Consecration of Confirmands

May 10, 2013

As we focus on Shavuot and the Ten Commandments, the prohibition against idolatry should remind this generation to battle against the fake god of mediocrity.  A blind rabbi’s campaign for Congress offers us wisdom, guidance, and an inspiring example.

We Can Do Better

          There is a story about a young boy who was filling out a parochial school questionnaire (perhaps a Holland Hall application) when he came to the line marked “Religion,” after thinking about it for a while, he wrote “Jew.” 

When the headmaster noticed the entry, he called the boy in.  “Daniel,” he said, “why did you write ‘Jew’ under ‘Religion’?  Don’t you know you’re an Episcopalian?” 

          “Yes, sir,” Daniel answered feelingly, “but I couldn’t spell Episcopalian.”

          Friends, it’s easy to spell the word “Jew,” but it’s not as easy to understand what being a Jew means.  I believe that the seven young people who – this coming Tuesday, on Shavuot Eve – are going to symbolically stand at Sinai and take their place as part of a covenant community, have a pretty good understanding of what it means to be a Jew.  On a very personal note, let me say that I am proud that they are my last Confirmation class.

          There is a lot of concern about the future of Judaism in our country, and perhaps even in Israel.  It seems we Jews are an ever-vanishing people.  I don’t mean to belittle legitimate concerns about our future, but I believe that our Confirmands continued quest for Jewish knowledge, and their willingness to translate that wisdom into positive Jewish living, are the answer to questions about our People’s future.  All your Temple teachers have tried to teach you that Judaism has much to say to the modern world, and that it can bring direction and fulfillment to you and yours.  I am confident you know that now.

          On Tuesday evening we shall read the Ten Commandments, one of which is a prohibition of idolatry.  For 3,000 years we Jews have declared war against false gods.  One of the idols which I believe your generation must do battle with is the false god of mediocrity.  You live with so many items which are manufactured with built-in obsolescence.  You take it for granted that, rather than try to fix something, you replace it; you buy a new one.  And I fear that this attitude sometimes influences your own personal sense of motivation and worth.  Sometimes you’re willing to accept less than you should with regard to your own responsibilities.  “It’s OK; it’s good enough.”  So I’d like to tell you the story of one person and one prayer tonight.  If you remember this story, your Confirmation will have special meaning. 

          Almost five years ago, Rabbi Dennis Shulman ran for Congress in the Fifth District of New Jersey.  I don’t know this colleague except from what I’ve read about him.  I wouldn’t endorse any candidate from this bima, and I wouldn’t vote for or against any candidate just because he is a rabbi, but listen to his life story.

Dennis Shulman grew up in a poor, working class family is Worcester, Massachusetts.  A nerve disorder was diagnosed when he was 5; and by the age of 15 he was totally blind.  He graduated third in his class from the prep school he attended on a full scholarship.  The reason he had gone to prep school was that the public school he started was too easy for him.  His teachers gave him a pass because he was blind, and Dennis did not want that.  He wanted to go to a school that would ignore his handicap and hold him to the same standards as all the other students.

          Shulman was a child in the days before computers, and he did all his work in Braille.  While it’s not easy being blind in a sighted world even today, it was a lot harder back then before the existence of computers.  Yet he came in third in his prep school class and went on to Brandeis University where he graduated Magna Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa.  For grad school, he attended  Harvard where he got his Ph.D. in clinical psychology, and from there he went on to become a rabbi.  Today he serves a congregation in New Jersey as well as working as a clinical psychologist.

          When reporters asked him why he was running for Congress, Rabbi Shulman said it is the issue of health care that drives him.  Here we are, the most prosperous country in the world, and we are the only one that does not have national health care.  My opponent calls it “socialized medicine”; from my point of view, it’s Judeo-Christian medicine.  The idea that someone who is poor, or the child of someone who is poor, is not able to get proper health care, is just outrageous to me.

          So, you have an idea of who Dennis Shulman is and why he was running.  There is a statement on his website that I’d like us to focus on this evening.  It says:  “This is the major message that I have carried to the members of my synagogue and to the patients in my counseling practice and to myself, ‘We can do better’.  And when you turn from dealing with your personal problems to thinking about the problems our country faces, the rule is still the same – we can do better!  This is a good way to live your life and face your problems for individuals, and it is a pretty good rule for the country as well.”

          One of the reporters who interviewed Rabbi Shulman asked what he had learned from being blind, and this was his answer:  “I learned that a person is the measure of his abilities – not of his disabilities.”  In other words, what counts is what you are still able to do, not what you are not able to do.

          I was moved when I read that line, because I believe that every human being has a handicap or handicaps of some kind.  The only difference is that some have a disability which is on the outside and obvious, and others have a disability on the inside which you can’t see.  What Rabbi Shulman’s example can teach us is that  it is what you do with what you have left, after you lose a part of yourself, that really counts.

          You know the story of the three men who are told that the world is going to be destroyed in a cataclysmic flood in 24 hours.  One says, “I’m going to confess my sins so that I can meet my Maker in purity.”  The second one says, “I’m going to have as much fun as I possibly can in the time that is left.”  And the Jewish person says, “I’m going to waterproof my Bible and learn how to live underwater.” 

          That is the secret of Jewish survival, my friends.  Over the centuries we lost our land, our government, our Temple, our unique way of living, but we’ve gone on for 2,000 years, created new ways of worship and learned how to live in new situations.  We Jews focused on what we had left, not just on what we had lost.

          And that’s the lesson on how to live which Rabbi Shulman has taught us:  that what counts is what you are still able to do and not what you are no longer able to do.  Here is a person who is blind, who can function nevertheless as a rabbi and as a therapist, and who wants to function as a Congressperson as well.  I find that pretty impressive.  Don’t you?

          There is a lesson in the siddur which Rabbi Shulman also teaches.  A line in the daily morning service is a part of a long list of blessings in which we thank God for all the gifts we received so far, just in the short time since we woke up.  We thank God for being able to stand up and to walk and to dress, and all the other things we would take for granted if we didn’t recite these blessings.  High on the list is the bracha, “Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam, pokeach ivrim”.  The usual translation is:  Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, who opens the eyes of the blind.

          But that’s not the best translation.  Pokeach does not mean “who opens”.  It means “who makes wise” the blind.  A pikeach is a smart person.  An entirely different understanding of God emerges from this translation.  God does not cause blindness or cure blindness.  God is that force within us and about us which gives us the ability to learn wisdom from blindness and from the other losses we suffer in life, if only we are willing to.

          God is the Power within us and about us that enables us to respond to life’s challenges in a positive manner, to become better and not bitter as a result of life’s blows.  God does not open the eyes of the blind; God gives vision and insight to the blind.

          And all of us are blind in different ways and to different things.  Therefore, for opening our eyes to the truth that in the end we’ll be measured by our abilities and not by our disabilities, by what we do with life and not by what life does to us, for teaching us this lesson in life and in the siddur, I am grateful to Rabbi Shulman.

          His campaign slogan was “We can do better”.  It is a slogan I believe we should all take to heart and try to live by.  And especially, I recommend it tonight to our Confirmands.  It is a slogan which applies to our lives, not just to political campaigns.

          So why do I especially mention you Confirmands?  Because as you have studied with me, the holiday which begins for Jews this coming Tuesday night is the anniversary of Sinai.  Our Torah says that all of Israel was gathered at the foot of Mount Sinai.  And before God gave our ancestors the Ten Commandments on which so much of human civilization is based, God said to them, “You will be a mamlechet kohanim, a kingdom of priests; and a goy kadosh, a holy nation.

          So, what do you think their first reaction was when our ancestors heard those words?  What would your first reaction have been if Moses told you that this is what God expected of you.

          I believe that many of us would have been very tempted to say, “Who me?  You really expect me to be that good and that holy?  Don’t You know that I’m only flesh and blood?  Don’t You know how many shortcomings and imperfections and disabilities I have?  Do You really think I’m capable of becoming a special person, and that I can be a teacher or an example for others?”

          To which God’s answer must have been, “I bet you can!  I bet that you can be better than you are and better than you think you can be!”  And when the people heard these words of reassurance, they agreed.  “Yes!” with hesitation, with trepidation, but they agreed.  Na-aseh v’nishmah - we’ll try our best to be what God believes we can be.

          I love Rabbi Shulman’s campaign slogan, even though I must tell you that he lost the election.  “We can do better” speaks to all of us.  It reminds us of what God said to us when we stood at the foot of Sinai, and what some of you Confirmands may hear God saying to you on Tuesday night as you symbolically stand at Sinai.  We can be better than we are.  We can be better than we think we can be, if we focus on what we can do instead of on what we cannot do.

          On Shavuot, the day when we celebrate the election of Israel.  I hope and pray that many of us will adopt Rabbi Shulman’s slogan and live by it the rest of our lives.  Whenever you’re discouraged, whenever you’re ready to settle for less than your best, whenever you feel you can only do so much and no more, I invite you to recite these four words “WE CAN DO BETTER”.  Amen

I am grateful to Rabbi Jack Riemer – my homiletics guru – for these insights.

Shabbat Behar-B’chukotai

May 3, 2013

A king whose renowned collection of beautiful birds did not chirp, peep, or sing a note turned to Rabbi Zusya for help.  Zusya’s advise holds for rulers, parents, and employers, not just for birds.  We also learn about the wording on the Liberty Bell found in this week’s sedra on the Liberty Bell.

The Kingdom of Singing Birds

          My sermon this evening is addressed to those people in the congregation who are young.  My definition of young is not a matter of years however.  You and I know  80 year olds who are still young, and other people who are 30 and are old.  My definition of young is when you still love stories. 

          If you don’t love stories, then you are old no matter what your birth certificate says.  So let me tell you a story tonight.  Then I’ll explain why I’ve selected it for this Shabbat and what it has to do with this week’s Torah portion.

          Long ago, in a little village in a faraway land, there was a gentle rabbi named Zusya.  Zusya was a person full of curiosity, so he wandered around the village and surrounding countryside, and he saw things that no one else ever noticed.  He discovered the first flowers in the spring, and he observed birds nestling way up in the mountaintops where the other villagers were too lazy or too busy to climb.

          Zusya was always asking questions.  Why do things fall down and not up?  Where does the sun go when it sets?  What’s beyond the moon and stars?  The more Zusya asked, the more he learned.  And so he grew wise in the ways of nature.  Zusya’s neighbors all came to him for advice.  If their cows refused to give milk, or if their orchards failed to bear fruit, Rabbi Zusya would tell them what to do.

          Now it happened that a new king ruled Zusya’s country.  His father, the former king, and his grandfather, the previous king had collected birds from all over the world:

                    Booby and cuckoo, quetzal and coot . . .

                    Cockatoo, bobolink, parakeet and goose . . .

                    Dickeybird, chickadee, curlew and crane . . .

                    Widgeon and pigeon, bluebird and jay.

          The birds were very beautiful but, for some reason – nobody knew why – they did not sing.  This troubled the young king for he loved birds as much for their music as for their beauty.  He asked his advisors how to make them sing.

          “Give them treats,” said one.

So the king fed his birds the juiciest berries, the crunchiest seeds, and the sweetest mountain water in the land.  The birds ate and drank, but they did not sing.

“Build them a bigger, fancier house,” suggested another advisor.

So the king ordered his craftsmen to build an aviary ten times taller and ten times wider, and to decorate it with gold, silver and jewels.  The birds flew higher and further in their new home, but still they did not sing.

          “Find them mates,” said a third advisor.

So the king sent his bird catchers everywhere, even up into the mountains.  But the new birds were as silent as the old.

“I will give a barrel of gold to anyone who can make my birds sing,” said the king.

From all over the kingdom, people came to try.  Magicians did tricks for the birds.  Acrobats tumbled and clowns stumbled.  Jugglers juggled and fiddlers fiddled.  A witch even cast a spell.  But the birds remained silent.

“My birds will never sing,” sighed the king.  “As it was in my father’s time and in my grandfather’s time, so it will be in mine.”

One day, one of the palace musicians said, “I have heard that in a village near my own there lives a rabbi named Zusya, who is wise in the ways of nature.  He once got a farmer’s hen to lay eggs after everyone else had given up.  Perhaps he could get your birds to sing.”

          So the king sent his servants to find Zusya and bring him to the palace.  Zusya was excited and a little bit scared too.  He had never been very far away from home.  What could he, a simple man from a tiny village, tell a king?  Then he remembered, “although I have not traveled far from my village, I have traveled a lot inside it.  I know what I know.  Even a king cannot know everything.  Besides, if a king summons, a wise man goes.”

          So Zusya journeyed many days and nights.  He followed the king’s men across rivers, through forests and high up into the mountains.  Finally, they reached the palace.  It was even more magnificent than Zusya had imagined.  And the royal aviary!!!  Zusya had never seen so many different kinds of birds.  There were:

                    Treebirds and seabirds, red, green, and blue . . .

                    Shorebirds and snowbirds, so lovely to view . . .

                    From India, Arabia, the wide world around . . .

                    A rainbow of colors – but alas, not a sound!

          Such glorious birds but not a chirp or a peep.  Zusya thought about all the birds that sang in his village and up in the mountains and all along his journey.  And he realized that there was something that he had to tell the king, even if it made him angry.

“Come closer, Zusya,” said the king, “I have been told that you are very wise.  Can you make my birds sing?”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Zusya, but you will not like what I have to say.”

“Say it anyway,” demanded the king.

“Your majesty, if you want your birds to sing,” said Zusya, “you must let them go free.”

“What?  Free my birds?  Impossible!” said the king. “My birds are my treasure.  My father and his father always kept birds.”

“And did their birds sing?” asked Zusya

“No, but . . .” said the king.

“You are the king now,” said Zusya.  “You must do things your way.”

“But my way is their way,” said the king.

“Then your birds will be silent like theirs were,” said Zusya.

The king yearned to hear his birds sing.  But he was afraid of losing them.  “What if they all fly away?” he thought.

He walked around and around the aviary, looking at his lovely but silent birds.  What should he do?  He opened the aviary a bit.  One tiny bird flew out and perched in a tree.  And for the very first time the king heard it sing.

“Listen, Zusya,” he exclaimed.  “Listen to that bird sing!”

The king opened the door a little wider.  A few more birds flew out and they, too, began to sing.  Then the king opened the aviary all the way.  When the birds were free, the palace was filled with singing, lovelier than any music that he or his father or his father’s father had ever heard in their lives.

The king looked up at the sky in all directions as far as he could see.  He watched the birds take wing and fly.  “My birds,” he cried.  “My precious birds.”

          Eagle and egret, linnet, and loon . . .

          Sparrow, canary, cardinal, tern . . .

          Oriole, whippoorwill, nightingale, gull . . .

          Raven and falcon, plover, and dove . . .”

He gathered a few feathers that had fallen to the ground.  “To remember my beautiful birds,” he said sadly to Zusya.

Some birds did fly away.  But some birds stayed.  And when birds in other countries heard about the king who let his birds roam free, they came to settle in his kingdom.  In time, there were so many birds and so much singing that the country became known as the Kingdom of Singing Birds.

And Zusya?  He used his reward wisely to help the poor people in his village.  Often he was invited to the palace as the king’s special advisor.  And whenever Zusya visited, he traveled a different road so he could see new places and learn new thing along the way.

That is the story written by Miriam Aroner and illustrated by Shelly Haas, creators of this book, published 20 years ago by Kar-Ben Copies of Rockville, Maryland.

As I think you know, I especially love teaching stories.  So what is the moral of this story?  What does it mean?  I believe it teaches that we can either hold on to things, or else we can hear them sing.  But we cannot do both, because only the free can joyfully sing. 

This is not a lesson just for children.  What if all the leaders of those countries which still enslave their people understood this book?  What if all those kings and dictators in the Middle East and in Africa and in Asia and elsewhere read this book and realized that if you want your people to be creative and happy, energetic and productive, you have to set them free.

What if every parent who tries to hold on to and control their children read this book and learned that if you want your children to love you by choice – and not out of fear – that you have to let them go to try their wings; you have to let them fly.  Otherwise, they will never sing.

And what does this story have to do with this week’s Torah reading?  (I’m glad you asked.)  This week’s Torah portion includes one of the most famous verses in all of our Bible.  “Ukratem dror ba-aretz ulichol yoshveha – proclaim liberty throughout the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.” (Leviticus 25:10)  Everyone knows this line because it appears on the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia.

The question our sages ask is:  why does the Torah use the word dror?  There are lots of other Hebrew words  for “liberty.”  Why did the Torah writers choose the word dror?  As is often true in Jewish tradition, our sages offer  lots of different answers down through the centuries. 

I like the one by Rabbi Abraham Ibn Ezra who lived in Medieval Spain.  He says very simply:  “There was a bird whose name was Dror.  When they let this bird fly free, it sang.  When they locked it up in a cage, it fasted, withdrew, grew silent, and eventually it died.”

These are the words of Ibn Ezra in his commentary on this week’s Torah portion.  Now how that legend got to Ibn Ezra I don’t know.  And how it got from him, who lived in the Middle Ages, to the creators of this children’s book who live in the United States – I have no idea.  But this I do know.  When you get home this evening, if anyone asks you “what did the Rabbi speak about tonight?”  tell them that he told us that freedom is the will of God.

And if they ask you “how does the Rabbi know that?”  Tell them he said “a little birdie told me.” 

And then tell them that the Rabbi told us a story this evening and that it was a story that was not just for the birds.  It is a story from which all of us can and should learn an important lesson.  Amen

- I am indebted to Rabbi Jack Riemer for this message.

Lag B’omer Picnic Service

April 26, 2013

A chilling episode reported in the Talmud inspired a modern storyteller.  The story brings together Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, students disguised as hunters, the Zohar, and even the Jewish “mystery man” – a Lag B’omer treat.

Rabbi Shimon’s Cave

          A little history, then an interesting Jewish folktale.

          A chilling historical episode is recorded in the Talmud.(Shabbat 33b)   Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yosi, and Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, were once sitting together discussing the Roman Empire.  Rabbi Yehuda declared, “How magnificent are the accomplishments of that nation!  They established marketplaces, bridges, and bath houses.”

          Rabbi Yosi was silent.

          Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai was critical.  “They established marketplaces to make room for the prostitutes, bath houses to spoil themselves with pleasures, and bridges in order to collect taxes and tolls.”

          Unfortunately, the conversation was overheard and reported to the Roman authorities.  Rabbi Yehuda was rewarded for his praise with an official appointment.  Rabbi Yosi was castigated for his silence with exile to Zipori.  Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai was punished for his negative comments with a death penalty sentence. 

The great sage escaped with his son and hid out in a cave, where a carob tree and a well miraculously sprung up to their aid.  Subsisting almost exclusively on carobs and water, father and son devoted twelve years to the study of the secrets of the Torah.  This study resulted in the Zohar, the basic sourcebook of Jewish mysticism, of which Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai is considered the father.

          So much for the history lesson.  Now the folktale:

          Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai and his son sat across from each other on the floor of their cave.  They were supposed to be eating lunch, but, as always, Rabbi Shimon was studying. 

“Carob stick?” his son Eleazar asked, breaking a long silence.

“No, thank you”, his father answered.

          “Eleazar let a moment pass, “Mashed carob?”

“No, thank you”, his father answered.

          “Some carob juice, then?”  Eleazar couldn’t help smiling.

Rabbi Shimon looked annoyed, “Don’t try to be funny, son.  Has it occurred to you that maybe I, too, miss eating something other than carob day in and day out for eleven years?”

“But Father, don’t you think the emperor might have forgiven you by now?  Can’t we go home?  I miss Mother.  I miss home.  I miss food.”

“I know, son, but no one speaks out against the Roman Empire and goes unpunished.  Fortunately God gave us this safe cave to hide in, this carob tree, even a spring of water.  Without these miracles we wouldn’t be alive today.  So, I will continue to devote my life to being grateful and praying and studying for as long as God grants me the privilege of doing so, and you should be grateful too, son.”

Rabbi Shimon paused to catch his breath, and then he added more gently, “Now son, let’s not talk about this anymore.  It’s time to rest and be glad we still have a drop of wine left to greet Shabbat.  After all, what is Shabbat without wine?”  He smiled for the first time in a long while.

          And so they spent their days, father and son, eating carob, praying, studying and telling stories at night.  Only once a year did they receive visitors.  On the 33^rd day of the omer counting,  Rabbi Shimon’s students came disguised as hunters, although the only thing they were really hunting for was learning.  While the students drank in Rabbi Shimon’s wisdom, Eleazar devoured the wine and bread they had brought along.  And even more than food, Eleazar hungered for news of the outside world.

          But not his father.  Apart from asking about his own family, Rabbi Shimon did not seem to care a bit about the rest of the world.  If something did not concern study or prayer, to him it simply did not exist.

          One morning while it was still dark, Eleazar was startled out of his sleep by the sound of footsteps.  It couldn’t be the students back so soon, could it?  Eleazar whispered:  “Father, did you hear that?”

          Rabbi Shimon nodded.  “Who’s there?” he called nervously.

          There was no answer.  The footsteps stopped at the edge of the cave.  Finally, an old man stepped inside and spoke, in a deep voice:  “I’ve come to tell Shimon Bar Yochai that the emperor is dead, so your death sentence is cancelled.  You are free to leave this cave and return home.”

          Eleazar stared at the man for a moment, then he jumped up from under his blanket and began to sing and dance for joy.

          His father, however, did not move.  “Who are you?” he asked.

          “Someday you will know”, the man said simply.  Then he turned on his heel and disappeared.

          Eleazar was ready to leave the cave that instant, but Rabbi Shimon did not rush.  He said his prayers, then he slowly packed up his holy books and a bit of carob, and finally, he took tentative  steps outside the cave.  After eleven years ,at first it was all too much – the blinding sun, wide-open spaces.  Even the gentle whistling of the birds was more than he could bear. 

While Eleazar ran ahead picking wild berries, his father held tight to his little bag of carob.  Despite his own delight at being out of the cave, Eleazar soon saw that everything here was a distraction and an irritation to his father.  Even the farmers lying idly in the field laughing and eating lunch annoyed him.

          “Look at them, Eleazar,” Rabbi Shimon grumbled.  This is how they choose to use their freedom, thinking only about feeding their bellies?  They care nothing about feeding their minds; they could be spending their days studying God’s holy words.  They wouldn’t even have to hide in a cave to do it!”

          “Perhaps they would if only God sent them carob too,” Eleazar answered with a laugh, “But then who would grow food for all the rest of the people?” 

His father did not seem to hear him.  Rabbi Shimon walked on, looking disapprovingly at everyone – from the shepherds resting by a well to the merchants on their way to market.  They more he saw, the angrier he got.

          Just then, the old man appeared on the road in front of them and spoke harshly in his deep voice.  “It seems that Shimon Bar Yochai is not ready to leave his cave after all.  He needs to remember how to appreciate everything that God created.  He needs to return to his cave for another year and study – study how to live in THIS world.”

          Now it was Eleazar’s turn to be the teacher while his father was the student.  During the next year there was much to teach.  He brought Rabbi Shimon figs and dates so that his father could learn to savor the tastes he had forgotten.  After they stood on the nearby hill to watch sheep grazing, Eleazar brought a blanket made of their wool back to the cave to keep his father warm.  And every Friday, Eleazar bought wine in the nearest village so they could properly welcome Shabbat.

          Finally, it was time to try to leave the cave again.  As they set out, Rabbi Shimon took a deep breath of fresh air.  This time he praised the trees, the farms, and the animals along the way.  This time he stopped to talk to the same laughing farmers out in the field.  “You there,” Rabbi Shimon called to them.  “What are you working at?  Please tell me how this makes you so happy.”

          The men looked up, surprised, “We’re harvesting, of course”, one of them answered, holding out a big cluster of sun-warmed purple grapes.  “Who wouldn’t be happy with grapes like these?”

          “And, don’t forget”, the other farmer added, “When they get turned into wine, they will make you even happier.”  Both farmers started laughing again.

          As Rabbi Shimon bit into one of the grapes, a smile spread across his face.  “That’s right”, he told Eleazar.  “What is Shabbat without wine?”

          Learning and Jewish living in this world is truly the lesson of Lag B’omer, known in our tradition as The Scholars’ Holiday.  Oh yes, who was that old man with the deep voice?  Elijah, of course!

– The story appears in “A Year of Jewish Stories” by Maisel & Shubert. –

D’var Torah – April 19, 2013

Acharei Mot – Kedoshim

This week happens to be another double portion, acharei mot (after death) and kedoshim (holiness).  Remember, we sometimes have a double portion in order for us to be able to squeeze in the reading of all 54 portions throughout the year. Tonight I will be chanting the opening verses from parshat kedoshim, found on page 798 in your plaut commentary.

Acharei mot, after death. Kedoshim, holiness. Acharei Mot opens up recalling the death of Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s sons. Then various laws are instructed about Yom Kippur, fasting, blood, and eating meat, my favorite topics. Then, in Kedoshim, we read the Holiness code, various laws that help us to live holy lives – respecting parents, not worshipping idols, judging cases fairly and leaving corners of the fields for the poor. Even in our darkest moments of death, pain and suffering, there is a way for us to live a holy life.

When thinking about these portions in connection to one another, the Israeli song, al kol eileh, all these things, comes to my mind. The song opens up –

Al hadvash ve’al ha’okets Al hamar vehamatok

Al biteynu hatinoket shmor eyli hatov

every bee that brings the honey needs a sting to be complete, and we all must learn to taste the bitter with the sweet.

The chorus goes on to say: bless the sting and bless and honey, bless the bitter and the sweet.

On this Jammin’ for Jerusalem, we are here to celebrate Israeli independence.  Israel for being such a young and small country has made many advances in technology and medicine. Israel has the highest per capita of educated people. Israel has a strong army. Israel has influenced our daily lives through the Mediterranean diet, krav maga martial arts, and the ability to text one another throughout the day.

With the sweet comes the bitter…. Israel is surrounded by radicals who vow to wipe Israel off the map, those radicals organize homicide bombings and kidnappings. Those radicals teach hate to their children.

In Israel, Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israeli independence day is celebrated in connection to Yom Hazikaron, Israeli remembrance day. In just a 48-hour period, the country mourns, celebrates and moves on with life.

I recall living in Israel, hearing the siren on Yom HaZikaron. Everyone stops what they are doing and stands up. If you are in the car, you stop, step out of your car and stand silently, even on the freeway. You stop and stand no matter where you are. The country stands still. Cemeteries across the country are filled with loved ones visiting the grave of a parent, sibling, child or friend.

Yet, when 24 hours have passed from sundown to sundown, the air and mood of the country shifts to one of celebration. People celebrate the state and homeland that we all love so much.

We can’t fully embrace the day of mourning or celebration without the other. We need both the bitter and the sweet. We need to remember those that gave their lives so that we can join together in celebrating our state.

Even though we are here to celebrate Israel, I cannot stand before you without acknowledging the tragic acts of terror in Boston earlier this week. As news of the tragedy flooded our lives and we learned more and more about those killed and injured, I hope that you also saw the sweet and heroic acts that took place. People opened up their homes, restaurants offered food, people ran towards the explosions to help those injured and many, including marathon runners, ran to donate blood in hospitals. These acts of sweetness and hope, these are acts I hope you remember.

Tonight we celebrate the sweet, the greatness of our people and of our homeland. We celebrate the only country in the world that has more trees at the end of the 20^th century, than it did at the start of it. We celebrate the country that holds the history of our people. We celebrate our country that is our people’s homeland – our homeland.

As we move on after our celebrating of Israeli independence, I hope that you carry this message in your heart. Every bee that brings the honey needs a sting to be complete. May we find comfort in the balance of sweet and bitter in our own lives. And if we and our world are faced with moments of pure bitter, it is up to us to bring the sweet and holy in. And may we see a day when peace spreads over us and over Jerusalem. Together we say, amen.

Pesach Yizkor, 5773

April 1, 2013

A heart-warming story reminds us of what we shall be remembered for.  As Yizkor brings our loved ones to our side once again, turning minutes into sacred moments, we come to understand our choices.

The People Who Touched Our Lives

As an old tennis player, I remember the sweet spot on the racquet.  Well, this morning I’d like to share a story that touched a sweet spot in my heart.  The story by an anonymous author is entitled “Red Marbles.”  It goes as follows:

“I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.  I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.  I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.  I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.  Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.”

‘Hello Barry, how are you today?

‘H’lo, Mr. Miller.  Fine, thank ya.  Jus’ admirin’ them peas.  They sure look good.’

‘They are good, Barry.  How’s your Ma?’

‘Fine.  Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.’

‘Good.  Anything I can help you with?’

‘No, Sir.  Jus’ admirin’ them peas.’

‘Would you like to take some home?’ asked Mr. Miller.

‘No, Sir.  Got nuthin’ to pay for ‘em with.’

‘Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?’

‘All I got’s my prize marble here.’

‘Is that right?  Let me see it’ said Mr. Miller.

‘Here ’tis.  She’s a dandy.’

‘I can see that.  Hmmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red.

Do you have a red one like this at home?’ the store owner asked.

‘Not zackley but almost.’

‘Tell you what.  Take this sack of peas home with you – and next trip this way, let me

look at that red marble’, Mr. Miller told the boy.

‘Sure will.  Thanks, Mr. Miller.’

“Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.  With a smile she said, ‘There are two other boys like him in our community; all three are in very poor circumstances.  Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.  When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all, and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one when they come on their next trip to the store.’  I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.

“A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

“Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.  Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community.  While I was there, I learned that Mr. Miller had died.  They were having his visitation that evening and, knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

“Upon arrival at the mortuary, we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.  Ahead of us in line were three young men.  One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts . . . all very professional-looking.  They approached Mrs. Miller, who was standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket.  Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her, and moved on to the casket.

“Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one-by-one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold, pale hand in the casket.  Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

“Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.  I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles.  With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

“Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.  They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them.  Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size . . . they came to pay their ‘debt’.”

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world”, she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.”  With loving gentleness, she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.  Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

“The Moral:  We will not be remembered by our words but by our kind deeds.  It’s not what you gather but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived.”

Albert Einstein wrote, “Strange is our situation here on earth.  Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose.  But one thing we do know:  that we are here for the sake of each other . . . I know how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received and am still receiving”.

We recite Yizkor, prayers to remember those who have departed this life on earth.  We remember what we gave and what we received.  The prayers are for close relatives, including grandparents, parents, siblings, spouses and children.  We also say these prayers for friends, members of our congregation.  Each of us has people who touched our lives, like Mr. Miller in the story we just heard.  Yizkor brings us back to memory, and we let ourselves reflect on the legacy of those we have known.  Some memories are too raw to embrace, others too soft to wrestle with, and other memories still may bring only sadness or pain.

The beauty of Yizkor is that sometimes, with perspective, things are seen differently or more accurately, in their reflection rather than looking at them directly.  During Yizkor I think that we stand at the place where life and death meet.  We look back at our life and wonder – how do I want to be remembered.  What really matters to me?  Where am I in my life?  How do I choose to remember the person who is gone?    How will the memories help me to live my life more authentically, with optimism, courage and hope.

Rabbi Shira Milgrom wrote a prayer for this process:

Blessed are you, Ruling Spirit of the Universe,

Who has put eternity into our hearts,

The gift to see with the eye of memory,

And implanted within us a vision of life everlasting.

Amen

We shall begin our Yizkor service shortly.  There really are only a few prayers, and then we are left with moments of silence to think about and feel the losses.  During that time, I invite you this morning to close your eyes and imagine having someone you long for standing next to you.  Envision them in your mind’s eye and heart.  Who are they?  Imagine what they would be wearing.  Are they smiling at you?  What do they say to you?  What do you want to tell them?

Perhaps we say, “I’m a new parent” and introduce them to the child or grandchild they never met.  You might tell them about your work, family and friends.  Maybe you’ll say, “Thank you for all you did”.  We might apologize for hurting them or grant them forgiveness for hurting us, or we might simply say, “I love you and I miss you very deeply”.

During these Yizkor moments, see them, hear them, touch them; and make peace with yourself, your beloved, and with the Holy One within.  Then we will have transformed these ordinary minutes into sacred moments, a holy place and time.

I conclude with a wise poem entitled “Choices After Death” by David Harkins:

You can shed tears that she is gone,

or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back,

or you can open your eyes and see all that he’s left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,

or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live for yesterday,

or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her and only that she’s gone,

or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back,

or you can do what he’d want, smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

The choices are ours to make.

Our Yizkor Service begins on page 546.

                                              – I am grateful to Rabbi Toba August for much of this message.

Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach

March 29, 2013

The term children does not necessarily mean young children.  A good case can be made by I. B. Singer and Gil Meche for simple people.  If God loves them, maybe we should too.

My Favorite Child at the Seder

I hope all of you had a good seder on Monday night and perhaps another enjoyable seder on Tuesday night.  The number FOUR has a special place at the seder.  There are four cups of wine, four questions, and four children.  I want to tell you something about the four children – the wise, the contrary or evil, the simple, and the one who doesn’t ask questions.  These four children are based on four verses in the Torah in which we are told to tell our children the meaning of Passover.

But the term “children” doesn’t necessarily mean young children.  In medieval Jewish art, the four children are usually depicted as adults.  The chacham is a Torah sage, the rasha a warrior.  The tam is depicted as a peasant, and the sh’eino yodea lishol, the one who cannot ask, is depicted as a court jester.  Look at our Baskin Haggadah, page 31.  These are clearly adult faces.

The only one who is ever depicted as a child in early Haggadot is the fourth, and even then, like so much medieval art, he actually looks like an adult who is simply smaller than the other characters.  It is only in the twentieth century that the practice arose of depicting the four children as minors.  It is interesting that as we became more and more anxious about Jewish continuity, the four children became children.

Everyone makes the same joke every year, “Who’s going to be the wise child?  Who’s going to be the wicked child?  Who’s going to be the simple child, and who’s going to be the one who does not even know how to ask?”  But let me ask, in all seriousness, which of the four sons or four children is your favorite?

Most people would probably vote for the chacham, the wise child.  I must tell you that he’s not my favorite.  There’s something a little bit too goody-goody about him.  All he wants to know is, “Daddy, Mommy, what are all the laws of Pesach so that I can perform them?”  I’m not sure, but I suspect he may be trying to butter up his father and please his mother by his question.  I picture him as having a brown nose, so he is not my favorite among the four children.

Some people would actually vote for the rasha, the wicked child.  You see, he’s independent.  He has a mind of his own, and, therefore, we are somewhat tempted to identify with him and to admire him.  What teenager does not want to break away from his family and stand on his own, like the wicked or contrary child does?  Yet, I must tell you that he’s not my favorite either.  How can you admire someone who shows off his independence at the cost of hurting his parents’ feelings, especially on seder night?

So what about the one who does not even know how to ask?  I cannot say for sure, but my hunch is that he’s a little bit slow.  He doesn’t know how to ask any questions, because he doesn’t really know what’s going on.  I feel sorry for him, I’d do anything I could to help him, but I cannot say that he is my favorite child at the seder by any means.

So, who is my favorite among the four children?  It’s the tam.  Some translations call him the fool, but the usual translation is “the simple son.”  I guess I like him because I have a soft spot in my heart for simple people.  I appreciate them for their innocence, for their willingness to trust, for their naiveté, their eagerness to believe that the world is as it should be.

Our Jewish tradition says God loves and looks out for simple people.  God protects those whom everyone else makes fun of.  So if God loves the simpleton, then surely you and I should too.

Therefore, tonight I want to tell you about two of my favorite simple souls.  One only existed in the mind of the writer who created him, Isaac Bashevis Singer, and the other is a real person, actually a ball player in my favorite sport.  I’m drawn to both of them because they both share the same quality.  They live not by what other people think is right or wrong, but by what they believe is right or wrong.  They are laughed at and ridiculed by lots of people but, you know, in the end both of them may be wiser than we think.  They may even be wiser than the people who make fun of them.

Let’s begin with I. B. Singer’s most famous story.  In English it’s called “Gimpel the Fool”.  In the Yiddish original he is called “Gimpel Tam”, which I believe is a better name.  Gimpel is the town simpleton.  Everyone laughs at him and plays tricks on him because he is so gullible.  They tell him that the rabbi’s wife has given birth to a baby, so he skips school.  How was he to know that it wasn’t true?

They tell Gimpel that the czar is coming to visit their town tomorrow, and he believes them.  They tell him that the moon had fallen down in Tarnipol, and he believes them.  They tell him that Hodel had found a treasure that was hidden behind the bathhouse, and he believes them.  They tell him that the mashiach had arrived; he believes them.  And every time he falls for one of their tricks, the whole town laughs.

When he was old enough, they made a shiddach for Gimpel.  They told him that she was beautiful; it turned out she had a limp, a hunchback, not to mention a temper.  They told him that she was chaste and pure; it turned out she was both a widow and a divorcee and pregnant besides.

Gimpel comes home from work one night and finds his wife in bed with someone else.  He did not want to wake the children, so he left and went to sleep in the barn.  In the morning, he went to the rabbi and asked what he should do, because he knew you’re not allowed to stay married to a woman who commits adultery.  They summoned his wife, and she denied everything.  She said that Gimpel must be imagining things.

The rabbi said that Gimpel was no longer allowed to live with his wife because she may have been unfaithful, so he slept in the barn from then on.  But he missed her terribly and he missed the children, even the ones she had during this period when he was not allowed to live with her.  So he went back to the rabbi and said he must have made a mistake and imagined that he saw someone in his bed.

The rabbi said he would appoint a bet din to study the matter of whether a witness can recant his testimony or not,  and he would let Gimpel know their decision.  The bet din took over a year to study the question, and during that time, Gimpel’s wife gave birth to another child.

Even when he was not allowed to live with her, Gimpel sent his wife a package of food every single day.  Sometimes he sent her pastries, sometimes he sent her roast beef, sometimes he sent her other food, and he always made sure to send presents and delicacies for the children as well, because he really loved them.

At the end of Singer’s story, Gimpel looks back over his life, and he says to himself, “You know what?  I have had a good life, perhaps a better life than those who had their fun by telling me lies.  What did they get for their lies?  They fooled a fool?  Mazal tov!  Anybody can do that.

“What did I get by believing them?  I got a wife, I got many children, I got a pleasure and a purpose in my life from raising them.  So who’s better off?  Me – or those who made fun of me?”

So, “Gimpel the Simple” –  isn’t that the best name for him?  -  Gimpel the Simple lives content.  In his dreams he sees his wife who is no longer living but whom he imagines must be missing him in heaven, or wherever she is.  He says that he wants to die so that he can be with her, but in his dreams she tells him to be patient and wait until God calls him.

And he says, “No doubt the world to come is an imaginary world, but still it’s only one step removed from this world, and, who knows, perhaps it is more real than this.  And when I go there, I know that I will be in a place where there is no ridicule, there’s no deception.  Baruch haShem, there even Gimpel the Simple cannot be deceived.”

Do you understand now why I like him?  I ask you, who lived a better life –   Gimpel or the ones who used their wit and their wisdom to fool an innocent person who had no wit and no wisdom?  Who was happier – Gimpel who had a wife whom he loved and children whom he adored, or the cynics who loved to tell him that his wife was a cheat and those children were not his?

Truly, God loves the simple, and God protects them, and so should we.

Now, let me tell you my second story about a fool.  This one may be harder to believe, but it is absolutely true.  It happened a little more than a year ago in Kansas City and was in all the newspapers.  And, of course, if a story is in all the newspapers, then it must be true, right?

The Kansas City Royals – for the uninitiated, that’s a baseball team – had a pitcher whose name was Gil Meche.  He did well for the Royals, won a bunch of games, and so prior to the 2007 season, they gave Meche a five-year contract for $55 million.  Last year, he was to be paid $12 million, the final year of the contract.  I don’t know about you, but for me, $12 million is not small change.

What we need to understand is that baseball contracts are legally binding.  If a player shows up and does his job, there is no way that management can break his contract.  If a player is injured in the middle of the season and can’t play any longer, the contract is still binding.  In other words, in the middle of a five-year contract, if a player gets hurt and can’t play again, all he has to do is show up for spring training – he doesn’t have to play in a single game – but he still gets his money.

During the winter, Gil Meche developed an aching shoulder which made it very hard for him to pitch.  But all he had to do was show up at spring training and let the team physician examine his shoulder.  The doctor would have declared him unable to play, and Meche could have sat out the rest of the season and drawn his full $12 million salary.

Gil Meche did not do that.  Instead, he decided not to go to spring training and to retire.  He said it felt kind of funny to earn all that money for doing nothing.

Here’s the exact quote, “When I signed my contract, my main goal was to earn it.  Once I started to realize I wasn’t earning my money, I felt bad.  I was making a crazy amount of money for not even pitching.  Honestly, I didn’t feel like I deserved it.”

So, Meche told the Royals’ general manager that he did not want any of the paycheck – no settlement, no buy out, no strings.  He felt the organization had been very good to him.  He felt he needed to retire which, in his mind was the right thing to do, because he couldn’t see himself taking all that money for doing nothing.

When the media got hold of Meche’s statement, they went wild.  They printed all kinds of columns mocking Gil Meche, ridiculing him for retiring when he could have made $12 million just by showing up at spring training.  They called him a fool for what he did.  I quote:

“Meche’s decision to pass up $12 million is certainly honorable, but given the inherent risk of his profession, it was also idiotic.”

So, let me ask you:  in your opinion, was Gil Meche really a fool or not?  And do you think you could have done what he did?

To be fair, he’d already made a good deal of money in previous seasons.  But when he was asked why he did it, he said, “I did it because I wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning and not feel ashamed by the face of the person looking back at me”.

I believe that’s a very powerful statement:  “I wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not feel ashamed by the face of the person looking back at me.”  That was worth at least $12 million to Gil Meche.

I don’t know if you admire Gil Meche or not.  I don’t know what I would have done if I were in his Nikes.  Who can say what they would do until they are in that situation?  But this I do know:  Gimpel the Simple would have understood Gil Meche, and he would have welcomed him into the fellowship of holy fools.

And I think that God will welcome Gil Meche too some day, because he’s the kind of person that God had in mind when it says in the Hallel, Shomer pitayim haShem, that God loves simple people, and God considers them wiser and smarter than a lot of the other people who think they are so smart.

So, that’s why I vote not for the chacham, and not for the rasha, and not for the sh’eino yodea lishol.  I vote instead for the tam as my favorite child at the seder.  My friends, I hope you’ll consider voting for him too.  Amen

   – I am indebted to Rabbi Jack Riemer for this message.

Shabbat Tsav/Shabbat Hagadol

March 22, 2013

Why were the kohanim the ones who had to haul out the ashes every morning?  To teach those of us who live in a highly stratified society that all work is potentially holy and that no one should feel that they are too good to do “ordinary” work.

Who Cleans Up in Your House?

This week’s Torah portion begins with a rather strange law.  Leviticus 6:3-4 says “The kohen, the priest, shall take up the ashes to which the fire has reduced the burnt offering on the altar, and place them beside the altar.  Then he shall take off his vestments and put on other vestments and carry the ashes outside the camp to a clean place.”  So let me ask you two questions.

First, do we really need to be told that the ashes were carried off the altar every day?  Of course they were.  Otherwise they would have piled up on the altar until there was no room left in which to perform the sacrifices.  Why does our Torah, which does not usually waste words, have to give us this janitorial information?

My second question is why were the kohanim, the priests, the ones who had to carry out the ashes?  After all, the kohanim were the people in charge of the worship.  Why did they have to take off their sacred vestments every morning, put on other garments – maybe overalls – and take out the ashes?  Wasn’t that a menial job, beneath their dignity?  Couldn’t the kohanim have hired janitors to carry  out the ashes every morning?  Why did they have to do it themselves?

Commentators offer a lot of different guesses for why the kohanim had to carry the ashes out themselves.  My answer is very simple.  My guess is that it was in order to teach the kohanim to have respect for the work which ordinary people do.  If your job placed you in the mishkan, the tabernacle, and you did sacred work all day, it would be easy to forget how ordinary people live.  It would be easy to feel that you are very special, higher and holier than the rest of amcha, the community.  Therefore, before beginning the daily sacrifices, the law in Leviticus provided that the very first thing the kohanim had to do each and every morning was to take the ashes, which were left over from the sacrifices that burned all through the night, and carry them out of the camp.

Now, if my guess is right, that that is why the kohanim had to carry out the ashes every day, there is a lesson here for all of us.  While we talk about ours being an egalitarian society, we really live in a very stratified society.  Our world is divided not only between the haves and the have-nots; it is divided between those who do work which has status and those who do not.

For example, ours is a world in which some CEOs travel only by private charter plane; a world in which powerful people no longer drive to work – the company sends a car and chauffeur for them; a world in which at entrainment venues and sporting events there are corporate boxes – glassed-in, carpeted, climate-controlled – in which ushers bring the food to you; this is where the machers watch concerts and ball games.  It is this kind of society where people on both sides of the social spectrum need to be reminded that ALL work is dignified, and that no one should feel that they are too good to do “ordinary” work.

Our scholar-in-residence last November was Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin.  He tells the story of being in a taxi on the way to the airport to fly to another city where he was scheduled to give a talk.  The taxi driver recognized Salkin and engaged him in conversation as they drove.  The driver said to the rabbi, “What do you say to someone like me, Rabbi, who has not set foot in a synagogue since I was Bar Mitzvah, who is not religious?”

Rabbi Salkin replied, “We could talk about how you serve God in your work.”

“What are you talking about?” said the driver.  “What does my job have to do with religion?”

“Do you realize,” Rabbi Salkin asked him, “that you are one of the tissues that connects humanity?”

“Huh?” said the driver.  “What are you talking about?  I’m no clergyman.  I’m no holy man.  I just drive a taxi.”

“Is that so?  Well, right now you’re taking me to the airport.  Thanks to your efforts and skill, I’ll make my flight and hopefully get to my destination on time.  There I will be giving a couple of lectures which may touch or even change somebody who hears me.  If so, you will have helped to make the connection between me and that person happen.

“And while we’ve been driving, I overheard the conversation on your two-way radio.  I heard that after you drop me off, they want you to go to a certain hospital, pick up a woman there and bring her home.  That means you will be the first non-medical person this woman will encounter after her stay of God-only-knows how long in the hospital.  You will be a small part of her healing process.  You will be an agent that will help smooth her re-entry into normal life again.

“And then, who knows?  You may go to the train station and pick up someone who is coming back from visiting a parent who is dying, or you may take someone to the house of the woman whom he is going to ask to marry him.

“So, you see, you’re a connector, a bridge-builder, whether you realize it or not.  You are one of the many unnoticed people who make the world work as well as it does.  That is holy work, my friend.  You may not realize that it is, but your work is just as sacred as mine is any day.”

The cab driver thought about this for a little while and then replied, “Wow!  I never looked at my job that way.  I guess you’re right, Rabbi.  Thanks.”  And then he speeded up and headed for the airport.

When we hear that story, I hope we realize that there are very few, if any, jobs which are devoid of religious significance.  The garbage man makes it possible for people to live clean lives and protects us from disease.  The mail person keeps us connected to our family and friends and makes it possible for business people and their customers to communicate.  The florist brightens our lives and enhances the pleasure of our simchas by the flowers that she sells.  The newspaper delivery person makes it possible for us to know what’s going on in the world and where we can be of help.  The worker who fixes the potholes in the streets keeps our travels safe, and the list goes on and on.

Friends, we live in an interdependent society in which each of us has a job which enables others to live well and, therefore, no job should ever be maligned, looked down on,  or taken for granted.  That’s what the kohen learned every morning when he took off his priestly raiment, put on overalls and carried out the ashes.

Rabbi Salkin offers another example of how any and every task can be sacred.  Let us consider clothing.  Most of us take clothing for granted, and we especially pay little attention today to the tailor.  We tend to think of a tailor as someone not as educated or as talented as we are.  If he were, he would have a better job and not be a tailor.  Wrong.  One of the people I most respect in our Jewish community is my tailor, Sherman Ray, a truly remarkable individual – wise and knowledgeable; there are very few such old-world tailors left.  I don’t know what’s going to happen when people like Sherman Ray are gone.

In the Jewish tradition, tailoring is a honored profession.  My grandfather, Philip Sherman, was a master tailor.  Every morning, friends, when we dress, we are supposed to say a bracha, thanking God for the clothes we wear:  Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha-olam, malbish arumim, thank You Adonai, our God, Ruler of the Universe, who provides clothing for the naked.  Those who manufacture, and those who sell, and those who fix clothing, are doing God’s work.

Think about how much better you feel about yourself when you put on a new dress or a new suit for the first time, especially if it fits well.  It brightens your day.  It makes you feel self-confident.  Thanks are due to the designers and the tailors who make that happen.

Rabbi Salkin writes that those who work in the bridal gown end of the clothing business are really doing spiritual work.  They are helping to fulfill the mitzvah of hachnasat kallah, of dowering the bride.  And what about the salespeople who work in a “big and tall” clothing store that specializes in clothing for the overweight and oversized?  (That’s where I buy my clothes.)  If the sales staff are tactful and sensitive to the feelings of those customers, they are doing God’s work.

So it makes no difference.  You can be a doctor or a secretary, a lawyer or a bus driver, an accountant or a ditch digger – every job brings opportunities to help God, to serve God and to better human life.  The people who do those jobs are just as sacred as those who stand in the sanctuary and teach the word of God, and that’s what the kohen was reminded of every single morning when he took out the ashes.

I’ll give you a couple more examples without wanting to embarrass our hard-working Temple President, his father or brother.  People who move furniture, who crate and freight a family’s possessions, its dreams and its memories – when they transport these belongings from home to home, whether they realize it or not, they are continuing the work of the Levites of old whose task it was to take apart the furniture in the mishkan, put it on wagons, transport it, and then reassemble it wherever the People of Israel moved from place to place in the wilderness.

Rabbi Salkin says that one of his high school classmate’s father was a plumber, and she felt a little bit embarrassed when she compared notes with her classmates whose fathers were teachers and accountants, physicians and attorneys; hers was a plumber.  One day she told her father about her feelings, and he said something in response which she has always remembered.  He said to her, “Young lady, you should understand that civilization as we know it depends upon plumbing.”  And he was right.

Garbage collectors should take pride in their work and do it well, because their work is a continuation of the work that the kohanim did when they carried out the ashes in days of old.

I’ve told you stories before about Rabbi Aryeh Levin, a well-known rabbi in Jerusalem, beloved for the many good deeds he did.  In fact, he was known as the “Tzaddik of Jerusalem”.  His special mitzvah, the one for which he was best known, was paying attention to the people who were in prison.  Prisoners don’t get a lot of attention, but Rabbi Levin would visit them regularly to give them hope and dignity.

So, one day, on the street, Rabbi Levin runs into Rabbi Schlomo Auerbach, one of the real giants of Jewish learning in Jerusalem.  The two were both rushing, as it was the day before Yom Kippur.  Rabbi Auerbach asked Rabbi Levin where he was going.

Rabbi Levin, to whom many people came for blessing on the day before Yom Kippur, told Rabbi Auerbach that he was on his way to the home of Dr. Miriam Munin.  So Rabbi Auerbach asked him why he was going there; was she sick?

“No, no, thank God she’s well,” said Rabbi Levin.  “Since she treats her patients so well and with such kindness, I’m going to her house to ask for a blessing.”

The point of this story is that whatever work we do can be sacred work if we do it sincerely and with devotion.  Rabbi Levin, to whom so many came for a blessing, himself went to ask a blessing from someone else who was not a rabbi, but who did her work kindly and with devotion.

And so, I want to conclude with a lesson which I believe that the women in the congregation will agree with and with which the men should agree.  This is Shabbat Hagadol, the great Sabbath before Pesach.  In the hours between now and Monday night, many of us will be engaged in housecleaning, ridding our homes of chametz.  It’s a tough job to get into every corner and every crevice in order to do the job right.  And if we’re having company for seder, there are a myriad of other details to attend to.

Frankly, I’ve known cases where women worked so hard to clean the house and cook the festive meal, that when yontif finally arrived, they were simply too exhausted to really enjoy the seder.  I think that’s a shame.  Therefore, my suggestion for the coming days.

Guys, help with the cleaning, and let the women help with the leading of the seder.  There is surely something wrong with a system in which women come to the seder table too exhausted to enjoy it, and where they then have to do all the dishes by themselves when the seder is over.  It’s just not right.

Therefore, let no male believe or say that housecleaning and searching for chametz are below my dignity.  Instead, let’s learn from the kohanim who carried out the ashes every morning, that all work is sacred if it is done with the right intention.  Let men and boys be involved in housecleaning before table setting, apple peeling, nut grinding, egg shelling, and in cleaning up after the meal; and let women be involved in conducting the seder and reading from the Haggadah, so that both males and females equally can serve God.

I wish for all of you a ziessin Pesach, a very sweet Pesach, a gut yontif, and may all of us share together in the manifold tasks of getting ready for a truly joyous Passover.   Amen.

       – I learned this lesson from Rabbi Jack Riemer, and I practice this

                                        lesson with Nancy, not only on Pesach but throughout the year.

Sisterhood Shabbat

March 1, 2013

Sisterhood:  A Centennial Perspective

I am grateful and humbled by the opportunity to speak  on this very special Shabbat.  We are celebrating the 100^th anniversary of Women of Reform Judaism, formerly known as the National Federation of Temple Sisterhoods (NFTS).  I have several goals tonight.  While we certainly want to celebrate WRJ’s 100^th birthday, I want to particularly focus on the history of our Sisterhood and the leadership of our Past-Presidents and Queen Esthers, whom we honor tonight.

Since I was not here at the founding of Temple Israel Sisterhood, I have relied on Rabbi Randy Falk’s rabbinic thesis written in 1946, as well as a history of the Sisterhood written by Fannie Friedman (8^th Sisterhood President and 2^nd Queen Esther).  I don’t know if you’re all aware that we have these two books here at the Temple – a compendium of the Sisterhood presidents with a biography of each, and the same for our Queen Esthers.  These two books were primarily written by the late Isabelle Rips, a Queen Esther, who was the Temple historian.  Some of the later entries were written by the late Ann Weisman (Queen Esther) and by Carol Stahl (Past President and Queen Esther).

Humble Beginnings

Temple Israel was chartered as a Reform congregation in December of 1914.  In 1917, the Ladies Aid Society was organized.  Jennie Levin was president; some of us remember well her daughter, Hazel, who was a tireless Sisterhood worker in her own right and one of our distinguished Queen Esthers.  Jennie Levin wrote:  “The fact that I was first president of the newly organized Muskogee Sisterhood preceded me to Tulsa.  Upon arriving here, June, 1917, a young woman, I was made the first president of the Ladies Aid Society and held the post for three years.  The handful of women, about forty, were all eager and responsive and anxious to get into action.

“We met in the little cottage at 14^th and Cheyenne which eventually became the site of our first Temple, and I look back with justifiable pride on our accomplishments.  To my knowledge, there was never a ‘no’ when asked to serve on a committee.  It was like one big family, a happy, congenial group, all comparatively young and ambitious.

“Although space was limited, we held services, Sunday School classes, meetings, entertainments, in the one large room.  We had a makeshift choir.  I played the piano.  It was all volunteer work and, regardless of the quality, it was rich in sincerity.”

The Sisterhood paid for that piano which Jennie Levin played, and the Sisterhood also paid for the first sefer Torah that the congregation owned.

Our First Torah

The first two Holydays of Temple Israel’s existence, the congregation was served by a young student rabbi, Abraham J. Feldman, whom Charles and I knew very well.  He was our Rabbi Emeritus in West Hartford, Connecticut, and he told us the story of how he was asked to purchase a sefer Torah for the congregation, which he did.  Then, how to bring the Torah from New York City to Tulsa for the High Holydays of 1916.  Rabbi Feldman came from a traditional background, and the idea of putting a Torah scroll in the baggage compartment was unacceptable.  He recalled for us how he sat and held that Torah scroll in his arms for the three-day train ride to Tulsa.

Friends, when I say humble beginnings, I mean humble.  Jenny Levin writes, “There was a steep flight of stairs leading to the second floor where we had a gas plate, and here coffee was heated with other food that was brought in from various homes.  We were pioneers,  and we worked hard.  We had no electric dishwashers, no electric refrigeration to ease our efforts, nor a janitor to do the chores, just the same handful of women day in and day out, planning and anxiously awaiting the day when we would have a new temple.

The First Temple

“That day finally came in 1919.  Never will I forget the first public seder held in the social room basement of Temple Israel.  We had 125 reservations.  Table decorations of spring flowers were most attractive, the food simply wonderful, the entire service so inspiring that it left everyone spellbound and in a rich, spiritual mood.

“We progressed steadily, as only a well-organized group could.  The Sisterhood purchased the silverware, dishes, linens, pipe organ, and paid the Sunday School teachers a small salary.

“Our entertainment was similar to that of today.  We offered little plays, concerts, debates on religious subjects, gave prizes for essays on varied subjects, card parties, carnivals, picnics.  As the years went by, the membership grew, and more and more responsibilities were assumed.”

Rabbi Falk’s history says “a congregation’s vitality is often measured in terms of the capabilities of its auxiliary group, the Sisterhood.  Certainly in Tulsa’s Temple Israel, the zeal of the women has been responsible for much of the growth and development in Temple life.”  At the beginning of Temple Israel, the Sisterhood was the sole financial support for religious education in the Temple.

There was opposition to the use of an organ in the Temple, even though it was definitely a Reform institution, but the project carried by a majority of three votes.  The Sisterhood paid for the purchase of that organ.  Half of the money was raised in a successful bazaar.

1921 Affiliation with NFTS

The National Federation of Temple Sisterhoods, the oldest and largest of the Union for Reform Judaism affiliates, today represents 65,000-plus women in nearly 500 congregations in the United States, Canada, South Africa, and Israel.  It was founded in 1913.  Remember, in those days women could not even vote in national elections, much less become rabbis, cantors or congregational presidents.  Temple Israel’s Sisterhood joined NFTS in 1921, which means that we have been part of the parent body for 92 years.

One of the first projects that our Sisterhood cooperated in with the national group was the campaign to raise funds for a dormitory at the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati.  It became known as the Sisterhood Dorm, and Charles lived in that dormitory during the summer of 1963.

We return to the local scene and the excitement of moving into our first permanent building.  Sisterhood helped furnish the building, especially the kitchen and the classrooms, and paid for the books and supplies for the Religious School.  Many Sisterhood women were teachers in that early Religious School, and Sisterhood also contributed $25 a month toward the salary of the janitor.

One of the early goals of Sisterhood was to help develop leadership and to give women a voice in the Temple.  These were days, I remind you, that Temple boards were all male.  In 1922, the Board adopted a policy that the Sisterhood President would have a permanent position on the Temple Board.

The Second Temple

The Temple Family was quickly outgrowing its first building and, therefore, it broke ground — in the depths of the Depression — to build a new facility at 16^th and Rockford.  It was dedicated in September of 1932.  Mrs. Edwina Stern was Sisterhood President and she referred to herself as “the Depression President.”

Sisterhood also contributed generously to the second Temple.  It furnished the kitchen, chairs and desks for the Religious School, banquet tables, card tables, and 300 folding chairs for the multipurpose sanctuary/auditorium.

Queen Esther Award

Sisterhood had become part of the Arkansas/ Oklahoma District of NFTS, and Edwina Stern became District President in 1935.  Edwina was the first of our  Sisterhood members to be elected to the NFTS Board and became Sisterhood’s very first Queen Esther in 1961.  The Queen Esther award was created by Geri Rosenthal and is unique to our Sisterhood.  It was only fitting that Geri received the award herself in 1994.

Over the course of our 92-year affiliation with NFTS, four additional women have served on the National Board:  Minnie Milsten, Dorothy Whitebook, Nancy Sherman, and now we’re thrilled that Madelyn Rosenthal is on the International Board of WRJ.  All five members have been Sisterhood Presidents and Queen Esthers.

During this second Temple period, Sisterhood contributed a baby grand piano, started the library, took on sponsorship of the Temple Youth Group and began to set aside $2,000 a year toward the building of a sanctuary.

From 1940 to 1942, Sylvia Wilk, whose father had participated in the Oklahoma Land Run, Larry’s mother, was known as Sisterhood’s War President.  Servicemen were hosted by Sisterhood in homes for all Jewish holidays.  A special relationship with the Jewish soldiers at Camp Gruber in Muskogee was established. Sisterhood contributed toward a room for wounded soldiers at Camp Gruber.  Temple Sisterhood prepared forty overseas kits which the Red Cross distributed to soldiers overseas.  Sylvia Wilk became Queen Esther in 1971.

Evidently, from the very beginning, Sisterhood provided an Oneg Shabbat following every Sabbath Eve service.  Interestingly, in April, 1946, after World War II was over, Sisterhood dispensed with the Oneg Shabbat refreshments and asked its members and friends instead to contribute non-perishable foods which were packed and sent to the American Joint Distribution Society in New York and then shipped to the hungry in war-torn countries.

Temple Playa, Reviews, Musicals

The second Temple was also the site of the early Temple plays, reviews, and musicals, and Sisterhood was very much involved.  The first was in 1944, a musical comedy directed by Lois Barall who, of course, became Sisterhood President and Queen Esther and is known fondly as Lois Kahn Barall Goldstein Zwick.  Fashions and Fantasy was directed by Marge Rubin in 1947, sponsored by Sisterhood.  Gay Nineties Review was directed by Marge in 1948, as well as Inside Tulsa, directed by Lois Barall.  In 1956, Sisterhood presented a delightful spectacular entitled, “My Fair Lady Ball”.  I believe that subsequent “Harmony Balls” were held at the Meadowbrook Country Club and raised considerable money.  During the 40’s, 50’s, and 60’s there were many exciting Temple shows.

Our Sisterhood contributed to the NFTS fund for the purchase of the House of Living Judaism in New York City, which became the headquarters for all arms of our Reform Movement.  Jane Evans, the first Executive Director of NFTS and one of the most distinguished leaders of Reform Judaism, spoke at Temple Israel in 1948.

In the second Temple, Sisterhood began the custom of an interfaith tea which later became a luncheon.  In 1950 the president of the Tulsa Council of Church Women and the president of Cathedral Women’s Club participated.  With this luncheon, it became a Sisterhood tradition in February, as part of the National Brotherhood Month, to have an interfaith luncheon.  Last  month marked 63 years Sisterhood has been hosting an interfaith luncheon.

Minnie Milsten became Sisterhood President in May of 1952, and there was a problem of securing a new parsonage to accommodate the family of Rabbi Rosenthal, who was about to become our spiritual leader.  A special meeting of the Temple Sisterhood was called on July 22, and Sisterhood voted to assume one-half the yearly mortgage payments on the parsonage.  The library, by 1953, had almost 2,000 volumes.

The Third Temple

By this time, it was clear that the congregation had outgrown its 16^th and Rockford site, and some visionary leaders of the Temple purchased a five-acre property at 22^nd and Yorktown.  Sisterhood pledged to underwrite the furnishings of pews for the sanctuary, tables and chairs for the auditorium, besides the entire equipment of the kitchen.  Sisterhood women created the first Ark Curtain for the new Temple, and many Sisterhood women also needle-pointed our current Ark Curtain.  In January, 1955, the Sisterhood triumphantly presented a check to Pug Myers, Temple President, for $23,500, $20,000 toward furniture and kitchen equipment, and $3,500 for the Religious School maintenance.

In March of 1955, we moved into this new building.  As the move from Temple II to Temple III was about to take place, Fannie Friedman wrote, “We rededicate ourselves with great joy to our new spiritual home, to worship there, and sending our children and grandchildren to the beautiful edifice which, through our labors, we all have created, that there they may seek spiritual sustenance that will strengthen and enrich their lives.”  Sisterhood helped plan and was intimately involved with the three-day dedicatory celebration of the new Temple.

Within the first year in this building, under the presidency of Carmelita Avery, Allan’s aunt, the Sisterhood entertained the Texas/Oklahoma District of NFTS at its Biennial Meeting in Tulsa.  We hosted again in 1977, and in 1992, under the presidency of Christie Kennedy (Queen Esther), Sisterhood hosted District 22’s Interim Board meeting.

Fundraising

So how did we and how do we raise money to support our Temple?  One of the first and most unusual fund-raising projects was a “Hope Chest”.  Ladies filled this hope chest with fine linens and lingerie and moved it from the windows of one downtown department store to another; raffle tickets were sold for that hope chest and its contents.

Rummage sales, bazaars, food sales, bake sales, and art auctions followed, and then our last two very successful auction fund-raisers, each raising $20,000 for Sisterhood’s support of the Religious School.

During Jeanne Jacobs’ presidency, 1982-84, Sisterhood gave $40,000 to the Temple Israel Building and Endowment Fund for the expansion project to provide a brand new Judaica Shop, which we utilize to this day.

The Judaica Shop was never just a fund-raising project of Sisterhood.  It is a place to buy special Judaica –  Jewish jewelry, Shabbat and Yahrzeit candles, books, holiday items, CDs, DVDs – for our congregants, for the entire Jewish community, and general community.

Projects of Pride

Some of the projects of Women of Reform Judaism which our Sisterhood has participated in and can take justifiable pride in:  In the 1930s, in cooperation with the Hebrew Union College and the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, NFTS helped finance the rescue of several promising, young Jewish students living in Germany.  They would study at the Hebrew Union College and became some of our most renowned Reform rabbis:  Gunther Plaut, Herman Schaalman, Woli Kaelter, Alfred Wolf, and Leo Lichtenberg.

NFTS helped establish the National Federation of Temple Youth (NFTY) and for twenty years was NFTY’s sole financial source.  Today, Women of Reform Judaism supports the Union’s work with high school and college age youth through our Youth, Education, & Special Projects (YES) Fund as well as the World Union for Progressive Judaism’s Youth Camps in the Former USSR.

WRJ provides annual scholarships for eight Reform rabbinic and cantorial students.  We support a legislative assistant at the Religious Action Center in Washington.  We help fund the Israel Religious Action Center’s efforts to eliminate gender discrimination there.

WRJ publications include The Torah:  A Women’s Commentary, the first commentary written entirely by women and which we use in our Sisterhood’s monthly Torah study; WRJ Covenant series of prayers; Torat Nasheem, the commissioned Women’s Torah, as well as Torah study guides.

Stimulating Programs

The constraints of time compel me to summarize the various activities of Sisterhood for 58 years in this building.  Let’s begin with hospitality.  Sisterhood continues to provide a delicious Oneg Shabbat following almost every Shabbat service.  We prepare the annual Break-the-Fast at the end of Yom Kippur, the Simchat Torah and Chanukah dinners.  We’ve helped for years with the Purim Carnival, Tu Bishvat Seder, the Congregational Passover Seder, and the dinner at the Annual Congregational Meeting.

For many years, Sisterhood maintained a cradle roll, a picture and short description of every baby born in the congregation.  Sisterhood still continues to support the publication of the Temple Bulletin each year.

One of our most important long-standing projects is the Sewing Group.  Every Monday morning, year in and out, Sisterhood volunteers prepare pillows with matching cases and carrying bags for mastectomy patients – a truly inspiring mitzvah.

In 1984, Sisterhood members created the beautiful tablecloth for the ritual table in the auditorium depicting holidays and Jewish themes.  As a former Program Vice President, I am particularly proud of our Sisterhood’s innovative and stimulating offerings which have informed and educated our members.  We’ve presented annual book reviews, forums on Jewish women’s health issues, community social issues and avenues for Sisterhood involvement, educational programs featuring school superintendents as well as the new Public Library director.  We’ve had K’vell and Sell luncheons, Taste and Tell luncheons, challah demonstrations, and Tina Wasserman, and have published two cookbooks.  In recent years, the “Chai Tea” has become a major opening of Sisterhood’s programming year.  Teddy Lachterman, a Queen Esther, was its creator, and often three and four generations of Temple women were involved.

We’ve created Women’s Seder and this year a Rosh Chodesh celebration.  With Cantor’s help, we’ve offered beautiful music programs.  Our Sisterhood retreats have emphasized and engendered leadership skills.  And regardless of venue or subject, our programs have built strong relationships between and among the wide variety of women who comprise our membership.

I also want to acknowledge, with Sisterhood’s sincere gratitude, our Rabbi’s consistent help and support with our programming.

For Sisterhood Shabbat, we have brought 11 female Reform rabbis and three cantors to this bima.  Lay leaders have included Lydia Kukoff, Eleanor Schwartz, as well as Dr. Jocelyn Elder, former U.S. Surgeon General, and former Tulsa Mayor Kathy Taylor.  WRJ Presidents Judith Silverman, Judith Rosenkranz, as well as current WRJ Exec, Rabbi Marla Feldman, have addressed us on Sisterhood Shabbat.  In 1986, NFTS President Delores Wilkenfeld was guest speaker at Sisterhood’s closing luncheon.

Preparing Women for Leadership

Sisterhood service has prepared many women for congregational leadership.  Jeanne Jacobs, Past-President and Queen Esther, was the first woman to be elected President of Temple Israel in 1988.  Paula Milsten, another Sisterhood Past-President and Queen Esther, became Temple President in 1994, and Ginny Katz, also Past-President and Queen Esther, served as President of Temple Israel from 2004-2006.  Paula is now our co-honorary Temple President.

The Amudim Award is Temple Israel’s highest honor.  To date, 60 individuals have received this coveted recognition.  Eighteen of these 60 have been Sisterhood past-presidents or Queen Esthers, and six have been both.

To conclude, what my research as well as my own experience has taught me, is that Sisterhood has helped build buildings – the House of Living Judaism in New York, the Hebrew Union College Dormitory in Cincinnati, and each of the three buildings which have housed  Temple Israel – but we’re not building-builders.  Our mission is to build better Jews.  Our work as Sisterhood members has strengthened this congregation in so many different ways.  We in this generation have been blessed to stand on the shoulders of some truly remarkable women.

The Next Generation

WRJ and Temple Sisterhood have changed with the times.  “This is not your mother’s Sisterhood; this is the new generation of Sisterhood.”  Now that women play new roles in congregational life — women are rabbis, cantors, educators, Temple presidents — WRJ has created new models of shared leadership and responsibility.

One of our greatest challenges is to engage the next generation of young women who identify as Reform Jews.  Women can benefit from the bonding, sharing, caring, mentoring, learning and growing which is characteristic of Temple Sisterhood.

Those who came before us planned for a future which has brought us to this Centennial Celebration.  Let us commit to ensuring that our second century is as inspiring and transformative as the first.  Please join us on this journey.  Amen

Shabbat Vayakhel-Pekudei

March 8, 2013

Exodus 40 describes Moses as personally doing all the last minute, pre-dedication Mishkan preparations – hammering, lifting, furniture moving, etc.  Had the “the humblest of all men” turned into a megalomaniac, a micro-manager, a control freak, a perfectionist?  Perhaps a contemporary New Jersey synagogue move can help us lean from Moses’ actions still valid lessons about leadership.

Leaders Like Moses – Wanted/Needed?

          There is a nuance in this week’s Torah portion which, I confess, I had really never paid much attention to before.  The writings of Rabbi Jack Riemer brought it to my attention.  Listen to Exodus Chapter 40, which is the last chapter of the Book of Exodus.  For five weeks now, our Torah has been concerned with the building of Israel’s very first sanctuary.  It is now ready.

We’ve been told more details of this construction project than even the most dedicated architect wants to know.  Then we’ve been given the details of how much each item cost, more than any accountant wants to know.  Finally, almost at the end, Torah says:  “MOSES set up the Tabernacle.  HE placed the sockets.  HE set up the planks.  HE inserted its bars.  HE erected the posts.  HE spread the tent over the Tabernacle.  HE placed the covering of the tent on top of it as God had commanded MOSES to do.”

Then in the very next verse, it says:  “HE took the pact and placed it inside the ark.  HE fixed the poles to the ark.  HE placed the cover on top of the ark.  HE brought the ark inside the Tabernacle, then HE put up the curtain for screening, and HE screened off the ark of the pact as God had commanded MOSES to do.”

The Torah continues:  “HE placed the table in the Tent of Meeting, outside the curtain on the north side of the Tabernacle.  Upon it HE laid out the setting of bread before the Eternal.  HE placed the lampstand in the Tent of Meeting opposite the table on the south side.  HE placed the altar of gold in the Tent of Meeting before the curtain.  On it HE burned aromatic incense.

We continue, verse 28:  “Then HE put up the screen for the entrance of the Tabernacle.  At the entrance of the Tabernacle HE placed the altar of burnt offering.  On it, HE offered up the burnt offering and the grain offering.  HE placed the laver between the Tent of Meeting and the altar, and HE put water into it for washing.  And HE set up the enclosure around the Tabernacle and the altar, and HE put up the screen for the gate of the enclosure.”

Verse 33:  “ When MOSES finished his work, the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting and the presence of the Eternal filled the Tabernacle.”

Friends, did you notice how many times the word “MOSES” and “HE” appeared in these sentences?  It sounds as if Moses did everything all by himself, as if Bezalel and Oholiab and the craftsmen and the skilled workers and the people did nothing.  It is as if Moses single-handedly erected the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, our people’s first sanctuary.

What is going on here?  Moses, who is described by the Torah as “the humblest of all men” suddenly became a megalomaniac and insisted on doing everything himself so that he would get all the credit?  That does not seem possible, does it?

This is the same Moses who a few weeks ago, you remember, accepted the advice of his father-in-law Jethro to delegate the work of judging people and  appointed 70 assistants – now he felt the urge to do everything by himself?  Did he regress?  That makes no sense.  So why do we suddenly see Moses doing everything by himself in the closing hours of the completion of the Mishkan?

If you share my view that human nature hasn’t changed significantly over time, then a contemporary experience may shed on Exodus 40.  Rabbi Joel Abraham of Temple Shalom, formerly of Plainfield and now of Scotch Plains, New Jersey, explained this passage in a way that was very helpful to me.  Rabbi Abraham tells the story of what happened in his own congregation.

For many years, the congregation existed happily in Plainfield, New Jersey.  Then demography changed, and the congregation had to move.  It sold its building in Plainfield and built a new one in Scotch Plains.  But it took some time between when they sold their old building and the time when their new building was ready.  So during this interim, they rented space in a nearby church.

Each week, they had to bring in their ark, set up the bima, hang up the curtains, and change the room which they had rented from a church into a synagogue.  This use of the rented church space began in the summer when many of the members were away, services were a bit more informal, and people did not mind so much davening in a rented space – frankly, in a church.  But as the High Holydays approached, the leadership began worrying about what would their members think and how would they feel about having Holyday services in foreign territory, alien space.

The Rabbi, the Chairman of the Building Committee, and some of the synagogue leaders spent many hours trying to figure out how to make this foreign space feel comfortable to Jews on their holiest days of the year.  One of the volunteers was an artist, and he came up with the idea of a curtain on which he did a rendition of the synagogue’s old stained glass windows which they put up to cover the cross.

In the final hours before the Rosh Hashanah evening service, when most of the congregants were at home enjoying their family meal, the Rabbi found himself pulling at curtains, straightening out cloths, re-arranging flowers, and attending to a million other such last-minute details.  He says he knew that he could have delegated others to do these things.  But somehow he felt the need to do them himself, because he understood that the first impression his people would receive when they entered this makeshift sanctuary was crucial – and he wanted it to be just right.

“Perhaps,” Rabbi Abraham suggests, “Moses may have felt exactly the same way.  At first he may have been content to let Bezalel and Oholiab and the others do their jobs, but when the opening hour came near, when he felt the tension of knowing that soon the people were going to enter the sanctuary and see it in all its glory for the very first time, Moses felt the need to roll-up his sleeves and make sure it was done just right.  So Moses placed the sockets, and Moses arranged the planks, and Moses set the tables, and Moses lit the lamps, and Moses prepared the incense.”

Rabbi Abraham says he knows he is no Moses, but he has a hunch that what he was feeling in the minutes just before the beginning of Rosh Hashanah that year may have been a bit akin to what Moses felt on the day that the sanctuary was dedicated.  When you are caught up in the cause, when it really, really means a lot to you, then no matter how many talented assistants you have, no matter how many manual laborers you may hire, no matter how many enthusiastic people are on your committee – when the final moments of the project draw near, something inside you pulls at you and drives you to make sure that you get it right.  Something makes you do it yourself so that you can be sure that it will done according to your specifications and standards.

Therefore, friends, I want to say a kind word tonight on behalf of a term which has crept into our language and is often used as an insult.  If you want to say about a leader that he’s too driven, too possessed, you say he is a “micro-manager,” and that word is usually not meant as a compliment.  It means that this is a person who does not know how to let go and who does not know how to share, who has to do it all by herself, and who has to make sure that every detail is done the way he wants it to be done.

Well, you know something?  To be a micro-manager is not such a bad thing.  I understand that it is difficult, truly challenging to work for someone who has to keep control over every facet of the job.  I recognize that it can be frustrating to have a boss who worries about every single detail himself and cannot let those who work for her have the discretion to make some decisions by themselves.  I really do understand all that.

But I also understand, and I admire, the kind of devotion to detail that makes a leader want to make sure that each and every part of the task goes right.  And there is something to be said about the kind of leader who is willing to roll up his sleeves and do a lot of the job himself.

I don’t know if Moses was a “perfectionist” – another word not always used as a compliment.  Maybe Moses was, maybe not.  But I do think that Moses had enthusiasm, enormous passion.  He was a man who wanted the Mishkan to come our really, really right and therefore, at the end, he pitched in and got his hands dirty and did much of the manual labor himself.

And you know what I think must have happened as a result?  My guess is that when the craftsmen – the carpenters, the furniture makers, the table polishers – and all the rest of the workmen saw Moses working like that, they must have said to themselves “if he can do this, then so can we.”  And they must have worked extra hard to get every detail right in the closing hours and minutes before the sanctuary was finished.

Rabbi Abraham says that when the doors of the temporary, makeshift synagogue which they had created in a church were opened that first night of Yontif and the people streamed in, they paused and you could hear them catch their breath as they beheld the replica of the stained glass windows of their old synagogue on the white curtain before them.  When they saw the silk paintings which had adorned the old bima in this room, and when they saw the same holy ark which they were used to seeing in their old shul now on the bima in this space, he says he could hear them saying to themselves “ah, this feels right.  I can worship here.”

And even though his hands were filthy from all the manual labor he had done that day, and even though he had a backache from all that he had done, and even though he felt bone-tired, Rabbi Abraham thought to himself as he washed up and took his place on the bima and began the service – - “it was worth it.  I’m glad I did it.”

Rabbi Abraham’s experience in New Jersey helps explain this unusual passage at the very end of the Book of Exodus.  It helped me understand why Moses is described in these last words of the Mishkan dedication as running frantically from one corner to the other, from one task to the other.  He did all the last minute work – the hammering and the lifting and the placing of the furniture and the fixing of the sockets – not because he was a megalomaniac who had to do it all himself.  He did it because he wanted things to be just right.

And the second thing that I think we can learn is –  Moses did it in order to teach all who would be leaders of the Jewish People that there are times to stand or sit on your dignity.  There are times when it is appropriate to give orders and direct other people what to do.  But there are times when, if you are the Rabbi or the President or the Chair of a Facilities Committee or of the donor dinner or of the art auction or some other important project, you must pitch in and do whatever has to be done in order to make sure the project is done as well as it can be done.

I don’t believe Moses was a perfectionist or a control freak.  But Moses was a person who had planned meticulously and worked hard for many, many months to build the Mishkan and then, when the final minutes approached before it was to open, he pitched-in hands-on in order to make sure that it would be really ready when the doors swung open.

May we who are leaders, whether it be in the Temple  or in our businesses, in our clubs or in our homes, learn from Moses to love our tasks so much that we want them to be done really, really well.  And may his example teach us to be willing to roll-up our sleeves and pitch-in and do whatever needs to be done in order to make sure that that happens.

In the sports world, there is a saying “the pace of the leader is the pace of the game.”  And they say in the Army “a leader’s task is not to say ‘go do it’ but to say ‘follow me’.”  Or, as it says in this week’s Torah reading “Va-yakem Moshe et hamishkan – Moses, set up the Tabernacle.”  (40:18)

The world has enough eitse gibbers – enough advisors who sit on the sidelines and offer free criticism.  They are called “sidewalk superintendents”, unpaid and often unwanted advisors.  There are plenty of them, in fact, an over-abundance.  Rather let us be leaders like Moses who are willing to get our hands dirty and who are willing to work hard so that the tabernacles of our time may be established.  Amen

– I am indebted to Rabbi Jack Riemer for this message.

Bar Mitzvah Lance Lehman

March 2, 2013 – Shabbat Ki Tisa

When the frightened and faith-challenged Israelites demand an idol to worship, how could Aaron the High Priest have gone along with them? 

Upon examination, we may discover a little bit of Aaron in ourselves.

A Near-Fatal Flaw in a Very Good Man

          As we listened to Lance chant and then translate from this week’s Torah portion, we recognize that Aaron is a key character in the Jewish story.  Aharon Ha-Kohen - Aaron the High Priest – had many good qualities.  He was able to be second in command to his brother Moses, even though Moses was three years younger than he was.  This is a rare quality.  Most of us find it a challenge to play second fiddle, especially to a younger brother, but Aaron did that and nowhere in our Torah does Aaron even complain or express envy over being number two.  For that he deserves to be admired.

Aaron had the ability to suffer enormous tragedy and recover.  On the day of his greatest glory, the day when he was officially installed as High Priest, he lost two of his children.  On that day, which was supposed to be one of simcha, his glory turned to ashes.  Yet our Torah records vayidom Aharon – Aaron kept silent.  He grit his teeth and if he wept, he did so in private.  Then, after some time, he came back to the altar and served God again.  Could any of us, God forbid, endure such tragic loss and recover?  For this alone Aaron deserves much admiration.

According to the Midrash, Aaron had one more exemplary quality.  As our sages understood him, Aaron was an ohev shalom v’rodef shalom – a person who loved peace and who worked hard at making peace.  The sages tell a number of stories about how much Aaron loved and effected peace.

They say that if two people were angry and alienated from each other, Aaron would say to one of them “the other one feels terrible that you and he are on the outs, but he does not know how to make-up.”  And then he would go to the other one and say the same thing.  In this way he would soften the hearts of both of them and make it easier for them to reconcile.

The sages say that if someone was behaving badly, Aaron would make a point of associating with this person until the individual would say to himself “if Aaron, the High Priest, is my friend, how can I do bad things?”  And the person would repent and behave better.

So there is no wonder that the people loved Aaron.  Therefore they grieved and mourned for Aaron when he died even more than they did for Moses.  Of Moses it is written that the Israelites mourned for seven days; of Aaron it is written they mourned for him 30 days.  Of Moses it is written that the people mourned for him.  Of Aaron it is written that all the people mourned for him.

And yet . . . look at what Aaron does in this week’s sedra.  Aaron commits a sin so awful that we are simply staggered when we hear it.  Aaron, the older brother of Moses, Aaron the High Priest, the person in charge of the worship of God, Aaron gives in to the demands of the people and makes a Golden Calf.

Let’s understand the gravity of this sin.  When God sees what the people have done, God says to Moses – as Lance read:  “Now let Me be that My anger may blaze forth against them that I may destroy them . . .” (Ex. 32:10)  God is furious with the people, and Moses is furious with his brother.

So how we are to comprehend the behavior of Aaron in this incident?  What the ordinary people did, at least to some extent, we can understand.  Moses had promised to come back at a certain on time and he didn’t, so the people panicked.  They were afraid that Moses had abandoned them, so they ganged up on Aaron and said “Moses, our leader is missing.  Make for us a god who will go before us.”

We can understand what the people did; they were frightened and immature, and no one should be judged too harshly for what they do when they are terrified.

But Aaron!  How could he have gone along with them?  How could he have not stood up to them?  How could he not have said “NO” to them?  The people make their demand and immediately – in the very next sentence – without hesitation, without any effort to persuade them to be patient or to reconsider, Aaron agrees.  He goes along with the people, and simply asks them to collect their wives’ jewelry so that he can make for them a Golden Calf.

Aaron did that.  Aaron, who had accompanied Moses and spoke for him in the court of Pharaoh.  Aaron, who had stood at the right-hand of Moses all through the long struggle to free the people from Egyptian slavery.  Aaron became an idol-maker – how can that be?

As Moses says when he comes down the mountain:  “What did this people do to you that you have brought such a great sin upon them?”  (32:21)  How could you have done such an abominable thing?

Interestingly, the sages of the Midrash try their best to defend Aaron.  One says Aaron was only stalling, that he figured it would take some time for the people to gather enough materials for a calf and, by the time they did, Moses would have returned and the crisis would be over.  That is why he asked them to bring the jewelry which belonged to their wives.  Aaron figured the women would be reluctant to give up their jewelry.  They would hesitate, they would argue, they would fight and, by the time they gave in, Moses would have arrived.  Perhaps.

Another sage says Aaron saw what had happened to his nephew – Hur – who tried to resist.  Hur tried to stand up to the mob, but they trampled over him and killed him.  So Aaron reasoned – if I try to do what Hur did, they will kill me just as they killed him, and why should they have the blood of two innocent people on their hands?  So this was the reason why Aaron went along.  He did so because of what the people had done to Hur.  Perhaps.

No one can be sure why Aaron did not just say “NO” when the people ganged up on him and insisted that he build for them an idol.  The fact that the sages give more than one possible explanation is proof that no one knows for certain why Aaron did what he did.

So let me offer another possible explanation for Aaron’s behavior.  For whatever it is worth, my guess is that the reason Aaron did this awful thing was because he was the kind of person who liked to be liked – and you don’t get to be liked by saying “NO.”

Let me say again, no one knows for sure.  But if that is the explanation for what Aaron did, then, my dear friends, Aaron is not the only one we know who does what he does – not because it is right, but because he wants to be liked.

Look at today’s politicians and see how they make their decisions.  When an unpopular issue comes up – a bill which may be right, a budget cut which may be necessary, but which will offend many people – what do many politicians do?  They have managers who convene what they call “focus groups” on whom they try out their positions.  If the focus group reacts favorably, then the politician expounds this position.  But if the focus group reacts negatively, then the politician often manages to be absent from Congress on the day the vote is taken – or simply votes “no.”

If it’s a bill to raise taxes – which may be necessary,  but which is seldom popular – elected officials read the public opinion polls, find out what the people in their district are thinking, and that is what they think.  They say what the polls tell them the people want them to say.  Instead of being leaders, they are finger-in-the-wind followers, echoing the opinions of the people instead of trying to form them.

Politicians have a deep and basic need to be liked.  If they are not liked – especially by the people who make major campaign contributions – they will not be office holders for very long.  So many, driven by the need to be liked, vote for what is popular and not necessarily for what is right or necessary.

It’s easy for us to point fingers at politicians, to criticize them for doing what is popular instead of what is needed.  But the truth is that you and I often do the same thing.  If you are a member of a group and everyone wants to do something that you – in your innermost heart – know is wrong, do you find it easy to speak-up and object, to say NO?  Or do you go along with the group and keep your objections to yourself?

Many, if not most of us, are reluctant to stand out and to seem different from everyone else, so we often go along with things which we know in our heart of hearts we should not.  We keep quiet instead of speaking up because, like Aaron, we like to be liked.  True?  Don’t you recognize a little bit of yourself in Aaron?  I confess that I do.

And so, if we had to evaluate Aaron – and nothing gives us the right to do so, by the way – we would be much better off judging ourselves rather than judging Aaron or other people.  But if we were to evaluate Aaron, what would we say?

I believe we could say that he was a very good man.  That he had the rare ability to be second in command without envy.  That he had the even rarer ability to endure tragedy and recover.  That he had a most admirable love of peace and the willingness to do whatever he could in order to make peace.  But he had one near-fatal flaw – the need to be liked almost ruined Aaron.  The need to be liked caused him not only to sin, but to cooperate in one of the great sins in all of history.

No one is perfect; everyone has at least one flaw.  I have a lot more than one.  In my opinion, this was the flaw which Aaron had – the flaw that very nearly brought about the destruction of the entire Jewish People.

So let us honor Aharon Ha-Kohen today.  Let us acknowledge his virtues, for they were real and significant.  But let us also recognize his flaw, the flaw that led to the sin of the Golden Calf, and let us resolve to struggle to overcome this flaw when it appears within ourselves.  K’ayn y’hi ratzon, with God’s help, may we make it so.  Amen

I’m grateful to Rabbi Jack Riemer from whom I learned this lesson.