Who Are You - I Am Jewish - Rosh Hashanah Sermon 5780

Who Are You - I am Jewish

365 years ago, in September 1654, shortly before Rosh Hashanah, 23 Jews arrived in New Amsterdam, which is now New York.  They were members of the Sephardic Jewish community in the Netherlands, many of whom had fled from Spain and Portugal during the Inquisition and later expulsion.  They had been living in Recife, Brazil, which was a Dutch Colony, until it came under Portuguese control and they had to leave.  They came to New Amsterdam seeking a place where they could live and be themselves.  They were seeking a home that would accept them for who they were and allow them to worship in peace.  They were seeking a home where they could contribute and help build a nation and be accepted as Jews.

Did you realize that there were Jews in America before it was officially the United States of America?    Had you thought about the reality that the first Jews in America were Spanish and Portuguese speaking Sephardic Jews, not the traditional Ashkenazic immigrants we think of?  In fact, Sherith Israel, known as the Spanish Portuguese synagogue was the first synagogue in America and for almost 100 years, Portuguese was the language spoken in the synagogue.

 From 1654 through today, America has been a haven, a golden Medina, golden land for Jews who sought refuge on her shores.  Our ancestors came here seeking a place that would allow them to live in freedom as Jews.  They came here, seeking to make a better life for themselves and their families - whether escaping the Russian pogroms and the Nazis, or seeking refuge after the destruction of the Holocaust, to finding a home after years of living behind the Iron curtain.

Has it always been easy?  No.  We Jews understand history has a funny way of repeating itself.  The 23 who arrived in 1654, faced anti-Semitism upon their arrival, as Governor Stuyvesant was known to discriminate against anyone whose religion was different than his.  But he was overruled by those above him at the Dutch West India Company, who oversaw New Amsterdam, as the Dutch were known for being tolerant of all faiths.  And later, as more Jews began to arrive, they were not always welcomed with open arms, but when they found communities that would allow them to live and to be Jewish, they settled and became part of the fabric of that community.  And, so began the history of the Jewish community in the United States. 

We have had our experiences of quotas, of being kept out of neighborhoods, country clubs, of dealing with signs that said “No Jews allowed,” yet today,  as Alan Dershowitz points out, “American Jews have achieved everything we ever wanted: acceptance, influence, affluence, and equality.”  And, until the recent uptick in Antisemitism, I would venture to guess that most American Jews had never felt more secure, more accepted, than at any time in our history.  America has been good for us.  And yet, I worry. I worry that becoming wholly American has meant that we have lost part of our Jewish identity. That daily, we struggle with a “tug of war between being an American and being a Jew.”  

What do I mean?  How many of us truly think about being Jewish daily?  How many of us live Torah, recognizing that in it is a way of living - not just ritual practices, but ways that we live in this world, interacting with other people?   If someone were to ask you, to describe yourself, where would Judaism and being Jewish come into your description? 

Is it first? 

Is it last? 

Does it even make your list? 

 When you say to someone, “I am Jewish,” what does that mean?

 Can you articulate it?

I know that for some of you, especially those in the greatest generation, being Jewish likely was the center of who you were.  Out of necessity, you lived in solely Jewish communities, you may have lived with multiple generations in your home, socialized with Jews, and likely went to school with mostly Jews.  For those in the baby boomer generation, things may have changed just a bit, but again, the Jewish community was likely still very central to your entire life.  For my generation, those who came before, paved the way, the world was much more open to us.   And for millennials and generation z  - the world is yours in ways it never was for the earlier generations of your family who came to America, being Jewish doesn’t define you and your choices in a way it once did.

Honestly, I worry that some of our kids, let alone our adults, think of Judaism as an activity, not an identity. When the activity is over, there is no need for a synagogue. There is a huge difference between being able to declare “I am Jewish” and saying “I have bar mitzvah lessons and religious school on Tuesdays and Sundays just like I have softball or soccer on Mondays and Thursdays. We don’t just go to religious school or to Shabbat services like we go to the gym. We go because they connect us, ground us to our Jewish identity, to understanding that it is from Torah and this incredible tradition that we get not only narratives, rituals, and values but also a sense of purpose and connection in this world.[1]

 But I worry.  I worry that with the challenges that Jews face in America today with the rise of Antisemitism - that we, the American Jewish community will either try to hide our Jewish identity and not share it with anyone else for fear of attack, or that we’ll come to resent our Jewish identity, seeing it merely as a burden, as something that causes us struggle and strife as opposed to seeing it as a part of ourselves - something  that links us to thousands of years and many generations of a small but mighty people, who have remained steadfast in their love of and connection with Torah, and who have survived despite all odds.

 In 2002, Jewish journalist Daniel Pearl was brutally murdered by militants in Pakistan. Despite this horrific crime against humanity, in the last minutes before his death, the last words that he spoke, provided a moment of hope and peace for his family..  He said, “My father is Jewish, my mother is Jewish, I am Jewish”.   He wasn’t forced to say these words.  In fact, he could have said, I am American, I am a journalist, I am a son, but instead he said, “I am Jewish.” 

 What we later learned from Daniel Pearl’s family is that these were words of hope and words of peace.  While he never concealed his Jewish identity, Daniel Pearl considered himself a secular Jew, and yet, in his last moment, his father believes, that by declaring “I am Jewish,” he understood the power of his identity and that with it, in those last moments he knew he was not alone, as he connected himself with the many, many generations of Jews who came before him.

 Daniel Pearl’s last words, spoken almost 2 decades ago, are still so powerful today.  They are words that call on each of us, to think about what it means for us to be a link in the chain of this beautiful tradition.  They call on us to think about what it means to identify as and to be Jewish.

This is our challenge this year - to think about, I mean truly think about what it means when you say, “I am Jewish.”  What is behind it?  What words do you use to follow that statement?  How do you describe what being Jewish means, to someone else?

Many of us might start a description of I am Jewish, and then very quickly follow with BUT . . . But, I’m not religious, I don’t keep kosher, I don’t read Hebrew, yet at the end of the statement we say that the most important thing is that we’re Jewish,

This past week, I was cleaning out my desk (High Holiday preparation procrastination is great for getting things cleaned) and I came across a letter that my grandfather wrote to me in 1994.  I had asked him to share with me what he could about his side of the family. 

 Amazingly, here is one of the paragraphs he wrote.   “I was born and raised as an Orthodox Jew and while I have drifted far from orthodoxy and in fact do not practice according to any of the branches of Judaism, I am and have always professed to be a Jew.”  Jerome Jacobson

Powerful words, and yet today, I want to know more.  I want to know why he always professed to be a Jew.  What was it about being a Jew that was such an important part of his identity, that even when he let go of religious practice, he still identified as Jewish?  Was it family? A set of values?  Was it shared history and tradition?  These are questions that I will never know his answer to, but they are questions, I think are important for each one of us to think about and answer for ourselves with regard to our own statement of why we are Jewish. 

When I think about when I say, “I am Jewish,” here is what initially comes to mind. 

I am Jewish and feel I received a great foundation of knowledge because my mother never gave in when we complained about religious school or Hebrew school.  She made us continue through confirmation and graduation.  Even when one of us said we didn’t believe, she allowed us to make the choice not to participate in the service, but we had to go to class and learn about what it was we didn’t believe. 

I am Jewish because of summer camp, youth group, and the many teachers, counselors, rabbis and cantors who taught me instilled in me a passion for Jewish knowledge - from Torah, to midrash, to rabbinic tales - and a recognition that Judaism could help inform my daily life.

I am Jewish because I love that Judaism doesn’t give me the answer or require a doctrine of belief, but instead provides me with multiple answers, which call on me to think for myself about what I believe, because Judaism doesn’t demand that my belief in God match anyone else’s and that my belief and relationship with God can ebb and flow throughout my life.

I am Jewish because to be a Jew means to struggle and wrestle with ideas.  It means being able to hold on to the tension that comes when we wrestle and struggle with what sometimes feels like competing ideas.  But Judaism allows me to hold onto both and find some sense of truth.

I am Jewish because Judaism sees no conflict between being a Jew and being an American.  Because for Jews, particularism and universalism are not at odds.  I am a better American for being a proud Jew. I am a better Jew for being part of the larger whole of a shared society, as an American.

I am Jewish because I love everything about being Jewish.  From our shared history, to the State of Israel, from the beautiful melodies of our past and present, to challenging myself to bake challah weekly, from Jewish geography and six degrees of separation, to being excited when someone Jewish succeeds in the world, from raising children and sharing with them the beauty of our faith and tradition to hoping and praying that I will not be the last link in the chain of this small but mighty people. 

Over the course of this next year, together, we are going to explore what it means to us, individually, and collectively, to be Jewish.  There will be some learning opportunities to explore this topic.  There will be a congregational book read.  Together we’ll read and discuss the book, I am Jewish, which is a collection of personal reflections that were inspired by Daniel Pearl’s last words.  This collection of writings is amazing - from kids, to world leaders, to actors and media personalities, to scientists, rabbis, and others.  It is truly an inspiring book.  There are some copies in our library, and you can find it on Amazon.

I also invite you to engage with our community this year, as you explore what it means to say, I am Jewish.  Just look in today’s service handout and you will see a plethora of engagement opportunities.  I want to call your attention specifically to #showmeshabbat a new program to help us all engage with Shabbat, whether in community or with family in the comfort of our own homes!  This is a great way to stop, rest, and do Jewish.  To spice it up, we may even have weekly Shabbat challenges for you to complete and share.

And, we will be launching our own UH “I am Jewish” personal reflection campaign.  In the next few weeks, you will receive from us an invitation to write your own personal reflection on what it means to say, “I am Jewish.”  From adults, to kids we want you to think about it and share your words.  And, with your permission, we will post some of these throughout the year on our website and Facebook page, and ultimately compile our own UH - I am Jewish book.

And for those of you in our communal family today who are not Jewish, I welcome your answers too to the question of what you understand it means to be a Jew.  You may be raising Jewish children or shaping a Jewish home and the answers you give will be crucial to how you proceed.[2]

Overwhelming?  Perhaps.  Yet, when we stop and give it some thought, we might find it’s easier than we think.  

We know that being Jewish isn’t easy, especially today.  But it can be rewarding and fulfilling and powerful and comforting and everything in between.  The first Jews from Recife didn’t have it easy, but they, along with the subsequent generations provided the foundations upon which our Judaism is predicated today.  They fought for rights, for equality, for peace.  And now it is up to us to continue that path.  We must pave the way for future generations to know what it is we mean when we say, We Are Jewish.  What is the message that you want to preserve for those who come after you? 

I conclude with a quote from Anne Frank, who sacrificed so much yet continued to say, I am Jewish,

“Who knows, maybe our religion will teach the world and all the people in it about goodness, and that's the reason, the only reason, we have to suffer.  We can never just be Dutch, or just English, or whatever; we will always be Jews as well. And we'll have to keep on being Jews, but then, we'll want to be.” 

Shanah Tovah!

---

[1] Rabbi Adam Stock Spilker

[2] Rabbi Ellen Lippman

A picture is worth a thousand words, and words matter!

A picture is worth a thousand words, and words matter.  It is hard to believe that in 2018, our elected leaders, and those who seek to be our elected leaders, do not understand that their pictures, their posts, their words matter! 

That a DC council member can call out “the Rothschilds for controlling the weather” and then apologize and say he didn’t know his words were harmful.  To borrow a phrase currently being used by our youth, “I call BS.”  He knew exactly what he was saying and knew that “the Rothschilds” is a catch phrase for “the Jews!” 

That a local schoolboard candidate would repost Holocaust imagery to call out student activists, is appalling.  Yes, some will argue that it isn’t anti-Semitic, and regardless, to advance a political agenda using Holocaust imagery, and to use it to call out students – distorts the historical facts and mars the memories of the millions of people who died at the hands of a vile regime! 

Regardless of whether I agree with someone’s beliefs or politics, I do assume, even expect, that those who are our elected leaders or are running for an elected office do so because they want to make our world a better place, not a more divisive one.  Perhaps this is where I am naïve!  It’s time for us to call them out, call out their words, their posts, their pictures – call out those who continue to use anti-Semitic rhetoric, those who misappropriate images of the Holocaust, those who misappropriate history and people for their own political gain!  Today, they may speak of the Jews and the Holocaust and of course deny that they mean anything hateful by it, but, it’s just a matter of time before their words, their posts, their pictures – speak of others.  We deserve better! 

A picture is worth a thousand words, and words matter! 

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

Martin Niemöller

Writing Your Name in the Book of Life - RH Sermon 5777

On Rosh Hashanah it is written.  Our tradition teaches us, in fact our prayer book this morning tells us, that today God sits on high, in front of a huge open book, taking an accounting of each one of us and deciding whether each of our names gets written in it.  For some of us, a comforting image while for others of us, a scary one, and still for others an image, a metaphor that doesn’t resonate or speak to us at all, as we’re not even sure what we think or believe about God, much less the idea of God writing our names or writing the book of our lives.  

If I close my eyes I can imagine God sitting there, a huge open book, and me standing there before God, waiting, wondering, hoping, questioning - will my name be written this year?  

And then I imagine God looking down at me and saying, “Brigitte, would you write your own name in the book this year?”  

And I wonder, “Would I write my own name in the book?  What?”

I would then look up at God and ask, “why are you asking me if I would write my own name in the book?   It says in our prayerbook that you judge and decide, that you write and you seal, why does it matter what I think?”

God replies to me, “I didn’t write the prayerbook, people did. Those prayers about me sitting on high, judging, determining your fate, were written at a time when Jews felt that nothing was in their control.  It was far easier for them to believe that I controlled all, that I determined their fate.  

As time passed, they forgot a fundamental teaching of Judaism-- that free will is given, that each and every person has a choice in how they live their lives.  They ignored the teaching that says, that they can choose,a life of blessing or a life of curse.”    

“Sure,” God continues, “I might know some of what is going on, I did after all, set the world in motion, but you, every human being, has the choice of how to act, how to be, how to live in this world.  Sometimes, oftentimes, it is for the good.  Unfortunately, there are other times when some do make terrible choices; in those instances, though I might try to help, I cannot take away a person’s free will, a person’s choice in how to live.”

“But,” I ask, “what about knowing when and how I will die, the prayer book says that you make the choice each year - who by fire, who by water, who by sword??”

“Does it matter when you are going to die?” God asks.  “It’s how you live that matters, not when or how you die, if you focus on those things then you forget to live.  Too often I see so many people, let life or the things that happen in life, take control - take over. You just go through the motions, letting life control you instead of you controlling it.   So again, I ask you, would you write your name in the Book of Life?  Can you say that in this past year, you lived, I mean you truly lived or did you fall into the pattern of letting life control you?” (punch this one hard!)

“Hmmmm, I ponder.  I don’t know.   I know I’m far from being perfect.  I make mistakes as a rabbi, a mom, a wife, a friend, but I try my best.  I try to balance it all, and make it all work.  Can I do better? Of course.    But, did I truly live, I don’t know? I’m not sure.” I admit to God.

God replies, “I see you try to fit it all in, but can you tell me, what brings you purpose - outside of work and parenting?  Do you make time for yourself and the things that bring you joy?  - this is what I mean by truly living.  When you are truly living, you experience the world around you and you write your own name in the book of life and living, because you leave an imprint.  

So, I ask again, today, would you write your name in the Book of Life?”

I realize it might be a little strange to imagine a conversation between yourself and God, but clearly on my mind is the notion of who is in control of life.  

Is it me?  

Is it God?

Is it a combination of both and forces of nature that I can’t even comprehend?  

There are times, when I would love to believe that God is in control.  Especially those times when I feel overwhelmed and at my wits end - because then I have someone to blame.  

I can rationalize it all by saying, “God has a plan, God understands, God will get me through or I can get really mad and ask, Why me, God??  Why me??”

But really, is God paying that close attention to me on a daily basis??  Likely not!

I believe that God created our world and set it into motion, and I don’t believe that God is a puppetmaster controlling everything that happens.  If that were the case, I would hope that our world would be in so much better shape than it is today.  

By setting things into motion, God lets us live, make our own choices and lets nature do its thing.  The scary thing about this is, that things that just happen, unexplainable things - damaging acts of nature, people getting sick, job loss, mass shootings, leaders who terrorize their people, murder in the name of hate or even in the name of God.  It hurts just to recount them in this list.  

So many unexplainable things, that too often we want to turn toward God and say, “why, why did you allow this to happen?  Why can’t you fix this?”  And too often, we feel there is no answer, that God remains quiet.

This is why I imagine a conversation with God.  I see today, Rosh Hashanah, as the opportunity not just for me to pass before God but for me to stop and converse with God.  It is a moment when, like Abraham and Moses, I can ask my questions of God and in return God can do the same.  And in my conversation, God quietly reminds me, that life is in my control.  That my fate doesn’t rest solely with God, rather, we are partners.  This is why God doesn’t demand perfection, but rather asks, “would you write your own name?   Were you as much as you could have been? Did you live or did you let life get in the way?”

"Days are scrolls: write on them what you want to be remembered."  Wise words from a Jewish philosopher, (Bahya ibn Pakuda in Hovot HaLevavot) and words that can help us move forward into this New Year.  They remind us, that we have the power to write our own stories, to sign our own names in the Book of Life.   By living, by experiencing the world around us in all its richness and by finding the blessing, the beauty in every little thing, even those things that take us by surprise and set us on edge.  Rosh Hashanah is a reminder that we have the power to live lives of meaning, lives of purpose - we have the choice to live a life of blessing, even when it seems that there are none.   Living life is about choosing how we will act and react as we move through our days.  It is about us being in control as opposed to letting things control us.  

How do we live so as to write our names?  The answer is in our prayerbook.  Teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah are the actions that help us do the writing,  – again, this does not mean we won’t get sick or experience hardships in life – but these three actions, remind us that we have a say in how we react to what happens, how we deal, how we cope, how we keep moving forward.

Each year we hear the word teshuvah over and over during our holidays.  Yes, it means return - but to where, to whom are we returning?  This year, I’d like to suggest teshuvah as a returning to ourselves, to finding our best selves, once again.  For when we find ourselves and know who we are, it is then that we live life to its fullest.  

Over this past year, for whatever reason, the same few questions have been asked of me by others.  They are questions that have set me on edge because I haven’t been able to answer them.  What do you like to do for fun?  What is your passion? What drives you?”

My first answer is “fun? Who has time for fun?  Between work and family, there isn’t much time left.  My passion? I don’t know.  Being a rabbi??”  

In reality, my inability to answer these questions has caused me to realize that I may just be walking through life, that I have forgotten how to live, but most importantly I think I have lost myself in the midst of everything and everyone else.  For how many of you has that happened?  Your self is lost in the midst of your families, your work, your illness?  Of course the first step in changing this is recognizing it, then it is figuring out how to move forward toward living more fully.

How often do you put everyone else, everything else above yourself?  I bet most of us could raise our hands right now.  

Think about the last time you were on an airplane.  Can you recall the safety demonstration?  What do they tell us about the oxygen masks?  Put on your own mask first, then help those around you.  This goes against many of our instincts, we want to help others and not feel selfish and yet, what is so very true???  You cannot help anyone else unless you help yourself.  What good will you be if you pass out from a lack of oxygen?  

In doing teshuvah, we first we need to stop.  We need to put on our own oxygen masks and take a deep breath.  Perhaps one of the easiest ways of doing this is to recognize the gift of Shabbat, the gift of rest.  The opportunity that our tradition gives us to “turn off, to tune out, to take time, to renew, and recreate ourselves so that in the new week, we will be productive and excited to take on the world.  Instead of saying, “I can’t do Shabbat, the end of the week is too crazy for me and it takes too much time to prepare.  Stop.  Find something to do, something simple  that allows you to mark the time and take a break.  Bake Challah, light the candles, drink a glass of wine. Sleep late on Saturday or turn off your phone, OR keep it on for calls, but stay off of social media for the day-- can you even imagine it?   Shabbat gives us an excuse to take time for ourselves and to let the rest of the world fade away.  It gives us a moment to turn inward and find a little bit of personal peace.

If Teshuvah is about returning to ourselves then perhaps Tefillah is about our relationship, our connection  with God.  If you’re not quite sure about God, perhaps tefilah is that conversation with your innerself or with the vast universe surrounding you.   

Tefillah contains the challenge to realize that we are not the beginning and the end, that there is some Power beyond ourselves that calls to us, that waits for us, that is there to hold and comfort us. Through tefillah we are encouraged to look deeply within ourselves, to reflect on that which holds ultimate meaning for us, and also to look beyond ourselves, and realize our place in the larger world.

And yet, it is easiest to lose our way when it comes to tefillah, because there are so many questions and so many unknowns.   

Is there something really listening to me when I cry out to the universe?

Is there something that really hears my prayers and answers them?   

What if I don’t have the right words or the right language to pray?

When we are scared, feel alone, have had bad news or one bad experience on top of another bad experience, it is easy, so easy to feel that God has forgotten us and that God is not there.  

We ask ourselves, why pray?  What does it really do for me?

There is a reading in our prayer book, that I believe beautifully reminds me and helps me to understand the importance of turning to prayer, and I hope it might do the same for you.

God needs no words, no English or Hebrew,

no semantics and no services.

But I need them.

Through prayer, I can sense my inner strength,

my inner purpose,

my inner joy, my capacity to love.

As I reach upward in prayer,

I sense these qualities in my Creator.

(Mishkan Tefilah)

God can be a presence in our lives - like a friend and confidant who listens and offers us quiet, unconditional support.   If prayer isn’t already part of your life, try it.  You can pray anywhere and in any language.   Ask God for some help, some strength.  Have a conversation, if it’s too weird to have it with God, then have it with yourself.   Praying, talking, asking, thinking - these things can help us work through whatever is going on in our lives.  

One of the teachings in Judaism that I hold close to my heart is “Pray as if everything depends on God, but act as if everything depends on you.”  

This brings me to Tzedakah.  If Teshuvah is about returning to our selves, and tefillah is about opening ourselves up to God, then tzedakah is our relationship with others, opening ourselves up to  the world around us.  Too often we define tzedakah as charity, but it is so much more than that.  

At its highest level, tzedakah requires us to "understand" someone else: Who is he? What does she need? How can I help? Then it forces us to figure out how to act.

Tzedakah means that we act - we do something to make the world a better place. We give something of ourselves to help someone else. Whether we have a lot to give or a litte, we, Jews, are all commanded to give tzedakah,because we are all responsible for one another.  

In February 2010, Alejandro Ergas, a 40-something businessman, was at home in Santiago when a massive earthquake struck Chile, leaving hundreds dead and hundreds of thousands homeless. In response, community leaders got together to plan relief efforts. As their discussions dragged on for three days with no practical response, Ergas couldn’t take it any longer. He loaded up a small truck with rice, water and mattresses, and along with his 16-year-old son drove eight hours south to the epicenter. They distributed the truckload of goods to the victims and drove back. “Maybe it wasn’t the most efficient way to help,” Ergas says, “but it made an impression on me that I’ll never forget.” The experience spurned Ergas to evaluate his own attitude toward Tzedakah – charitable giving. “For years, my idea of Tzedakah was to write a check and send it in the mail,” related Ergas. “But as I got more involved, I realized that Tzedakah does as much for the giver as it does for the recipient.

Sometimes we can’t wait around for others to decide what to do.  We have to do what stirs our hearts, what moves us.  When we do tzedakah – when we open ourselves and our hearts to others – we leave an imprint, by making the world just a little more whole, a little more perfect.

"Days are scrolls: write on them what you want to be remembered."    

Today, we turn the page in that big book and what sits before us, before God, is a big blank page.  A page filled with endless possibility.  A page just waiting for us to write our names.  

Abraham Lincoln said, “In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count, but the life in your years.”  Is there life in your years?  Are you truly living?  

May that fresh, new, blank page be a reminder to us that We have to live.  We have to do. We have to be fully present - in order to write our names

And when we gather next year and God asks each one of us if we should be written in the Book of life,  let us, be confident in our response.

 

Yes, my name has been written for another year!

My Gift of Torah - from Shavuot Celebration at GUCI

In my office there is a photograph of a donkey that was given to me by a congregant.  “A donkey?” you might be thinking, “why a donkey?”  This framed picture was given to me because she recalled a discussion that we had about Torah parshiot and I mentioned that my favorite was Balak.  I mean what’s not to like about parashat Balak? There is a talking donkey, an angel with a fiery sword, and intended curses are turned into blessings.

But really, my love of parashat Balak goes back to the summer of 1983 or 84, my first summer at camp.  On Shabbat mornings breakfast was optional, but Torah study was not.  An hour or so before tefillah we would gather on the porch of our corresponding boy’s cabin and learn about the parashah of the week; and one cabin would be assigned to act out the parashah for the camp at tefillah.  I don’t know what week during camp it was, but my cabin was assigned Balak.  I remember learning about Balak and how he wanted Balaam to curse the Israelites.  Balaam told Balak that he could only do what God allowed him to do, and of course he would curse the Israelites.  From there, to the mind of a 9 or 10 yr old, it gets a little crazy.  I remember one of us being the donkey, another being Bilam sitting on the donkey, and yet another as the scary, angel wielding that fiery sword.  I’m not sure I remember much beyond that, but since that summer, I have looked forward to reading Balak each year.  

For me, Parashat Balak, is my Torah.  Whether it was my first taste or not, it is the one I remember as being first.  It is the first Torah that touched me.  That left an impression.  But, it isn’t solely the memory of sitting on that porch with my camp friends or the memory of acting out the parashah for the camp community.  It is so much more.  Camp allowed me to connect to Judaism in ways I never had before.  Camp fostered my Jewish identity and shaped who I am today.  And when I reflect on Torah, or am asked “what is your favorite parashah?” - I think back to that summer, back to that taste of Torah.  Torah was transmitted to me that morning, and I welcomed it with open arms and never looked back.  “Mah Tovu Ohalecha Ya’akov, Mishkenotecha Yisrael - How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel.”  This blessing of Balaam’s was my gift of Torah.

Doing (Not Just Reflecting)

This week, at a funeral, a woman came up and introduced herself.  She then pulled out a newspaper clipping, a d'var torah that I had written for the Jewish Light back in 2010, for this same Shabbat.  She mentioned that it struck a chord with her, which is why she cut it out, and had saved it all of these years.  I briefly glanced over it, not remembering what I wrote five years ago, and she said, "I still think about your words today."  So, here it is, some Torah and food for thought as we enter this Shabbat HaGadol and begin to physically prepare ourselves, our homes, and of course mentally prepare for the festival of Pesach.   Shabbat Shalom!!


Parashat Tzav teaches us some of the specifics, the commands/rules, of the basic daily sacrifices. This parashah often occurs on the Shabbat preceding Passover, Shabbat HaGadol--the great Shabbat.  

This special Shabbat is one in which we recall the original Pesach, the lamb offering whose blood marked the homes of the Israelites and whose meat was eaten the night before their exodus.  Not only is this special Shabbat a time of reflection, but as the first Pesach is recalled it is a time when we are given a last minute reminder of the “rules” for our own Pesach preparations.

How many of us often find ourselves feeling like Judaism has too many rules?  Rules that are sometimes difficult, confusing, and rules that perhaps on the surface offer nothing spiritual.  Too often many of us view Judaism as a religion of difficult rules and commands, as a dogma that we must follow.  But this is the time to change that mindset, as Judaism is not about dogma.   Rather the rules and commands that we and our ancestors have been given are about the actions that can help us to regulate our lives and bring us closer to God.  These rules were and are about setting a course for ourselves, that if we perform or do them over and over, they will cease being “hard” and rather be a natural part of our daily living.  Take for example the sin and guilt offerings of this week’s parashah.  Sure, in our hearts and minds we could simply reflect on what we did and apologize to those whom we hurt, but an action, a regular thing that we have to physically do on top of reflection, changes the course of lives in a much different way.  If you sin, and have to physically do something, then I believe you are more likely to have done proper teshuvah and won’t repeat it again.  

Of course today we don’t have sacrifice to regulate the actions of our lives, but we do have ritual.  And whether or not a Jew is fully ritually observant, these rituals and commands can still help to guide one’s life, for when we learn and understand the “hows and the whys” of our practice then we can truly consider whether or not our actions might bring us closer to God, rather than just assuming that they are “outdated” and have no meaning in the modern world.


This Shabbat, as we recall the first Passover sacrifice and reflect on the upcoming holiday, we think of the many rituals that will not only regulate our lives for the duration of the holiday, but we also remember that these same rituals link us historically and certainly spiritually to the generations of Jews who came before us.  As we clean out the chametz, prepare our seder meals, and spend a week eating matzah, these are all actions that link us not only to the Jewish people but to God.  Parashat Tzav and our celebration of Pesach can remind us that it is the actions of our hands, and  not solely the reflections of our hearts, that truly connect us to God!   As Passover approaches, make this the year that you learn about doing and not just about reflecting!   Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach!

Feminist or not?

Last night I participated in an incredible panel of Jewish female clergy.  There were seven of us on the panel but there are more of us here in St. Louis, which is pretty incredible, if you ask me.  

Participating in a panel is always an interesting experience.  You have a small sense of what is going to happen, as you know the general topic and in this case can give an opening statement, but you have no clue what your fellow panelists are going to say, nor do you know the questions that will be asked. 
 Since last night, I have been thinking about the last question asked.  It has not left my mind, and I though I answered the question, I am still wondering, pondering, considering my answer.  We were asked, "Would you consider yourself a feminist?"  Of course, I was asked to answer first.  

Hmmm. . .  Am I a feminist?  Yes.  Maybe.  I don't know.

I shared that I started my freshman year of college a proud, very excited Women's Studies major.  But it was an experience and a conversation in a class that left me disappointed and running away from Women's Studies and at the time what I thought of as Feminism.  We were asked to describe who we wanted to be, what we wanted to do when we were done with college.  I said that I wanted to be successful in my career, but in addition to that, I was so looking forward to being a wife, a mother, and specifically, for whatever reason, describing my desire to be the "soccer mom" driving my kids in a Volvo.  It was a picture I had painted for myself and in my mind there was absolutely no reason that I could not be a successful career woman and a "soccer mom."  Yet, it was another classmate who challenged me and told me that I wasn't a feminist if I wasn't focused on my career and showing people the power of women; and I was also told that I would never truly know what it is to be a feminist until I knew what it was to love a woman.  I was totally confused and at that point disillusioned with feminism.  Why did I have to love another woman?  Why did I have to choose between a successful career and being an active mom?  Why can't I do it all and be it all?

In many ways, I did not realize until the panel last night just how lucky I truly am.  I grew up in a congregation where at my Bat Mitzvah there was not only a male rabbi on the bimah, but a female rabbi and a female cantor.  So for me, it never seemed out of the realm of possibility that if I wanted to be a rabbi, I could be a rabbi.  It never seemed to me that I couldn't be whatever it was that I wanted to be.  In that sense, I am truly lucky.  I had role models and saw women in roles that others didn't.  But, this doesn't mean that I don't recognize those who came before me and made it possible for me to dream and to realize those dreams.  I am thankful for the suffragists who fought for my right to vote. I am thankful for Rabbi Sally Priesand and the many other female rabbis who came before, who broke the barriers not only at Hebrew Union College, but in the congregations we now serve.  I am thankful for those women, who I studied and hold in such esteem, like Bette Freidan and Gloria Steinam, who challenged others and fought for equal rights for women. So many of these women had to fight for rights and to overcome injustices that in my life, I have not fully experienced, and for that I am thankful.  And, as was mentioned last night, in our fighting for women's rights, many doors have been opened for men that perhaps were never realized.  How many more men see their role as a husband and father differently because of the women's movement?  How many more dads are recognizing that they, too, can stay home and raise a family while their partner works, if that is what they desire?  How many men in negotiating job contracts and thinking about their personal/work life balance now consider things like paternity leave?  All of this is in no small part to the women's movement.

Do I think that women have fully shattered the glass ceiling and have achieved full equality and acceptance?  No.  There is still a difference in pay, there are still differences in how we are viewed in comparison with men, there are still doors that have not yet been opened or even realized.  I have felt my own little "slights" as a women working in the rabbinate, but these are opportunities to help make change and help ensure that those behind me don't experience those same "slights."  I know that not everyone is comfortable with a female rabbi, and I accept that.  I don't see myself as any different than a male rabbi, other than the fact that our anatomy is different and well, I can't look like the stereotypical rabbi, as I cannot grow facial hair.  But in being who I am, which yes is a woman, I am changing opinions and minds in my own small way.  In assuming the leadership poisitions and career roles that I have thus far in my life, as well as balancing that with being a wife and mother, I am changing the world around me in small ways, and hopefully helping young women and men see that it is possible to be, if you want, successful and find balance in working and having a family.

I was asked after the program last night, "what is the definition of a feminist?"  I had to say, "I don't really know anymore.  I know what I think or thought it was."  So, I looked it up.  Merriem Webster describes feminism as: 1.  the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes, 2. organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests  

Given these definitions, especially the first one, I am absolutely a feminist.  As I mentioned last night, I would describe myself as an "equalist."  What is an equalist?  To me, it is someone who absolutely supports this first definition of feminism.  In addition it means to be someone who supports organized activity on behalf of women's rights and interests but also men's rights and interests.  We live in a time where I believe we not only have to support strong women who believe in equality but we have to support and build strong men who believe the same.    In addition, as the women's movement has opened access to so many places women never went before, we have to be ever vigilant that this opening of the door to women doesn't close the door to men.   As a mother of a young son, I want him to realize, just as much as my daughters, that the world is open to him.  He doesn't have to conform to any societal views of who or what men should be.  Nor should my daughters.  I want each of my children to embrace who they are and be who they want to be. 

So, as I ponder this question - Yes, I am a feminist, but. . .  for me old assumptions, old views, or at least what I think of as old assumptions and views, don't work for me anymore.  I don't want to be seen as a female rabbi, I just want to be a rabbi.  I take pride in being a woman, and love being a woman, but it doesn't necessarily define who I am as a rabbi.  I don't think I do anything differently, consciously, because I am a woman.  I don't know that female or male doctors, lawyers, truck drivers, police officers, do anything differently just because of gender.   I want young people to grow up knowing that men and women can be anything they want to be, regardless of gender - rabbi, doctor, firefighter, stay at home parent, President of the United States!