is foolish to step in and try to ‘pull rank’ and make changes.  Many of us have worked for someone who insisted on thus ‘calling the shots’ against all reason.  Many of us have thus been frustrated at our – and the organisation’s – resulting diminished effectiveness.

The fact that this passage is talking about specific cultic responsibilities, and Divine wrath for transgressing the boundaries set up, should not distract us from this message.  Each one of us, if we are pursuing an honourable profession that provides some benefit to others, can grasp its universal applicability.  It doesn’t have to be in the sphere of religion, of the nexus between God and man.

   To give an application from common experience, what if you were unsure of a diagnosis your doctor had just delivered?  You would be entirely within the rights of reason to ask, respectfully, for clarification.  If the diagnosis was of something particularly serious, or if you simply weren’t sure how qualified this particular doctor was, you would further be within your rights to seek a second opinion.  Maybe the doctor’s feelings would be hurt.  But not if he was a true professional.  What if his diagnosis were confirmed?  Then the best result would be that, in the future, you would be more confident of this doctor’s word.  But if his diagnosis were authoritatively refuted, you would be well-advised to find another doctor.

The principle holds for other kinds of advice, although needless to say the question is not quite so critical where many other professions are concerned.  Where lives are not on the line.  But, life-endangering or not, it is important that each one of us have the opportunity to live up to his potential in his chosen calling.  It is the job of those who have been empowered with leadership and managerial roles, to enable this quest for excellence.  But as we know, all too often, small-minded managers do the opposite.  Many of us have at some point, experienced being managed like this…and most of us have not liked it one bit.

In our Torah reading, it is the Levites who are specifically chosen by God to administer the cultic practices of the people Israel.  They are chosen and trained.  The latter fact is not reflected in the passage, but it is self-evident.  The Torah herself serves as a training manual for those chosen for Divine service.

The Torah also does not warn against practices, except when there is a clear proclivity on peoples’ part to actually do the acts forbidden.  And we do know from the Torah herself – and we’ll see in four weeks, when we read from Parashat Korach – that our ancient forebears did have a tendency to rebel and grasp at authorities that were not theirs, that were assigned to others.

The message to the People Israel, from this passage of Torah is clear.  Don’t micromanage the Levites.  Don’t interfere with their duties.  They have been elected by God to perform their specific service for the benefit of all the people.  To interfere, to try to usurp their authority to perform their chosen tasks, will lead to death.  Absolutely nothing good will come out of it.

None of us operates in a context that is exactly like the relationship between God, the Levites and the People Israel.  But we can still draw a compelling lesson from these verses of Torah.  One that has been confirmed by many of us, in our diverse life experiences, and in our working careers.  And that lesson is that micromanagement, the interference of managers in the jobs of the experts who have been chosen and embraced in their organisations, is always bad.  It never leads to good result.  It always compromises the effectiveness of those whom it seeks to control.  It always compromises the effectiveness, and the integrity, of the entire organisation.  Whether that organisation is a business.  A military unit.  A government agency.  Or a sacred community.   Let them do their jobs.  It is something to think about.  Shabbat shalom.

As a Driven Leaf: A Drash for Parashat Bechukotai Saturday, 17 May 2014

In the Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Hagigah, there is a legend about four Rabbis of the second century of the Common Era who enter the Pardes, or Orchard.  Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Elisha Ben Abuyah and Akiva.  According to the Gemara, Ben Azzai looked and died.  Ben Zoma looked and went mad.  Ben Abuyah destroyed the plants.  Only Akiva entered and departed in peace.  Ben Abuyah is so reviled by the Rabbis that he isn’t even named in the Gemara.  He is referred to as Ha-acher, ‘The Other One.’  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

          The Gemara does not make it entirely clear what is the nature of this Pardes.  It may come from the Persian word, Paradise, which we know in English.  But even if so, it isn’t clear what exactly is meant.

           I knew the story, before I read the Talmud’s version of it, from a work of fiction by Rabbi Milton Steinberg, first published in 1939, entitled As a Driven Leaf.  I read it because it was recommended reading for candidates for admission to the graduate rabbinic program at Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion.  On a visit to the College-Institute before applying, I purchased all the recommended books and read them thoroughly.

In Steinberg’s version of the Talmudic legend, the Pardes is the world of philosophy, of secular knowledge.  The four colleagues, at the initiative and urging of Ben Abuyah, take a serious detour from their usual study and discourse to explore the Hellenistic world of secular knowledge.  These ideas were attractive to many Jews of their day.  In order to know how to respond to them, they had to study them in depth.  The premise is that the world of secular knowledge is so attractive that it can even draw some of the most learned, the most grounded ones astray.  The premise is that, if we allow it to draw us astray, we are in danger of losing our very souls.

I’m guessing that the faculty of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion wanted its future rabbinical students to internalise this message because we were embarking on a lifelong quest to harmonize the worlds of sacred and secular knowledge.  The truth is that, like most students entering the College-Institute, I was more familiar and comfortable with the world of secular knowledge.  In contrast to the four Rabbis of Steinberg’s novel and the Talmudic legend that forms its basis, I had to develop a comfort with the world of traditional, sacred knowledge.  I had to, in effect, reject at least partially the world of secular knowledge.  Not all Progressive rabbis manage that step.

I mention this today, because in reading this morning’s segment I immediately noticed the phrase, a driven leaf in Leviticus 26, verse 36:  As for those of you who survive, I will cast a faintness into their hearts in the land of their enemies.  The sound of a driven leaf shall put them to flight.  Fleeing as though from the sword, they shall fall though none pursues.  In this context, as a driven leaf means with no stability, no backbone, no resolve.

  Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, in his drash on this week’s Torah reading, asserts that the reason for this lack of resolve is that the people in exile have lost sight of the essential principle:  All Jews are Responsible for One Another.  The principle is found in the Sifra and in the Babylonian Talmud.  Because we want to see ourselves as independent and autonomous, we act as leaves that are driven freely by any wind that might come up.  Instead of being bound together on the tree that gave us our life, we are blown about until we dry up and wither.  That tree is, of course, Torah:  She is a Tree of Life to them that hold fast to her.

This morning’s Torah reading is, as I asserted last night, one of the more challenging passages of Torah.  It is challenging because it presents in stark detail the reality of our lives and identifies its cause.  In trying to distance ourselves from the image of God as the Exactor of Justice, we distance ourselves from an essential truth.  That truth is that our actions, our behaviours, indeed do have consequences.  When we distance ourselves from the Tradition that has watered and nourished our people for so many centuries, we are in danger of being cast about by any little wind.  And of drying up and withering.

Does this mean we should avoid the world of knowledge, the world of ideas outside of the Jewish tradition?  Not at all.  Just as with my classmates and I going into rabbinical school, most of you are likely to be more comfortable from the start in the world of secular knowledge, than in that of the Jewish sacred tradition.  So our task, rather, is to assimilate and appreciate that sacred world.  To let its timeless wisdom infuse our lives and our thinking.  Even though some of us think ourselves too old to learn new ideas, to change the course of our lives.  It is all too easy to get into the mindset that it’s too late.  But the truth is that it is never too late.  We can, and should, continue to grow intellectually and spiritually…even until the last moment of our lives.  That’s how we remain truly alive.

If we were all truly alive in this way, then we would truly constitute a learning and growing community.  And if that were the case, nobody would have to point it out to us; we would know for ourselves this essential fact.  And if we’re not a learning and growing community, then the tragedy of that condition is that we could be.  The way to begin to reach our potential, is to first recognise that we fall short of it.  And to understand why.

To be as a driven leaf is truly as bad as it sounds.  But the worst part of it, is that it is entirely unnecessary.  The tree is there for us to cling to.  And that tree is Torah.  For each one of us individually.  For all of us as a community.  Shabbat shalom. 

Middah Keneged Middah: A Drash for Parashat Bechukotai Friday, 16 May 2014

There is no question that there are passages in the Torah which are especially challenging to us for various reasons.  Some are challenging because we might see their content as irrelevant to us.  For example, the latter parts of the book of Exodus, and much of the book of Leviticus.  There we find many passages, which detail the specifications of the Tabernacle, its furnishings, the priests’ vestments, and their duties.  These features of Jewish life went away with the destruction of the Second Temple.  They have nothing to do with our current practice.  To relate to them in our day and age, can be a challenge.

          Some passages are challenging because they reflect practices, or taboos against practices that do not go along with the sensibilities of our day and age.  One example is capital punishment.  We like to think of our turning away from the death penalty, at least in this and many other Western countries, as a turning toward a more enlightened era of criminology without a vengeful element.  That the death penalty is prescribed, at least in the Written Torah, is challenging.  It makes us think of the Torah as reflecting an outdated sensibility.

          Finally, some passages are challenging because they reflect a Divine Justice that is uncomfortable to us.  For centuries, our Christian neighbours have been asserting that the God presented in the Jewish scriptures, or the Old Testament as they call it, is a God of severe judgement.  This, in contrast to the ‘God of Mercy” reflected in the Christian New Testament.  Many Jews who are not learned in our scriptures have internalised this message.  When we come across a passage reflecting a God of judgement, we judge it against this contrast and it makes us uneasy.  What if the Christians are correct?  Here is scriptural evidence of their claim, yes?

Our Torah reading this week is one of those difficult readings of the third category.  The passage we will read and examine tomorrow, from the 26^th chapter of Leviticus, tells us the fate that awaits us if we disobey God.  In graphic detail, it paints a picture of the sorry state of desolation that awaits us if we turn away from God.

If the desolate picture did not ring true, it would make the passage challenging in an entirely different way.  It would call into question the text’s truth and therefore its claim to Divine inspiration.  But the problem is that, if we read it with open eyes and an open mind, it is difficult to refute that the curses predicted therein have largely come to pass.  To read the predictions in the 26^th chapter of Leviticus is to read a fairly accurate account of Jewish history.  When we look at it in this way, we are guaranteed to be uneasy about it.  Because it indicts us in the most certain terms.  Both our ancestors and us.

It is natural to be repelled by the message of this chapter of Torah.  We don’t like to hear when we’ve erred and gone astray.  Since the 1960’s we have been living under the illusion that we’re just fine – we just sometimes lack skills to rise to our potential.  Remember the 1960’s book, I’m Okay, You’re Okay by Thomas Harris?  It was a runaway best seller and remains one of the best-selling ‘self-help’ books of all time.  Its message is that there is nothing essentially wrong with any of us.  Rather, the difficulties we have in relationships stems from our lack understanding of the roles that we assume, and in which we place others, that affect the social transaction.  This thinking is called Transactional Analysis, or TA.  Remember it?  Most of us forgot the terminology a long time ago.  Yet the mindset still haunts – and flaws – our thinking today.

If we’re all essentially okay, then we just need to tweak our processes in order to successfully live as people, as Jews, and as a Jewish people.  But if we’re not essentially okay, then what we need is markedly different.  Then we need to do some serious self-searching – both individually and as a Jewish people – to intuit where we’ve gone wrong and how to make it right.  And that process is not calculated to make us comfortable.  But comfort is not the point.

Our own worthiness aside, we’re still stuck with the dilemma I identified a moment ago:  the problem of the God of Severe Judgement.  Even iff we’re ready to admit that we’ve gone seriously astray we’re still stuck with the notion of a God whose justice overpowers His mercy.  Or maybe not.

Because we have successfully internalised the notion of I’m okay you’re okay, we’ve lost sight of the truth of Middah keneged middah.  This is the Jewish answer to ‘karma.’  It translates:  measure for measure.  It tells us that for every action, there’s a re-action.  An entirely predictable reaction.  Of course we’re aware of this truth in science.  But we forget that it is a law in the moral universe as well.  We go through our lives acting out, completely forgetting that everything we do resonates somewhere, somehow, with someone.  Why do we forget this principle?  Perhaps we want to forget it.  Or perhaps we have become so self-absorbed, that we simply cannot comprehend it.

I think that the latter is the problem.  In helping others through interpersonal issues, I’m struck by how the preponderance of these are caused by fuzzy or non-existent boundaries.  That is, we have a hard time determining where our own person ends and someone else’s begins.  Because of this, we plough through relationships, blind to how we try to impose our will on others, blind to how we fail to respect others’ wills.  We act out as if we were entirely autonomous, where we are not autonomous at all.  We behave in ways that can be entirely predicted to alienate others, and yet we act surprised when we do.

In our siddur there is a lovely reading that expresses the ideal of Shabbat in contrast to the work week.  It informs us how we aught to approach life differently on Shabbat.

There are days when we seek things for ourselves and measure failure by what we did not gain.  On Shabbat, we seek not to acquire but to share.  There are days when we exploit nature as if it were a horn of plenty that can never be exhausted.  On Shabbat, we stand in wonder before the mystery of creation.  There are days when we act as if we cared nothing for the rights of others.  On Shabbat, we remember that justice is our duty and a better world our goal.  So we embrace Shabbat:  day of rest, day of wonder, day of peace.

It’s a lovely sentiment and, if we learn to do it, then Shabbat will stand out as a different sort of day, a day when we can relax and acknowledge one another in joy.  But unsaid in the reading is the hope that, once we have learned to fence off Shabbat in this way, the mindset will infuse the way we live the rest of the week.  That the Shabbat Way will, as it were, infect our ways all week.  Then, Shabbat will truly be a taste of the World to Come.  And in the way we will live all the time, we will have achieved the World to Come.  Ken yehi ratzon…may this be God’s will.

Love for One’s Fellow Jew: A Drash for Parashat Behar, Saturday 10 May 2014

Once I had a friend who was a Freemason.  You know, the Masons?  The ‘secretive’ fraternal order that has been plotting for centuries to take over the world?  Or at least, which has been accused of doing so.  Sort of like we Jews have.  Maybe there’s a connection there?  Perhaps the Masons are one of the Lost Tribes?  But I digress…

          So I was out with this friend.  I knew nothing about the Masons, except that they were more than a bit secretive about what they do when they get together.  And that their symbol was a compass with the letter ‘G’ in the middle.  I’d seen the symbol on cars, and decorating rings.  My friend wore such a ring.

          My friend had an errand to run, one that required a government clerk to go a bit out of his way:  to give him permission to do a renovation to his house.  If I remember correctly, my friend hadn’t had all the necessary studies done.  On the way over, he fretted over whether he was going to get what he needed from the clerk.  We arrived, we went into the office and we found the person responsible.  He took one look at my friend’s Masonic ring, and quietly signed the permission.  The clerk himself wore a Masonic ring.

          Apart from thinking, sign me up! I thought about the way that the clerk had reacted to my friend once it became clear that they had a connection.  Had I needed a similar permission and it had been denied, I would have rebelled against the favouritism shown my friend.  I would have protested, perhaps bitterly, about the unequal treatment.  I would have complained to anyone who would have listened, perhaps for a long time afterwards, about the ‘clannishness’ of Masons and the very concept of giving favourable treatment to someone based on some shared affiliation.

          Years later, I became familiar with the verse from Parashat Kedoshim, Leviticus 19:18:  You shall love your neighbour as yourself.  I learned that ‘neighbour’ in this context means one’s fellow Jew, not necessarily the family next door.  It seemed to me that this smacks of favouritism.  Of the kind of clannishness to which I would object if someone got superior treatment because of some other affiliation, say being a Mason, that I didn’t share.

          In this morning’s Torah reading from Parashat Behar, in Leviticus 25:35-38, we read about a practical application of the love we’re commanded to harbour towards our fellow Jew.  First, it is important to note that when the Torah commands us to ‘love,’ it does not mean love as an emotional connection.  It is meant in the practical sense:  to show a particular regard and commitment to another person.  In this case, we’re commanded to help our fellow Jew who has come upon hard times.  We’re to lend him money, food, whatever he needs.  We are not to distinguish between the Jew-by-birth and the Jew-by-choice.  But implied, is that it is okay to distinguish between the Jew and the non-Jew.  We are not told that we must show similar charity towards gentiles.  We are not to oppress them, but we can make a buck off them.

          If so, this means that clannishness is okay.  That is, the sort of clannishness that any one of us might find objectionable should we see it used to treat us less fair that someone else.  It’s okay to favour other Jews.  Does that not imply that it’s okay for others to practice favouritism?  Say, for Masons, or Muslims, or ethnic Chinese to favour their kinsmen?  If it’s okay, even prescribed, for Jews, wouldn’t it be only fair for others to be similarly un-fair?

          Maybe, or maybe not.

          Yes, this special regard is commanded with regard to one’s fellow Jew.  To be ready to help them in a time of financial distress by lending them what they need without charging them interest.  But while this expression of filial loyalty is not specifically commanded vis-à-vis the non-Jew, it doesn’t mean that it is not virtuous to extend charity to the gentile as well.  In Leviticus 19:34, we are commanded regarding the stranger who swells in our land:  You shall love the stranger – the foreigner – as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.  So in reality, we are taught that there is one standard of behaviour toward the person in distress, whether that person is a fellow Jew or not.  The Torah is not telling us that we can take advantage of a non-Jew in distress:  rather, that we must treat them with compassion as well.

          I might add here that we have no obligation to lend money for free to someone who has discretionary spending, or investing in mind.  This law is only with regard to someone who has come upon hard times, and lacks basic needs.  And it makes sense that, if their own poor stewardship caused those hard times, then we might provide assistance in kind.  As an example, if a person likely to go out and spend money on alcohol or drugs, complains that he hasn’t what to eat, then it follows that we would give them food or a voucher redeemable only for food, rather than put money in their hands.  This is only logical in a day and age when so many people are in trouble because of various addictions.

          So the main message from these verses of Torah, is not the rendering of special treatment to Jews over others.  Rather, it is compassion for those in distress.  We are to look upon those in hard times as our brothers, whether they are Jews or gentiles.  We are not to separate ourselves from them, to turn them from subjects of our concern to objects of our scorn.  It does not mean that we should eschew making a living when we transact business with one another.  It simply means that with some people, our transactions take on a different dimension than ‘just’ business.

          In this way, we remind ourselves that, as residents of the same city, as citizens of the same land, or as fellow human beings, we are connected to all those whom we encounter.  It is natural to gravitate toward those with whom we share some obvious affiliation.  But at the end of the day, we are all connected.  Shabbat shalom.  

Happy Mother’s Day, Jewish Mothers: A Drash for Friday, 09 May 2014

On the Shabbat immediately preceding Mother’s Day, I always like to spend some time reflecting on the importance of mothers.  Because if I didn’t, my own mother would probably kill me!

          (Okay, so I’m clearly setting the tone for what will be a tongue-in-cheek drash.  Relax, suspend your seriousness, and enjoy!)

          The Jewish mother is a strange species.  There are very specific stereotypes about how a Jewish mother, in particular among all mothers, thinks and acts.  And most of them are not very complimentary!  Are they true?  Well, about as true as any other stereotype.  They wouldn’t exist if there wasn’t some basis of truth.  But as stereotypes always do, they have become exaggerated over time.  And of course, not every Jewish mother fits the stereotype.

          If Jewish Mother stereotypes are not especially complimentary, they are at least funny – funny enough that an entire genre of jokes has been built up on the subject.  Actually, we Jews are known among the nations for our humour.  And there are important reasons why Jews in particular have dominated the field of, and succeeded in, comedy of all kinds.

          Not to shrey gevalt, but we Jews have a difficult history.  A history peppered with persecution and tragedy.  Not that we have a monopoly on both; not be a longshot!  But we have survived more than our share of persecution and resulting tragedy.  And over the generations, we have developed a knack for comedy as an antidote to the tragedy of our lives and condition.

          So an essential element of our Jewishness is the ability to laugh at ourselves.  Show me a Jew who can't laugh at himself, and I’ll show you a Jew who needs antidepressants!  It is healthy to learn to take ourselves just a little less seriously.  It helps us in the Great Slog that is life.  The more we can laugh at ourselves, the more adversity we can face and bear up to.

          So a series of stereotypes of the Jewish mother has crystalized over the generations, and we like to laugh at them.  And in doing so, we are not being less than reverent towards our mothers; we are simply finding a device for coping with them!

The first stereotype of Jewish mothers, is that they are overprotectivethey are overprotective.

*****

Little Sam wants to go outside and watch the solar eclipse.  His mother says:  Okay, Bubbeleh…but don’t get too close!

         *****

Hannah comes home from her afternoon out with her boyfriend Arnold looking very unhappy. 
"What’s the matter, Hannah?" asks her mother. 
"Arnold has asked me to marry him," she replies. 
"Mazeltov! But why are you looking so sad?" her mother asks. 
"Because he also told me that he was an atheist. Oh mum, he doesn't even believe in Hell." 
Her mother then says, "That’s all right Hannah, it really isn’t a problem. I suggest you marry him and between the two of us, we'll show him how wrong he is."

*****

          The next stereotype about Jewish mothers, is that they are cheerleaders for their children:

What is a genius?  An average student with a Jewish mother.

*****

          Of  course, this boosterism can be somewhat conditional:

****

Harry Goldberg has been elected the next president of the United States—the first Jewish boy to reach the White House. He is very proud and phones his mother in New York to invite her to the inauguration. 
Harry: Momma, guess what! I’ve just been elected president, won’t you come to my inauguration? 
Mother: Harry! You know I hate trains. I can’t face the journey all the way to Washington. Maybe next time. 
Harry: Momma! You will take no train. Air Force One will collect you. The journey will be over in 30 minutes. Come to my inauguration, please... 
Mother: Harry, I hate hotels. The non-kosher food! Nahh, maybe next time. 
Harry: Momma!! You will stay in the White House, a kosher chef to yourself. PLEASE come. 
Mother: Harry! I have nothing to wear! 
Harry: I have someone on his way to take you to Macy’s and Bloomingdale’s to make you look perfect. You must come!!! 
Mother: Okay, okay, I suppose I will come. 
Inauguration day comes. Mother is on the front row, next to the Secretary of State. Harry is called up to become the next president. Mother digs the Secretary of State in the ribs and says, “Hey, you see that boy Harry? His brother is a very successful doctor!”

*****

The next stereotype about Jewish mothers, is that they are pushy.

*****

Why do Jewish mothers make such good parole officers?  Because they never let anyone finish a sentence.

*****

There are two theories on how to argue with a Jewish mother.  Unfortunately, neither works.

*****

There comes a time in every Jewish man’s life when he must stand up to his mother.  For most, this comes at around age 45.

*****

Jewish mothers only offer advice twice:  when you want it, and when you don’t.

*****

Your Jewish mother is the only one who knows more about you, than you know about yourself.

*****

But probably the most prevalent stereotype about Jewish mothers, and the most popular source of jokes about them, is that they are expert at the art of imposing guilt.  For our Catholic neighbours, it is their religion that seems to be the source of guilt.  For Jews, it seems to be our mothers.

*****

Son (on the telephone):  Hi, Mum!  I was thinking about you and decided to ring you up!  How are your feeling?

Mother:  Well, I’m feeling much better than on the last 35 days when you didn’t think about me and decide to ring me up!

*****

If the Mona Lisa had been Jewish, her mother would have said:  So, after all the money we spent on the orthodontist for you, that’s the best smile you can come up with??!

*****

What’s the difference between a Jewish mother and a vulture?  A vulture waits until you’re dead to eat your heart out.

*****

Sophia and Hannah are discussing the best ways to make their young sons finish their meals. Sophia says, “As an Italian mother, I put on a fierce look and say to Primo, ‘if you don’t finish your meal, I’m going to kill you.’ It works most of the time.”

“Well, as a Jewish mother, I look mine Isaac in his eyes and say, ‘if you don’t eat the meal I’ve slaved over all day, I’m going to kill myself.’ It works every time.”

*****

Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,

I hope you are well. Please don’t worry about me. I’m just fine considering I can’t breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I’ve sent along my last ten pounds in this card, which I hope you’ll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies.

Thank you so much for the birthday flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they’ll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me – we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral, so Aunt Minnie and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she’s never even watched that videotape of my haemorrhoid surgery, has she?

Well son, it’s time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don’t you worry about me. I’m also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain. Now don’t you even think about sending any more money, because I know you need it for those expensive family holidays you take every year. Give my love to my darling grand-babies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is – the one with the black roots who stole you screaming from my bosom.

Love, Mum

*****

          It’s not a source of jokes about Jewish mothers, nor is it a stereotype at all.  But it is a truth that holds in experience after experience.  And that is that Jewish mothers are among the most devoted, giving, and longsuffering members of the human race.  Happy Mother’s Day to all Jewish mothers!  Shabbat shalom.

The Sacred Times Keep Us Holy: A Drash for Parashat Emor, Saturday 03 May 2014

Like many of you, I sometimes struggle to celebrate our Jewish festivals with joy.  When the festivals come upon us, I have been guilty of thinking of them as a burden, to work around with the other routines that normally order my life.  Many of you also have such routines.  Organisations which you belong to, for which the Jewish calendar is not a consideration, whose meetings sometimes end up on Jewish days of obligation.  School holidays, times when those of you with school-aged children want to take the opportunity to go away as a family.  This, even if the holiday occurs at the same time as an important Jewish observance.  Even something as simple – and easy to re-schedule! – as a weekly Mah Jong game.  If we’re honest, we sometimes take it as an imposition that a Jewish festival would trump any or all of the above.

          But the importance of the fixed, sacred occasions of the year cannot be over-emphasised.  As my colleague Fred Morgan points out in his drash on this week’s Torah reading, no less than the Great Rashi informed us that the very first commandment given in the Torah, is that of creating a sacred calendar.  It is implicit in Genesis 1:1.  The second commandment given – just in case you were wondering! – is to be fruitful and multiply…

          In this week’s portion, we read a re-stating of the laws of the festivals.  These laws are repeated in each of the last four books of the Torah:  Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.  And the sacred occasions that are commanded in the Torah are essentially seven.  The weekly Sabbath.  Pesach.  The Counting of the Omer.  Shavu’ot.  Rosh Hashanah.  Yom Kippur.  And Sukkot.  In the segment which we’ve read together today (Leviticus 23:1-22), we read about Pesach through Shavu’ot.

          When I point out that these seven occasions are the only special days commanded in the Torah, I don’t mean to detract from the other festive and commemorative days.  I don’t mean to say that the fast of Tisha B’av doesn’t matter.  Or the joyous day of Simchat Torah.  Or Chanukah, the Festival of Light.  All of these are important.  When planning our year, we should account for where we will be to observe or celebrate all these occasions, and others.  They provide the framework for the sacred rhythm of the year.

What exactly do I mean by this phrase, “sacred rhythm”?

As you remember, last week’s Torah portion was Kedoshim, meaning Holy.  It comes from the opening words of the reading:  You shall be Holy, for I the Lord your God am Holy.  The word means set apart, unique, reserved for a specific purpose.  Although we might disagree among ourselves as to what is the nature of that purpose, and exactly how we are to be set apart, this premise is one of the basic doctrines of Jewish life.

The term ‘sacred’ is closely related to ‘holy.’  ‘Sacred’ means revered, due to association with ‘holiness.’  The distinction does not even exist in Hebrew, where ‘kadosh’ expresses both concepts.  But the two words do exist side-by-side, very closely related, in English.

The calendar of observances, those fixed occasions that are commanded in either the Written or the Oral Torah, are one of the important tools that enable us to be holy.  That’s why I say that the calendar of observances gives us the “sacred rhythm” that enables us to live a meaningful Jewish life.  An important principle of the Jewish way of viewing life, is that things are ‘fixed’ in order to override our whims and desires.  That’s why we have liturgical prayer and worship, regulated by a framework set long ago, with important values expressed through the very structure of that framework.

Without this calendar this is no Jewish life.  Without it, there is only the theoretical knowledge of Torah.  This may or may not have a positive effect on us at any given time.  But it’s too important to leave to chance.  If we, as Jews, truly have a sacred purpose in being Jews, then we need the hands-on aspect that makes our faith real, and in a constant way.  We need to feel obligated to mark the sacred occasions of the year in their time.  And yes, we need to greet and observe them joyously when joy is called for.

But even though the calendar observances can be seen as an end in themselves, our reading this morning provides a very strong hint as to what this is really all about.  (Our reading this morning from the portion, was Leviticus 23:1-22)  As you remember, in the last verse of the reading (verse 22), there is what seems to be an abrupt change of subject.  In the previous verse, we’re being told the laws of the sacrifice for Shavu’ot, and then suddenly we’re being told to remember to leave the corners of our fields un-harvested, to leave the crops of the corners for the poor.  This is not really a change of subject, rather the juxtaposition tells us what these festivals are really for.

The whole of Jewish observance, the whole notion of the Jews being set apart, is for the purpose of making the world a better place.  All of the ‘tools’ we have been given – the Sabbath and festivals, kashrut, everything – is for the purpose of making us agents of goodness in the world.  When we allow the sacred observances to positively affect us, it is so that we would bring goodness by doing good.
As such, these occasions should trump organisational meetings, school holidays, and yes, even Mah Jong games.  We need to mark them in our diaries and year-planners so that any and every additional opportunity that might come up, is always considered against any existing Jewish obligation that might interfere, and trump, the former.  Yes, these sacred rhythms make us holy.  And if we are unwilling to be holy, then we might as well be at the shopping mall, as here in shule today.  Shabbat shalom.

The Danger in Telling the Truth A Drash for Friday, 02 May 2014

Former British PM, Tony Blair

I know you may find this incredible, but I as an American do follow the political scene in other countries!  In particular, I have long followed British politics.  As you know, the two countries, the UK and the USA, have always had a very special relationship.  As you may remember, back in the 1980’s when the US President was the Republican Ronald Reagan, Britain was ruled by the Tories under Margaret Thatcher.

          I always liked “the Iron Lady.” I thought she was a formidable force and of course had a very strong friendship with President Reagan which brought the UK and the US even closer during those years.

          During most of the first decade of the new century, George W. Bush served as the US President. Tony Blair was the British PM.  It would have been counterintuitive to expect an especially warm working relationship between the Labourite Blair and the Republican Bush.  But the two were, by all accounts, best of friends and close confidants.  This, despite that Blair had also been close to the previous US President, Bill Clinton, and remains a good friend of the Clintons to this day.

          Whether because of or despite this – okay, it’s because! – I’ve long liked Tony Blair.  It’s hard not to respect a political leader who can form strong friendships with those of his own, as well as other, political philosophies.  Who takes a principled stand that, in effect, ruins his standing in his own party as Blair did with his support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.  So Tony Blair is a British politician I’ve admired and followed over the years.

          As the political leaders we most admire tend to do, Tony Blair after retiring from politics has spent his years in public service.  He has been serving as Special Envoy of the Middle East Quartet, a loose consortium consisting of the UN, the EU, the Russian Republic and the USA.  He has spent the last seven years travelling in the Middle East and talking to other world leaders about the Middle East.  His is a voice which is deeply respected by most of the principals to the Middle East Conflict, as well as by leaders around the world.

          Last week in London, Tony Blair addressed the Elephant in the Room that makes it so difficult for the West to come to terms with the Middle East.  And that Elephant is the fact that Radical Islam, or Islamism as it’s often called, is a warped and aggressive ideology on the order of what were arguably the most injurious such ideologies on the planet during the twentieth century:  Nazi fascism and Soviet communism.  And while he of course offered the caveat that not all Muslims are Islamists, he sounded a very direct and serious warning:  “The threat of radical Islam is not abating.  It is growing. It is spreading across the world. It is de-stabilizing communities and even nations. It is undermining the possibility of peaceful co-existence in an era of globalisation.”

          Strong words.  But much of the world’s press has ignored them.  Zev Chafets did not.  He’s an American-born Israeli, a former president of the Reform Jewish youth group NFTY and author of several good books who appears on FOX News.  Chafets points out that Blair was excoriated and called an ‘Islamophobe’ by “Islamist propagandists and their British fellow travellers.”

          Understand what it would mean to be an ‘Islamophobe.’  A phobia is a baseless, irrational fear.  So an ‘Islamophobe’ would be someone who has a baseless, irrational fear of Islam.  The problem is that there are very real, rational reasons to have concerns about Islamism.  And if anybody has the first-hand knowledge to understand those concerns in a rational way, it is Tony Blair.

          But why mention this on a Friday evening, in shule of all places?

          I mention it because, first, it’s important to have honest conversations about the effect of religion in general, and of specific religions, on society.  We talk about our own religion, and those of our neighbours.  That talk should be honest and frank.

As you know, I am very much a veteran of interfaith dialogue.  I think it is important that people of various religions talk to one another.  But one frustration I have about it, is that very little is said that is substantive.  Interfaith ‘conferences’ generally take the form of love-fests, where participants representing various religious faiths stand up and tell how much their religion loves all others.  Then everybody walks away, feeling good.  Or at least, feeling as if they are supposed to feel good.

          What Tony Blair has done, is the antithesis of these interfaith conferences.  Knowing that he would be excoriated, he stood at the podium and told the truth.  But Blair has a history of doing just that.  And that’s why he is well-respected, and listened to, around the world.  This, despite that some have raked him over the coals for the Iraq War, and now for sounding an alarm about Islamism.

          Which brings me to the second reason I mention this tonight.  It is important to tell what you understand to be the truth.  That is self-evident.  But equally important is how you tell it.  The truth shouldn’t be used as a weapon.  It should serve to enlighten, and to help others to contextualise facts.  And to translate those facts into action.  That’s why gossip is so injurious.  Gossip, or rechilut in Hebrew, is information about another person.  It may very well be true.  But it is repeated not for the purpose of allowing the hearer to make informed decisions.  Rather, its purpose is often to discredit another person.  In that case it is also Evilspeak, or lashon hara.  The Torah forbids it, even  if it is true.  In Australian law it is called Defamation, and it is illegal…even if it is true.

Gossip is the antithesis of directness.  The latter might hurt someone’s feelings now and then, especially if they are unused to it.  But it is a constructive way to tell people what you really think and mean.  To let them know where they stand with you.  It is a good idea to temper directness with a dose of diplomacy.  But we should nevertheless prize directness, and work to apply it in our communications, instead of gossiping.

          None of us in this room is a professional diplomat.  None of us is qualified to speak authoritatively about the causes of Middle East conflict. But each of us can learn an important lesson from Tony Blair.  In particular, from his words last week.  Each of us regularly communicates ideas and facts to others:  in conversation and in writing.  Nobody is factually right all the time.  But we all have a responsibility to communicate what we believe to be right, and to qualify such communication when we don’t know.  This is a skill to use 24/7/365.  As Tony Blair has learned, there is a danger in telling the truth.  But it is important to do so.  Shabbat shalom.