Helping Them to See: A Drash for Friday, 04 April 2014

Last week I crafted my drash around an e-mail that had been forwarded to me.  I’m sure you get them all the time, as I do.  People are forever sending me essays, manifestos, jokes, links to articles or videos…you name it!  Sometimes I have actually time to look at them.  If you’re like me, you pay attention to such forwards from certain people, and ignore them from others.  If you’re like me, you sometimes feel far too busy to read all of them and delete them unread, lest they clog your inbox.

          Having used my ten minutes last Friday to bring one such e-mail to your attention, I mention another one tonight with some trepidation.  I don’t want you to think that I have excess time on my hands to read all these e-mails!  But this one contains a great story, one worthy of repeating and of comment.

          Two men are sharing a hospital room.  The one in the bed next to the window is able, and advised, to sit up for an hour a day to drain his sinuses.  The one in the bed adjacent to the door cannot sit up.  During the hour each day that the guy at the window can sit up, he describes to his roommate what he sees looking out.  He describes a park where there are green fields and copses of leafy trees.  Where children play games and adults watch on.  Where runners and cyclists use the paths for their daily exercise.  One day, he describes a festival that is underway, where there are marquis’ set up and all kinds of shows and booths catering to the throngs of people.  The man in the door bed asks why he doesn’t hear anything, any music playing or any cheerful yelling by the participants.  The man in the window bed simply tells his roommate that the festival is far enough away that the sound doesn’t seem to be carrying.

          For the man in the door-bed, these hours when his roommate is looking out the window and describing what he sees, are the highlight of his day.  He can hardly wait until the man has the strength to sit up and begin his description of what he sees.  Unable to sit up and see for himself, he finds that the other man’s descriptions of what he sees are so vivid as to make him feel almost as if he were seeing the view and activity himself.

One morning, the man in the door-bed wakes up to find that the man in the window-bed is gone.  The nurse later tells him that the other man died peacefully during the night and was taken out.  Later in the day, an orderly complies with the surviving man’s request to be moved to the window bed.  Then, with a herculean effort, he manages to sit up and look out the window.  It faces a blank wall!  No park, no green fields, no copses of trees.

          The orderly comes back in and engages the man in conversation.  It comes out that the other man, the one who was in the window-bed before, was totally blind.  It became immediately clear to the man that his late roommate was describing things from his own imagination.  And that imagination was so real that he felt he was seeing it vicariously from his supine position.

          It’s a lovely vignette.  As I read it, I realised that it had been used in a variant form by the author Chaim Potok in his 1967 novel, The Chosen which was made into a feature film in 1981.  A lovely story…but it comes to teach us some important lessons.  What are those lessons?

          One lesson from the story is that seeing isn’t everything.  If we do have the use of our eyes, then we have a tendency to rely on them to a great degree.  If their use is denied us, though, it doesn’t mean we cannot ‘see.’  It means that we must rely more on our other senses…and our imagination and memory.  It means we must simply work a little harder to experience the world around us.  Those who are blind can lead useful lives, and transcend their disability through the use of guide dogs, braille books and other tools.  Those who have the use of their sight can broaden their perspective by relying on other sensory input, and on their imagination and memory.

          Another lesson is that, when we can ‘see’ something that someone else cannot, it is a good thing to share it with them.  We are used to sharing specific knowledge and opinions.  When we are able to share such things, it sometimes feeds our egos and makes us feel somehow superior.  But are we used to sharing the beauty that surrounds us?  Are we used to sharing a vision of a world more beautiful than that, which we’re able to see?  That’s the real measure of a person’s willingness to share.  Not that which makes me feel smarter, or more educated than you.  But that which means simply that I took the time to really look around at the beauty that surrounds us.  And to appreciate it.  And to share it with you, so that you, too would be able to appreciate it..

          But if we can do what the blind man in the window-bed did, that’s the best case.  He not only was willing to share the world’s beauty with his roommate.  He was also optimistic enough to share it from his memory.  And he was willing to share it as if he had no disability, and let his roommate think he was actually seeing it!

          Imagine if we were all able to do that!  To push aside any and all kvetching about our own limitations.  And give someone else a gift.  Such as telling the man in the next bed, who can’t raise himself up to look, about the beauty that exists out there.  Somewhere beyond that blank wall.

          It’s inspirational, and it is a wonderful goal for each one of us.  How much are we willing to give one another?  Are we willing to ‘give’ our optimism?  Our appreciation of the world around us?  Or are we too selfish to share this wonderful gift?  Think about it.  Shabbat shalom. 

Conservative or Radical? A Drash for Saturday, 29 March 2014

It is said that people are basically conservative, and that this shows up nowhere more than in religious life.

          Before I continue, I should define ‘conservative’ because the word has come to have so many meanings.  For example, I consider myself to be politically ‘conservative.’  I therefore identify, back home in the USA, with the Republican Party, which is understood to be the one of the two major parties that leans ‘conservative.’ If I were an Australian voter I would most likely identify with the Liberal party, which sounds strange to my ears because I know ‘liberal’ as the polar opposite of ‘conservative.’  But never mind…

          We also know that there is a branch of Judaism that is called ‘Conservative Judaism.’ In this part of the world it is called, ‘Masorti Judaism.’  This type of Judaism generally advocates and practices a ritual life resembling that of traditional Judaism more than our Progressive ritual, which we allow to change and evolve far more over time.  On the other hand, back in Colorado Springs where Clara and I lived before we came here, there was a Conservative shule.  Its rabbi, my local Conservative colleague was far further than the ‘traditional’ philosophical underpinnings of traditional Jewish belief than I am.

          So ‘conservative’ can be a somewhat confusing term.  But for purposes of the statement I made a moment ago, it means favouring the preservation of established customs, values, etc., and opposing innovation.  In this sense, most of us are ‘conservative.’  It doesn’t mean that we don’t like change at all.  It means that we get comfortable with familiar patterns and practices.  When people ask us to change, we have to have a good reason to go along with it.  In this way, we are all conservative to one degree or another.

          Jonathan Saks, the recently-retired Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, published a book about Judaism a few years back.  It was entitled Radical Then, Radical Now.  His thesis was that the law and philosophy of Judaism presented nothing less than a radical departure from what the near eastern man had known up to that point.  And that ‘authentic’ Judaism even today should represent a radical parting of the ways from other legal and philosophical mindsets that are at work in our midst.  Judaism, to Rabbi Saks, was never about, and should never be about, accommodation.

          Not one to take issue with such a learned and distinguished rabbi as Jonathan Saks, I nevertheless would frame the thesis a bit differently.  You’ve heard me opine before that Judaism was, from its very outset, ‘conservative’ in nature.  As evidence of this, the Torah does not outlaw slavery.  But it ameliorates it.  It imposes restraints and limitations upon one who would ‘own’ other human beings.  It requires that slaves be treated humanely and enjoy Sabbath rest just as their Jewish owner does.  It requires they be manumitted in the Seventh Year, unless they choose to continue serving their master.  Most of us today believe that the Torah’s meta-message on the subject is that slavery is wrong and needs to cease as a practice.  But the Torah’s specific instruction allows it to continue under certain restraints.  A close reading of the Torah reveals a similar ‘attitude’ towards other then-common practices.

          I believe that the Torah takes this ‘conservative’ path for a very specific reason.  God wanted His people to break from the conventional behaviours and ethics of the age.  But He didn’t want to process to be onerous.  Recognising the inherent conservatism in the human beast, He legislated in a way that was calculated to move His people away from the worst practices but in a way they could tolerate.  I know it’s hard for us to see God as being pragmatic, but I believe that Torah offers a glimpse into a God who is somewhat pragmatic.

If this makes sense to you, and if you think that I’m on to something, then that raises a question.  If Judaism was intended to be Conservative Then, Conservative Now, then why does it seem that traditional Jewish values and practices are so radically out of synch with the developing societal ethic today?  This, as asserted by Rabbi Saks.  My answer to this question is actually quite simple.  It is because the developing societal ethic is, itself, quite radical.  So much so that Judaism, a ‘conservative’ legal and ethical system, seems radically out of synch with prevailing and developing sensibilities.

 The explanation to this is in another thesis you’ve heard from me before which concerns my generation, the Baby Boomers, born between 1946 and 1964.  We came of age in the Vietnam years.  We were the first generation to achieve a lot of things.  Chiefly we made the overturning of established norms and values into a virtue.  The specific acts of my generation – for example refusing en masse to serve in an unpopular war, and overturning existing sexual mores when technology made it easier to avoid unwanted pregnancies – paved the way for a popular mindset that sees radical change as a virtue.

That being the case, I do not see the disconnect between traditional Judaism and popular culture as indicating a radical streak within Judaism.  Rather, I see Judaism as counselling a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude towards change.  A mindset that says that change may be good, but it carries the burden of proof.  A mindset that advocates the retention of existing values and practices unless and until the ‘new, improved’ version is proven to be better.  An essentially conservative mindset.

So this leads to the question:  Why does it matter whether Judaism is, by definition, Radical or Conservative?  I think it matters because, if we recognise the truism that we are essentially ‘conservative’ people, particularly in the area of religion, then it follows that a ‘radical’ religion would not resonate with much of humanity.  But I can tell you that Judaism does, indeed resonate with humanity far-and-wide.  Come on Tuesday night to my class and see the excitement of my students, many of whom are taking the big step of converting to Judaism from some other faith or from no faith at all.  Spend a few hours with me in the office and listen as I take call after call from those who find Judaism attractive on some level and are thinking about conversion.  Take a trip with one of members who has worked with Christian groups in Papua New Guinea, who are moving away from Christianity and towards Judaism. 

Many of you fret about your grown children and grandchildren, who show little or no interest in Jewish life.  I fret along with you.  But I think this is, as much as anything else, the syndrome of the truly blessed not recognising the extent of their blessings.  I addressed it last night with regards to Australian nationalism, to Australians not recognising the value of what they have.  It’s just as true of Jews who were born into the Covenant of Abraham.  But at the same time, there is a great ferment of interest in Judaism by others.  If we had more trained rabbis and outreach teachers, and the resources to employ them, we could be experiencing growth far in excess to what we have now.

  Conservative of Radical?  It’s easy to see this as a rhetorical exercise.  But I think that it matters.  If we agree that Jewish faith matches human nature, then that changes how we see, and internalise that faith.  Does it not?  Let’s therefore draw comfort from our Tradition, and let it resonate deeply in our souls.  And draw comfort from sharing it with those souls, for whom it also resonates.  Shabbat shalom.e didn’t want this change to be onerousHYehhhhheheheheheheheheh   

Value What You Have and Don’t Give it Away: A Drash for Friday, 28 March 2014

One year during the northern hemisphere spring I was in Qatar.  I spent four months there, supporting the Allied Expeditionary Forces engaged in Operation Enduring Freedom, and Operation Iraqi Freedom.  On our chaplain staff, we had an Australian RAAF chaplain, an Anglican priest named Steve Holmes from the Melbourne hinterland.  When the 24^th of April came around, Steve invited us, his American colleagues, to a sunrise ceremony at the base flagpole the next morning.  It was ANZAC Day.

          I knew something about the origins of ANZAC Day.  While Gallipoli was not an American experience, I had read about the heroism of the ANZAC troops there.  I also saw the highly-acclaimed 1981 film, Gallipoli, directed by Peter Weir and starring our ‘friend’ Mel Gibson. 

As you may know, there was a Palestinian Jewish presence in Gallipoli as well.  The Zion Mule Corps had been formed out of the desire of the Jews of the Yishuv, the community in Palestine, to contribute to the war effort on the Allied side.  The British, not wanting to give Palestinian Jews training in soldiering skills, recruited them into the Mule Corps, which provided battlefield logistics in Gallipoli and other battles of the Great War.  That unit and its exploits have been written about extensively.

          I know it may sound funny to hear me speaking about the origins of ANZAC Day right now.  After all, it is just the end of March, and ANZAC Day is exactly four weeks away.  But since we are coming up on Rosh Chodesh Nissan and the First of April, it is probably not too early to mention it.

          An e-mail has been making the rounds lately, and maybe you’ve seen it.  Several of you have brought it to my attention.  It’s an essay entitled Value What You Have and Don’t Give it Away, and it’s ascribed to an American academic named David Mason who has recently spent some time in Australia.  The essay’s premise is that certain things are superior in Australia, to the USA.

          A couple of you had forwarded it to me; not being especially impressed by the writer’s views I didn’t give it further thought.  But this week, one of our members sent it to me and actually asked what I thought of it, challenging me to re-read it carefully and formulate my reactions into coherent comments.

          I still disagree with most of the essay, where Mason asserts that Australia compares favourably with America in various ways.  But I agree with the author’s overall sentiments.  The author asserts: “There’s a lot to admire about Australia.” He goes on to report that, when he enthuses about this country to his Australian friends, they often respond by telling him: “We need outsiders like you to remind us what we have.”  How true that is!  In America, we like to say that we need immigrants to remind the native born of how positively our country and its way of life compares to other places in the world.  Same general idea.  If you have been drinking from a fountain of blessing all your life, it is important to be reminded of the hardships of life elsewhere.  Both Americans and Australians need to remember how much they have been blessed.

After listing his reasons why he thinks Australia outshines the USA, Mason asserts:  “No need to wave flags like Americans and add to the world’s windiness.” Now I agree that Americans are more likely to wave – or display – their national flag than Australians.  But frankly, I think both countries would benefit with an increase of flag-waving.  For some reason, the sight of the native born waving the flag makes some onlookers cry ‘racism.’  But this doesn’t make much sense to me.  After all, your Department of Immigration and Citizenship website prominently displays photographs of immigrants of all colours proudly waving the flag.  Flag-waving is nothing more than expressing pride in your country and what it stands for.  And whilst our countries’ constitutions are vastly different, the values that are understood to underpin citizenship in both countries are quite similar. 

According to the website of your Department of Immigration and Citizenship, Australian values are as follows:  freedom and dignity of the individual; freedom of religion; commitment to the rule of law; Parliamentary democracy; equality of opportunity to all regardless of gender, race, religion or ethnic background; mutual respect, tolerance, fair play and compassion for those in need; pursuit of the public good.

This American finds nothing to disagree with in this values statement – except perhaps parliamentary democracy since I’m committed to my representative republic, but that’s a minor point.  So when you wave the flag you are showing your affirmation for the values that underpin your nation.  And that’s a good thing.  More Australians, and more Americans, should wave their respective flags and stand up for the values that underpin our great countries.

By now you’ve surely intuited that my disagreements with David Mason, as expressed in his essay circulating by e-mail, are quite deep.  Whilst it’s true that they are, I agree 100 percent with his bottom line.  He counsels his Australian friends: “Value what you have, pray for it, work hard for it, and don’t give it away.”  Amen to that!  Never forget what your country represents. 

So back in 2006, I stood at the flagpole in the predawn chill of a spring morning in Qatar, and observed the service for ANZAC Day with the Australian contingent on the base and many of my American colleagues as well.  It was simple and moving.  Afterwards, we all walked to the mess hall and enjoyed one another’s fellowship over breakfast.

Four weeks from now, let’s get up early in the morning to march with the local returned servicemen, stand in reverence at the flagpole, be moved by the simple service, and then join them for breakfast at the local RSL.  Come on, you can give up an hour or so of sleep, and you can always make it up later in the day!  In an age where patriotic gestures have become passé, let’s make a patriotic gesture.  How about it?  Shabbat shalom.   

The Best…and the Worst: A Drash for Saturday, 22 March 2014

You’ve heard me say of religion, it brings out the best, and the worst in people.  This certainly can be said of our religion.  How much bad behaviour is unleashed in the running of shules, and other Jewish institutions, and really just about everywhere you go?  How many scandals have there been regarding child molestation in our Jewish schools?  Regarding the selling of gets, of divorce papers?  How many Jews do you know, who have dropped out of Jewish life because of the general sometimes-nasty edge to it?

          But the phenomenon is not limited to us Jews, not by a long shot!  Roman Catholics have had a difficult couple of decades as their church, worldwide, has been wracked with scandal.  Priests abusing children.  Priests in supervisory positions covering it up.  Back when the worldwide scandal first began coming to light, I was a military chaplain, working closely with Catholic priests whom I considered my friends and colleagues.  How much anguish they felt as their vocation was sullied by revelation after revelation of terrible behaviour by their brother priests!

          And the Protestant Christian world is not immune either.  They have also had their share of scandals:  sexual, financial, power.  And yes, Islam and the Eastern Traditions; we don’t hear so much about them, because their worlds are relatively opaque to the outsider.  But really, there is more than enough shame to go around.

          So we have here a paradox.  Something that is supposed to bring goodness into the world, religion, unfortunately is often an agent for sin and suffering.  And as you know, I’ve talked about this paradox before.

Religion brings out the best in people because of its message of hope and redemption.  One thing I struggled with during my first years in the rabbinate, was the role of Symbolic Exemplar.  Because of what I represent due to my calling, I found myself sometimes put on a pedestal, a place where I did not feel comfortable.  A colleague named Jack Bloom, a Reform Rabbi who is a clinical psychologist, wrote a book about it:  The Rabbi as Symbolic Exemplar.  When I read it, it really hit home.

Sometimes the Symbolic Exemplar thing takes on humorous tones.  When people find out I’m a rabbi, they will automatically change the way they talk, and the things about which they talk, around me.  Early on, I would take to not ‘outing’ myself in order to have normal conversations with people!  And then, when the subject came up and it was either ‘out’ myself or lie, and I would reveal my vocation, they would change instantly!

I’ve come to accept the phenomenon of the Symbolic Exemplar, and even understand why it happens.  And it really comes down to what I was talking about a moment ago, that religion does bring out the best in people.  But if so, why does it also seem to bring out the worst?  I’ve offered an explanation in the past, but whilst reading in preparation for this Shabbat, I came across another rabbi’s very lucid explanation.

As you may know, this Shabbat is Shabbat Parah – the Sabbath of the Heifer, as in the Red Heifer.  The traditional Maftir reading for this Shabbat is found in the 25^th chapter of the Book of Numbers.  It instructs the Israelites to take a completely red cow without blemish, a cow which has never been yoked for work as a draft animal, slaughter it and have the priests burn it completely on the altar.  Then its ashes would be mixed with water and sprinkled on anybody or thing needing purification.  But the paradox of the Heifer is that the priest’s duties in this case make him unclean.  How can the same ritual make the clean unclean and the unclean, clean?

In looking for answers, I came upon a brief answer offered by J.H. Hertz in the Soncino Chumash, which is often referred to as the ‘Hertz Chumash.’  Dr Hertz writes the following:

A word must be said on the paradox of the (Red Heifer), …[with regard to] the simultaneous possession of sanctification and defilement.  There have been great institutions and movements, in both Jewish and general history, that have sanctified others, and yet at the same time tended to defile those that created or directed those institutions and movements.  The very men who helped others to self-sacrifice and holiness, not infrequently themselves became hard and self-centred, hating and hateful:  elevating others, and themselves sinking into inhumanity, impurity, and unholiness.  It is a real, if disturbing, fact in the spiritual life of man.

Now I could have said similar words in my own voice, but how much more powerful coming from the late Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom!  What I hear Dr Hertz saying, is that through religion and other endeavours, people work hard to uplift others with something positive and good.  Unfortunately, it is human nature that when one is doing righteous things, one can easily fall into the trap of ‘self-righteousness.’  This is a mindset, where one thinks that, because they’re doing good for people, they are beyond reproach and, ultimately, restraint.  We know the term, and the syndrome, and we are quick to condemn it in others.  But the truth is that we’re all subject to the tendency.  And when we’re in a position of doing good, we must constantly be aware of the tendency and be ready to fight it when we see evidence that we’re falling into it.

There are elements of our great tradition that are easily grasped.  When we read the Torah, it often sings out to us in a lovely song of goodness and righteousness.  In the ancient world, the ethics emanating from the Torah were singularly superior to any other system known to man.  That’s why, in antiquity, there was great interest and great movement among pagans to embrace Judaism.  Really, that’s why even today, in the wake of centuries of persecution of Jews, the Jewish message resonates so strongly.  

And yet, there are passages in the Torah that defy explanation.  That even today, centuries later, still baffle the greatest minds.  And maybe they’re supposed to baffle us, but more about that tomorrow morning.

Do good works, religious or otherwise.  But be careful of the tendency to fall into the paradox.  Let it bring out the best in you.  But when you have any inkling that it’s bringing out the worst in you, it is time to stop.  Take a deep breath.  Stand back.  And question your motives.  Just because religion does bring out the best and the worst, doesn’t mean it’s supposed to!  If we are letting it bring forth the latter, then we’ve missed the boat.  Then we have, in the words of the late novelist Tom Clancy, perhaps mastered the forms of religion, while allowing its essence to elude us.  But if the essence is missing, then there’s no value at all in the forms.  Minus the essence, the forms can only serve to try to control people.  And that is unfortunate.  Shabbat shalom.

The 'Paradox' of the Heifer: A Drash for Friday, 21 March 2014

This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Parah, or the Sabbath of the Heifer.  The reference is to the traditional Maftir reading for tomorrow which is from Numbers chapter 10 – quite some distance from the regular cyclical Torah reading which is from the Book of Leviticus.  The Maftir reading is the commandment of the Red Heifer.

          In brief, the passage instructs that the Israelites are to take a Red Heifer without blemish, upon whom a yoke has never been laid, and burn it as a burnt offering.  And the Priest, Eleazer the son of Aaron is to take the ashes, mix them with water, and sprinkle them on those who are impure for whatever reason, and it shall purify them.

The reading begins:  Zot hukkat Hatorah asher tziva Adonai.  This is the statute of the Torah which Adonai commanded.  The Hebrew word hukkat, translated as ‘statute,’ means a law for which no rationale is given or implied.  So if we read this passage and are completely mystified, it seems that we’re supposed to be so.

Of course, this very idea will repel some hearing, or reading this.  They fancy themselves as rationalists.  They rebel against the idea that anything cannot be apprehended, and understood, in whole by scientific enquiry.  And if it cannot, then they place it in the category of ‘fairy tale.’  So to some, the very notion that religion sometimes requires that we suspend rationality even for a time, makes them see it as something not worthy of our serious consideration.  They may find it interesting on some level, in the same way that we find mythology or a well-crafted novel interesting.  But it certainly does not qualify as a source, from which to derive one’s worldview.

The above would have well described me some years back.  But different experiences informed me that not everything in life is rationally apprehendable.  And that we should not fear that, which is not.  We can, instead, enjoy the mysteries of life.  And yes, that includes the mystery of religious faith.  If I’m thus freed from worrying about whether I understand everything, then I have far more emotional energy to invest in enjoying life.  I’ll give you an example.

One time many years ago I was complaining to a friend – it happened that he was a rabbi – about the incomprehensibility of women.  I was thinking about a particular woman at that moment, but I realised that the mystery of women is not unique to any one woman, but to women as a species.  That is, if you happen to be of the male persuasion…

“Women are not to understand, Don,” my friend told me. “They’re to accept…and to enjoy!”

I can’t tell you how liberating my friend’s words were!  How many people struggle all of their lives to understand the opposite sex and never succeed!  The point is:  you’re not supposed to succeed!  You’re supposed to accept that she or he is beyond your comprehension, and accept…and enjoy!  Vive le difference!

Religious faith is another one of those things in life where an acceptance of some degree of incomprehensibility is necessary.  If there are lessons to be had in Torah that elude me, perhaps they will become clear as I grow and wizen.  Perhaps Torah is an unfolding banquet, where instead of being given everything from the get-go, you’re given things along the way to savour and make the way sweet.

But the truth is that this goes so much against the grain!  Did you ever start a new venture – a job or profession, a course of learning or a new sport – and purchase, or receive a huge kit of the stuff you would need for it?  I did.  When I received my first orders to the war zone of Iraq and the Persian Gulf, I had to go down to supply and pick of an incredible kit.  Coming back home, I spread out all the gear and clothing I’d been issued.  Look, it was just military gear…but it felt like Chanukah!  We love it when we’re given all the tools we’re going to need, even if we can’t see at that moment how we’ll use one or another of the tools in the bag.

Imagine how I would have felt if I hadn’t been given everything I would need in advance of my trip to Iraq.  I’m sure I would have felt some unease.  If, for example, I would not have been given my gas mask and chemical warfare suit.  What if the Supply Sergeant had told me:  Oh, that’s okay, Chaplain; there are plenty of masks and suits downrange; they’ll fit you when you arrive.  I can tell you how I would have felt.  Not good.  It was much more comforting to me having the mask and suit in my possession, being able to touch them and practice putting them on.

 So that’s the apparent paradox.  Not knowing everything from the start, and accepting that that’s okay, can be liberating.  But there is a certain comfort in being able to figure things out.

If you try to really use logic, then you’ll realise that it’s really not a paradox at all.  It’s simply normal.  I mean, Torah is anything but ‘normal’; it is unique!  But the way we encounter and appreciate Torah, is in reality like just about everything else in life.  We try to gather up as complete a ‘kit’ of knowledge and understanding as possible from the start.  But at the same time we understand – and accept – that there will be things beyond our comprehension that will get filled in along the way…if they get filled in.  Some things, like the mystery of the opposite sex, may never get filled in.  Perhaps, as my rabbi friend told me, we’re not supposed to understand the opposite sex at all.  If so, then our ultimate happiness depends on our accepting the wonder of something beyond our comprehension.  If so, then how much more so can we enjoy our Jewish journeys without comprehending the mystery of the Red Heifer?  We can.  Shabbat shalom.

Remember Amalek – and Avoid False Sightings in Our Day: A Drash for Saturday, 15 March 2014

This Shabbat is Shabbat Zachor, or Remember!  It is the Shabbat that precedes the festival of Purim.  In the case of this year, as you are probably aware, Purim begins immediately at the conclusion of Shabbat, this evening.  We hope that you will come tonight at six, to celebrate this joyous festival.

          Last night, I spoke about the meaning of the designation, Zachor, or ‘remember’ in the imperative.  It comes from the opening phrase of the traditional Maftir reading for today.  The entire Maftir, from the 25^th chapter of Deuteronomy, reads in translation as follows:

Remember what Amalek did to you on your way out of Egypt.  When they encountered you on the way, and you were tired and exhausted, they cut off those lagging to the rear, as they did not fear God.  Therefore, when God gives you peace from all the enemies around you in the land that God is giving you to occupy as a heritage, you must obliterate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.  You must not forget.

          As I told the folks in attendance last night, we read this on the Shabbat before Purim because the Rabbis saw Amalek not only as an actual people, as players in one particular drama chronicled in the Torah.  Amalek, to our Sages, also serves as the embodiment of the worst kind of evil that humans unleash against humans.  And specifically, for the enemies of the Jewish people.  For the ones that hated and oppressed us for no reason other than that we were the Jewish people.  Haman the Aggagite, the villain of the Book of Esther which we read in part this morning and will read more of tonight, is seen as the essence of Amalek.  As are Joseph Stalin, Adolph Hitler, and Saddam Hussein.  To name just a few of the more recent examples.

          What made Amalek, and his later heirs, so evil was not that they were the enemies of the People Israel.  Rather, that they were enemies who were cowards.  They struck the people Israel from the rear when they were exhausted, killing women, children, and the aged who were lagging behind the main body of combatants.  They did this as they did not fear God.  With no fear of God, they felt free to commit the worst atrocities.

          Each religious tradition since Judaism has struggled with the concept known as ‘the Laws of War.’  These include setting out when it is lawful to go to war, and what are the limits of cruelty in war.  To some, this is an absurd concept.  The great Prussian strategist and philosopher on war, Carl von Clausewitz, thought so.  But the Jewish religious tradition was always held otherwise.  As have our daughter faiths.  That the standards are not always met, does not bring them into question.  It just means that those trying to live within them are imperfect.

          So Amalek represents, among other things, a cowardly enemy.  And we overcame him as well as all the other Amaleks that followed.  Not without injury.  For example, in the Shoah about half of the Jews of Europe perished.  And so many survived only to live haunted lives, unable to find peace in the shadow of their suffering.  And really, how could one expect otherwise?  But with each Amalek, we had no choice but to try to overcome, and so we did.

          As a result of our history, we have developed a ‘sixth sense’ for sniffing out our enemies.  We listen carefully to what others say about us.  And we’re quick to express our concerns when those words convey disdain or hatred.  Sometimes others pooh-pooh our concerns.  It’s just rhetoric, they tell us when our Arab cousins say they want to wipe Israel off the map.  But we know that it isn’t just rhetoric.  We know that the worst persecutions begin with just rhetoric.  So when we hear hurtful rhetoric, we tend not to minimise it or dismiss it as unimportant.

          And yet…in every service we recite the Amidah, the central prayer.  And at the end of that prayer there is a reflection.  I always leave time for it, before we come back together to sing the anthem, Oseh Shalom Bimromav.  Maybe you’ve noticed this reflection, found on page 260 in this morning’s service:

My God, guard my speech from evil and my lips from deception.  Help me to be ever modest, holding my tongue even when people slander me.  Open my heart to Your Torah, that I may pursue Your Mitzvot.  As for all who think evil of me, cancel their designs and frustrate their schemes.  Act for your own sake, for the sake of Your Power, for the sake of Your Holiness, for the sake of Your Torah, so that Your loved ones may be rescued.  Save with Your power, and answer me.  May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, O God, my Rock and my Redeemer. 

          This reflection is not an innovation from the Progressive Movement.  It is carried over word-for-word from the traditional prayer book.  It expresses the sentiment that the Rabbis have counselled since at least the Middle Ages.  It expresses a sentiment that should be universal.  Having just offered our far-ranging prayer to God, we now ask that God would help us to develop a new spirit that is less combative, less confrontational, less defensive.  We ask that we learn to hold our tongues, even when we believe we are right.  We ask that we allow God to frustrate the designs of those who would do us evil, rather than giving us the wherewithal to defend ourselves verbally.

          This is an important concept, and it does not really contradict the imperative to blot out Amalek and his heirs.  But perhaps it comes to tell us something about the nature of Amalek.  Amalek is not every enemy of the Jewish people.  Yes, there have been many incarnations of Amalek that we’ve had to face as our history has unfolded.  But not every enemy is Amalek.

          The warrior understands this.  There are enemies, and there are enemies.  From the end of the Second World War until the second half of the 1980’s, the East and West were locked in a Cold War.  It made generations of the world’s citizens live in a tense world of two competing systems.  When General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union Mikhail Gorbachev unleashed his policy of Perestroika or re-structuring, he effectively ended the Cold War.  In the next years, members of the US and Soviet military services – from the highest levels to the rank-and-file – met one another and found it easy to form a comradeship with our former enemies.  We found that we had more in common than not.  In particular, for those of us who spoke Russian, it was an incredibly heady time.  Those who had been our feared enemy were transformed overnight into something approaching colleagues.  We recognised that the Soviet warrior had been our enemy because he represented a competing system, not because he was evil.  They were clearly not Amalek.

          Rabbi Shelomo Goren, the first Chief Rabbi of the Israel Defence Forces, likewise counselled against seeing every enemy of Israel as Amalek or the Seven Canaanite Nations.  We must defend ourselves against all our enemies.  But we shouldn’t see each one as an incarnation of Amalek.  Amalek was a specific kind of enemy.  If we dismiss each one of our enemies as Amalek, then we have a tendency to de-humanise them.  And it is important to recognise the humanity of others – even of our enemies.  If not, then we effectively cannot make peace with them.  Peace isn’t necessarily possible with each and every enemy.  But if we see each one as Amalek, then we won’t make peace with any of them.

          Today we remember Amalek.  And we reflect on the many Amaleks we have encountered through the ages.  Enemies who were cowardly.  And who would have destroyed us solely because we are Jews.  But we must not exaggerate when we apply the label Amalek.  It does no good to apply the label Amalek too broadly.  If we do, we will always be at war with an absolutely intractable foe.  And each fight will be a fight to the utter destruction of one side or the other.  And sooner or later we may be that side that is utterly destroyed.  Think about it.  Shabbat shalom.  

Remember Amalek – and Avoid Sin’at Hinam: A Drash for Friday, 14 March 2014

This Shabbat is Shabbat Zachor, or Remember!  It is the Shabbat that precedes the festival of Purim.  In the case of this year, as you are probably aware, Purim begins immediately at the conclusion of Shabbat, on Saturday night.  We hope that you will come tomorrow night at six, to celebrate this joyous festival.

The designation, Zachor, or ‘remember’ in the imperative comes from the opening phrase of the traditional Maftir reading for the day.  The entire Maftir, from the 25^th chapter of Deuteronomy, reads in translation as follows:

Remember what Amalek did to you on your way out of Egypt.  When they encountered you on the way, and you were tired and exhausted, they cut off those lagging to the rear, as they did not fear God.  Therefore, when God gives you peace from all the enemies around you in the land that God is giving you to occupy as a heritage, you must obliterate the memory of Amalek from under the heavens.  You must not forget.

          We read this on the Shabbat before Purim for an important reason.  The Rabbis saw Amalek, not only as an actual people, as players in one particular drama chronicled in the Torah.  They also saw Amalek as a leitmotiv for the evil that, throughout history, humans have unleashed against humans.  And specifically, for those who have been enemies of the Jewish people, for no reason other than that we were the Jewish people.  Haman the Aggagite, the villain of the Book of Esther which we’ll read tomorrow, is seen as the essence of Amalek.  As are Joseph Stalin, Adolph Hitler, and Saddam Hussein.  To name just a few of the more recent examples.

          What made Amalek, and his later heirs, evil was not that they were the enemies of the People Israel.  Rather, that they were enemies who were cowards.  They struck Israel from the rear when they were exhausted, killing women, children and the aged who were lagging behind the main body of combatants.  The text says they did this as they did not fear God.  That is, this vicious behaviour is taken as evidence that they did not fear God.  If they had, they wouldn’t so brazenly have broken God’s law of decency in war.

          I know that for some of you listening to me, the phrase decency in war is dissonant.  To bring decency, to something which is so indecent?  But that is the genius of God whose will is expressed through the Torah.  Since man is not going to stop making war, the Torah spells out the limits of cause for, and of behaviour in war.  The swords into ploughshares thing, is a vision of the Messianic Age.  It is not an imperative for unilateral disarmament in our age.

          So Amalek represents a cowardly enemy.  We overcame him as well as all the other Amaleks that followed.  Often at great price.  In the Shoah, the Nazi Holocaust, about half the Jews of Europe perished.  And of those who survived, many – most – have lived haunted lives in the shadow of their suffering.  And how could one expect otherwise?  But each time, with each Amalek, we had no choice but to try to overcome, and so we did.

          Our real weakness as a people is that, whilst we are often quick to recognise enemies from without, we tend to be blind to the enemy within.  And the enemy that lurks within is that which our Rabbis called, sin’at hinam, or baseless hatred.

          It was sin’at hinam that divided the Jewish people and encouraged the Babylonians under Nebuchadnezzer to destroy the Temple and exile the leaders of the People Israel.  And encouraged the Assyrians under Anctiochus Epifanes to outlaw the Jewish religion and profane the rebuilt Temple.  And encouraged the Romans to destroy it again after them.  It is sin’at hinam that creates internal strife in Jewish communities today.  Even as, in the shadow of the Shoah, we struggle to create a meaningful Judaism for future generations.

          It is sin’at hinam, baseless hatred that paralyses Jewish communities with the putting-down of one ‘kind’ of Jews by another.  You know what I mean.  When the Orthodox put us down, and tell us that our form of Judaism is not authentic.  But the truth is that among our Progressive Jews, here and elsewhere, I’ve heard equally derogatory, hurtful sentiments toward the Orthodox.

It’s one thing to advocate for your own form of Judaism.  To believe, and tell others, why you think it best embodies Jewish values and the Jewish spirit.  That’s not a bad thing at all.  It’s self-evident that many of us would consider our own form of Judaism the ‘superior’ form.  Just as many of us would consider Judaism as a whole to be ‘superior’ to other religious paths.  Other-wise, why would we have chosen our specific path?  Isn’t it a given that, if your values are your guide, you would choose the path that best expresses those values?  And then, advocate for it on that basis? 

But to express the kind of disdain that I sometimes hear of the Orthodox for the Progressive, and vice versa, that comes from a different spirit altogether.  It comes from sin’at hinam, and it must be answered loudly and clearly:  That’s not helpful; that does not express our values.  We must respond to it without ambiguity.  When we hear it aimed at us.  And when we hear it aimed at others.  It’s always wrong.

          And what about the way that we Jews relate to one another, as individuals, within our own segment of the community?  Even within our own congregation we see sin’at himan at work sometimes.  We should work to see the best in each person.  We should work to understand that we each bring a different viewpoint, different talents and gifts to the table.  Instead, some of us work hard to delegitimise others whenever there’s a disagreement.  This too is sin’at hinam, baseless hatred, and it is corrosive to the social and moral fabric of our community.  When we partake in the evil fruit of sin’at hinam, we negate all that matters in Jewish life.  Look, sometimes we can’t help but fall short.  We’re sometimes going to fail to live up to the lofty values expressed so eloquently in our Torah and in our prayer book.  But if we’re not constantly working to live according to them, and helping others to do so as well, what does that say about us?

          Ever try to maintain a steel-hulled ship?  Steel corrodes – forms rust – upon contact with moisture.  So the crew of a steel-hulled ship have to constantly paint, scrape, and re-paint to prevent rust from overcoming the ship’s structure.  But rust also forms inside the ship, because the air inside tends to be moisture-laden.  That rust is much harder to detect, yet just as dangerous to the structural integrity of the hull. 

          So too sin’at hinam.  We’re good at recognising our enemies from without.  We have finely-tuned antennae that often detect an external enemy upon the vaguest sighting.  Perhaps that’s not a bad thing.  Look, there are more than enough malefactors out there.  And our experience is that nobody else is going defend us from them.  But we need to be equally sensitive to the ‘enemy’ within.  Sin’at hinam is that enemy.  Rust inside a steel ship is harder to see than rust on the outside.  In the same way, sin’at hinam can easily sneak into the room and afflict us before we know it.  So we must be sensitive to it.  Whether we are its targets.  Or its perpetrators.  Shabbat shalom.