July 4, 2008
Gathered as we are on the Fourth of July, as a congregation in prayer, it is safe to say that the Founding Fathers of our country would approve. That extraordinary group of leaders, who convened in Philadelphia to declare independence understood that, at the heart of the American Revolution, would be individual liberty and freedom of conscience.
Here is an interesting early episode from our nation's history, courtesy of Steven Waldman, co-founder of Beliefnet.com: On New Year's Day 1802 President Thomas Jefferson stood in the doorway of the White House and received delivery of 1,235-pound cheese. Painted on the crust was the inscription: "Rebellion to Tyrants is Obedience to God." The cheese was a gift to the president from a Baptist church in western Massachusetts. Waldman points out that one year earlier the campaign of John Adams was attacking Jefferson as an infidel and atheist. The Baptists may have worried about Jefferson's faith, but they respected his defense of religious liberty -- and so they gave him that gigantic gift of cheese.
As an aside, an early version of our country's Great Seal, had that same phrase, and a picture of the Israelites escaping from Pharaoh. From the beginning of our country, we Americans spoke the word "freedom" with a Hebrew accent.
Our country has not always been on the right side of truth, as slavery and lack of women's suffrage can attest. But most of our leaders have always realized that it is in the best interest of all religious faiths in America to celebrate the one true founding faith of our country: religious liberty. In other words, our country promotes faith by leaving it alone.
We engage in this practice when we obey the First Amendment. Nevertheless, we often misunderstand the purpose of the religion clause. We presume that the goal is to protect the state from religious coercion. The truth is more complex. The purpose of the clause is more accurately described as protecting the church -- or synagogue or mosque -- from the government. That's why the Baptists were so happy with Jefferson. It's not because he supported the Baptists. It's because he didn't support the state telling the Baptists what to do.
Sadly, these days we tend to forget the actual intent of the First Amendment and therefore become uncomfortable with any public display of religion. For example, you may not remember that, years before she became a presidential candidate herself, Hillary Rodham Clinton provoked a controversy by wearing a cross around her neck during her husband's inauguration activities. Even then commentators on television were remarking on what she was wearing, but this time it was because some felt she was being "too religious".
We Jews may think nothing of such complaints, but imagine if a traditional Jew were running for president, or if he was married to a candidate, and he wore a kipah. And there were remarks made about it. How would we feel then?
It is easy to become offended when a public display of religiosity features religious sentiment not our own. And I for one do not like seeing a Christmas crèche in a public square, nor a Chanukah menorah. But I fear that if we make the wall between church and state too high we send a message that religious expression has no place in the voting booth and that is wrong. Religion should dictate social justice and social justice demands that we support legislation and politicians that reflect our values.
Misunderstanding the purpose of the First Amendment leads to more than some people's discomfort with public displays of religion. It also tends to trivialize religion. By making religion a private affair it takes on the guise of a hobby. It's something nice, like Mah Jong or bridge.
But religion at its best is far more than a hobby. It is a vital force for moral betterment and social change.
So let’s celebrate our Fourth of July and proudly declare we are American. But let’s also remember we are Jews. And our heritage has much to teach us and much for us to share with our country.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
BIG TIM AND MY MOM: FAITH AS FOUNDATION OF CHARACTER
There has been a lot of death lately. Or so it seems.
In addition to personal and congregational loss, our nation has been mourning the sudden death of Meet the Press moderator Tim Russert, 58, on June 13 -- two weeks ago. His death stunned many and brought forth a tidal wave of praise for the man and his work, as well as many testimonies about his basic goodness, his
patriotism, his love for his country and family, and his faithfulness as an observant Catholic.
As a well-known journalist and moderator of a
major news program, he was influential in politics, but he was known for his evenhandedness on the program as well as for his insightfulness and winsome personality.
Also, in a culture that follows with baited breath celebrities who make news by bad behavior, Russert was notable as a good guy. Following Russert's death, Bill Press, host of a nationally syndicated radio talk program, said, "What I appreciate most about Tim Russert is that he remained a gentleman. He became America's leading journalist without ever throwing a chair, without being sued for sexual harassment, and without ever apologizing for an off-color, racist or sexist remark -- unlike other wannabes in the media we know."
In writing about Russert's life for Newsweek, Jon Meacham said that Russert's upbringing as an active Catholic strongly influenced who he became as an adult. Russert remained an active and faithful Catholic
throughout his life. Meacham wrote, "In a capital that can seem soulless and even godless, Russert was a man of faith, cheerfully professing the civic virtues of post-World War II America. He loved his neighbor,
honored his parents and cherished his country."
Meacham further said, "Russert's rise and reign can be best understood in the context of his religion, for his religion was not just a part of his life but his whole life."
Although there has been much made of Russert's Catholic faith, and its key part in the character of kindness he personified, the foundation for religious faith and righteous behavior predates the rise of Christianity.
In Leviticus 19:2 we read:
"You shall be holy, for I the Eternal your God am holy." These few words sum up the religious imperative that connects holiness to righteousness. We strive to be like God. And to be like God is to be compassionate and kind.
The Jewish Bible sets the standard for the godly life. We should be holy because God is holy.
But what, exactly, does holiness look like? If we
read the context of the verse, we find a whole set of rules for how to live together in a community with others, how to treat others in ways that God wants us to treat them. Thus, holiness is less about piety than it is about behavior and emulating God's ways.
Tim Russert understood this truth. And this explains why he was a good man and why he will be missed so much.
My mother was also a good person and her goodness was centered on her faith in God. She lived to help others, especially her family. But she also lived with a deep faith in God, or as she liked to say, the Good Lord. As many of you know, she endured tragedy in her life, including the death of her firstborn son at the age of 7. But she never lost a sense of gratitude for the gift of life. And she never stopped worrying about others. Even last week, in the hopital, she worried about having food in her home for the aides who were helping her.
Both Tim Russert and my mother made a choice in life. They could either let the world define them, or they could allow their religion to help them define their world. Tim Russert could have "become a Beltway snob" as most insiders do. My mother could have become bitter and resentful. And no one could blame her. But instead their character was shaped by their religous faith.
I know many of us struggle with faith. And in an often cruel world I cannot condemn those who struggle. I struggle too. But I am grateful for those who never lose their way because they know that there is a God who wants them and all of us to bring godliness in how we treat each other and in how we heal the world. I know that losing such people is especially hard. But I also know that their memories are a special bendection for us. So let us tell their stories and hope that some of their faith will shed its glory upon us.
Amen.
In addition to personal and congregational loss, our nation has been mourning the sudden death of Meet the Press moderator Tim Russert, 58, on June 13 -- two weeks ago. His death stunned many and brought forth a tidal wave of praise for the man and his work, as well as many testimonies about his basic goodness, his
patriotism, his love for his country and family, and his faithfulness as an observant Catholic.
As a well-known journalist and moderator of a
major news program, he was influential in politics, but he was known for his evenhandedness on the program as well as for his insightfulness and winsome personality.
Also, in a culture that follows with baited breath celebrities who make news by bad behavior, Russert was notable as a good guy. Following Russert's death, Bill Press, host of a nationally syndicated radio talk program, said, "What I appreciate most about Tim Russert is that he remained a gentleman. He became America's leading journalist without ever throwing a chair, without being sued for sexual harassment, and without ever apologizing for an off-color, racist or sexist remark -- unlike other wannabes in the media we know."
In writing about Russert's life for Newsweek, Jon Meacham said that Russert's upbringing as an active Catholic strongly influenced who he became as an adult. Russert remained an active and faithful Catholic
throughout his life. Meacham wrote, "In a capital that can seem soulless and even godless, Russert was a man of faith, cheerfully professing the civic virtues of post-World War II America. He loved his neighbor,
honored his parents and cherished his country."
Meacham further said, "Russert's rise and reign can be best understood in the context of his religion, for his religion was not just a part of his life but his whole life."
Although there has been much made of Russert's Catholic faith, and its key part in the character of kindness he personified, the foundation for religious faith and righteous behavior predates the rise of Christianity.
In Leviticus 19:2 we read:
"You shall be holy, for I the Eternal your God am holy." These few words sum up the religious imperative that connects holiness to righteousness. We strive to be like God. And to be like God is to be compassionate and kind.
The Jewish Bible sets the standard for the godly life. We should be holy because God is holy.
But what, exactly, does holiness look like? If we
read the context of the verse, we find a whole set of rules for how to live together in a community with others, how to treat others in ways that God wants us to treat them. Thus, holiness is less about piety than it is about behavior and emulating God's ways.
Tim Russert understood this truth. And this explains why he was a good man and why he will be missed so much.
My mother was also a good person and her goodness was centered on her faith in God. She lived to help others, especially her family. But she also lived with a deep faith in God, or as she liked to say, the Good Lord. As many of you know, she endured tragedy in her life, including the death of her firstborn son at the age of 7. But she never lost a sense of gratitude for the gift of life. And she never stopped worrying about others. Even last week, in the hopital, she worried about having food in her home for the aides who were helping her.
Both Tim Russert and my mother made a choice in life. They could either let the world define them, or they could allow their religion to help them define their world. Tim Russert could have "become a Beltway snob" as most insiders do. My mother could have become bitter and resentful. And no one could blame her. But instead their character was shaped by their religous faith.
I know many of us struggle with faith. And in an often cruel world I cannot condemn those who struggle. I struggle too. But I am grateful for those who never lose their way because they know that there is a God who wants them and all of us to bring godliness in how we treat each other and in how we heal the world. I know that losing such people is especially hard. But I also know that their memories are a special bendection for us. So let us tell their stories and hope that some of their faith will shed its glory upon us.
Amen.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Reflections on My Mother, Regina Goldberg, 1926-2008
Words given by me to Temple Judea on June 25, 2008
I want to thank Temple Judea on behalf of my family for warmly welcoming my mother when she moved here seven years ago. She had recently lost her husband, my father, of 45 years, and I know that her being embraced by you greatly helped in her healing.
This morning I would like to review some of Reggie's life with you but I want to make sure I don't "bury the lead" as they say in the newspaper business. So let me first say that Reggie's Hebrew name, Rivka -- Rebeccah -- is a very apt one. For just as the biblical Rebeccah was a super human mother of Israel, so was Reggie. She was known by many names and titles: LCSW, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, grandmother, and friend, but the most important title to Reggie was Mom. I will say more on this topic later.
My mother was born in Cotbus, Germany in 1926. She was part of a proud German Jewish family. And she was by far the youngest, having four older brothers and an older sister. She grew up being doted on by her family, attending opera and other cultural events, the apple of her father's eye. Her family also took Judaism very seriously and my mom remembered going to the river for tashlich on Rosh Hashanah. Her father wore a top hat for services. By all measure they were a content German Jewish family.
But my mom then saw her four older brothers leave Germany for America in the 1930s, hoping to find ways to advance in medicine and other areas in a more hospitable place. And then in October 1938 my mother was arrested -- at the age of 12 -- dragged from her school and put in jail with her sister and parents. They were then dumped on the Polish border and spent time in Poland before making their way to France. My mother enjoyed her life in France but the family knew they needed to be rid of Europe so in May of 1939 they booked passage on a French ship, the Flandre, and sailed to Cuba. My mom's oldest brother, Leonard, was a resident at Michael Reese hospital in Chicago but he came to Cuba to meet them. He was allowed to go on the boat but the Jews were not allowed to disembark. The much larger ship, the St. Louis -- out of Germany -- faced the same crisis. My mother's future sister-in-law was on that boat. My mom's boat then sailed to Miami Beach. Our Coast Guard met the boat and demanded they leave American waters. In fact, no port would accept the ship and my mother and her family returned to France.
The war started and France was occupied by the Nazis. In the fall of 1940 my mother's dad was told to register for High Holy Day seats, but the French police chief warned him to leave occupied France at once. So the family took a train to Vichy France, pretending to be carefree French citizens on a holiday. At one point the Nazis lined up all passengers and shouted in German, trying to see if my mother and others would respond. My mother was also concealing the family money in her belt and if she had been caught, well, it would not have been good.
The family made it to Vichy France and my mother was so happy to see the Vichy uniforms. But they were still in Europe. In the fall of 1941, just before America entered the war, the family was in Portugal and back in Chicago an important Chicago businessman was able to call upon his friend, the head of CBS in New York. He asked that his friend put in a good word with Juan Trippe of Pan Am to secure passage for my mom's family on the Yankee Clipper sea plane. Apparently the Chicago community was enchanted with my mom's brother Leonard and many people were campaigning for my family. I am named Edwin after one of these people. It worked and my mom flew to America -- along with U.S. diplomats being called back to D.C. on the eve of war. (My mother's parents warned her to behave with her best manners because on the plane they would be dining with American diplomats. She found the actual experience shocking because she considered their American table matters atrocious.)
They left Europe just in time.
A whole new world opened up for Reggie the teenager, living in a posh Chicago suburb, attending New Trier High, and then Northwestern University.
My mother would have become a physician had she been born later but she instead became a medical technician.
She met my father Wesley on a blind date and they were married in 1952. It was a clash of cultures. She was European and Jewishly tradititonal. My father's family had been in America since the 1860s. And was Classical Reform. And there were disagreements. But as my father liked to remember, he only played bridge on Friday night once!
My mother and father quickly had three kids. Their eldest, Jerry, then tragically developed cancer and died at the age of 7 in 1961. I often wonder how my mom could continue living and believing in God after such a tragedy. But her faith grew stronger somehow and she continued to live for the sake of her kids, Linda and Steve, and then the new arrivals that brought her such joy, my twin brother Roy and yours truly.
My mom had many hobbies and activities: regular synagogue attendance, the Jewish country club for tennis, bridge games, baseball, road trips. Train trips. Reading. And she was always a doting mother, making us whatever food we wanted, shlepping us to every kind of lesson, taking us to the opera. When we would go to summer baseball games -- the Kansas City A's -- and later the Royals -- she would bring a pile of coats, just in case the 90 degree humid weather should change!
She also became an active volunteer at Jewish Family and Children Services in K.C. and eventually earned her MA in social work and became a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, very active in the Jewish and general community. This profession of hers wasn't always easy for me. First, she was told to try pot once so she could understand what many of her clients at this coffee house were experiencing. After that, my siblings and I knew we could never smoke without her knowing it. Not that we would, of course. And then in college I was dating someone and at dinner one night we realized that she was seeing my mother as her therapist. That relationship did not last any longer than that dinner!
Reggie's children grew up and moved away but she and Wesley would visit us wherever we lived and visited me in Israel many times when I was there, and later when Melanie, Joey and I lived there. In fact I introduced them to Israel. It was one of the highlights of my life.
My father died from cancer ten years ago and throughout his sickness and dying my mom was amazing. After he died her faith only strengthened, and she would take the Grey Gates of Prayer and pray every day. She moved to Miami and as you know became very involved in the synagogue, here every Friday night and Saturday morning as well as shopping for the soup kitchen. She started playing serious bridge, apparently realizing that her lack of skill in earlier days justifiably made my father annoyed.
Melanie, Joey, Benjy and I were spoiled to have her at our house for dinner every Shabbat and often we would go out for dinner on Sunday night. She would never let us pay. She would also come and cook dinner for me and the boys when Melanie was out of town. She loved to find out what we liked and then rain the thing down upon us. Once I said I liked Good Earth tea. She would scour the city for the stuff and bring boxes. Or I would mention a bottle of wine I liked and she would buy us a case. She was a GIVER.
Mom had many friends, and many of you are here today, but her greatest love was for her children and their spouses, Linda (Kory), Steve (Robin), Roy (Laura) and me and Melanie, as well as her eight grandchildren, Caleb, Joey, Jacob, Benjy, Brandon, Madeline, Siena and Jonathan.
Mom also never forgot she was a refugee from the Holocaust and participated in a children's survivor group and worked in Holocaust education.
Her disease began a few years ago but she would not let it stop her from doing the things she loved most, especially being with her family. She would fly to Seattle, D.C. and San Francisco, often via three stops to save money, and reveled in her time with family, always thinking she was living in a dream.
These last 6 months were hard on her and us, as she began to fail. But even at the end she never stopped being a grand and gracious lady. And my family are so grateful to the caregivers who made these last few months bearable: Dr. Harry Aldrich, and Claudette Traill, Jennifer Morris, Kareema Sabur, Dawn Cargill, and Lola Morris.
Last Thursday night at 12 noon, after saying to me andMelanie and my siblings that she loved us (either in person or on the phone) my mom sat up and threw her neck pillow across the room (this after having not enough energy to sqeeze my hand a few hours before). She then yanked the oxygen from her nose and announced to her aide, "That's it. I am coming out." As my brother-in-law Kory has observed, an interesting declaration for a refugee. Maybe she also meant she was coming home, to her husband and son and parents and siblings and to her God, whom she lovingly always called, "the Good Lord". She died at one a.m. on June 20. Exactly 47 years after her son Jerry died. To the day.
I do know that my mother always loved music. And Melanie and I on the afternoon before she died sang to her many songs. And I can't stop thinking about the song she used to sing to me and my brother Roy as she put us to bed: Good night my someone, good night my love." And so to my mother, a super mother in so many ways, I do not say good bye but good night. Good night my someone, good night my love. Sleep well and know that your strength, love and beautiful soul will be ever cherised by the love and loved ones you leave behind.
e>
I want to thank Temple Judea on behalf of my family for warmly welcoming my mother when she moved here seven years ago. She had recently lost her husband, my father, of 45 years, and I know that her being embraced by you greatly helped in her healing.
This morning I would like to review some of Reggie's life with you but I want to make sure I don't "bury the lead" as they say in the newspaper business. So let me first say that Reggie's Hebrew name, Rivka -- Rebeccah -- is a very apt one. For just as the biblical Rebeccah was a super human mother of Israel, so was Reggie. She was known by many names and titles: LCSW, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, grandmother, and friend, but the most important title to Reggie was Mom. I will say more on this topic later.
My mother was born in Cotbus, Germany in 1926. She was part of a proud German Jewish family. And she was by far the youngest, having four older brothers and an older sister. She grew up being doted on by her family, attending opera and other cultural events, the apple of her father's eye. Her family also took Judaism very seriously and my mom remembered going to the river for tashlich on Rosh Hashanah. Her father wore a top hat for services. By all measure they were a content German Jewish family.
But my mom then saw her four older brothers leave Germany for America in the 1930s, hoping to find ways to advance in medicine and other areas in a more hospitable place. And then in October 1938 my mother was arrested -- at the age of 12 -- dragged from her school and put in jail with her sister and parents. They were then dumped on the Polish border and spent time in Poland before making their way to France. My mother enjoyed her life in France but the family knew they needed to be rid of Europe so in May of 1939 they booked passage on a French ship, the Flandre, and sailed to Cuba. My mom's oldest brother, Leonard, was a resident at Michael Reese hospital in Chicago but he came to Cuba to meet them. He was allowed to go on the boat but the Jews were not allowed to disembark. The much larger ship, the St. Louis -- out of Germany -- faced the same crisis. My mother's future sister-in-law was on that boat. My mom's boat then sailed to Miami Beach. Our Coast Guard met the boat and demanded they leave American waters. In fact, no port would accept the ship and my mother and her family returned to France.
The war started and France was occupied by the Nazis. In the fall of 1940 my mother's dad was told to register for High Holy Day seats, but the French police chief warned him to leave occupied France at once. So the family took a train to Vichy France, pretending to be carefree French citizens on a holiday. At one point the Nazis lined up all passengers and shouted in German, trying to see if my mother and others would respond. My mother was also concealing the family money in her belt and if she had been caught, well, it would not have been good.
The family made it to Vichy France and my mother was so happy to see the Vichy uniforms. But they were still in Europe. In the fall of 1941, just before America entered the war, the family was in Portugal and back in Chicago an important Chicago businessman was able to call upon his friend, the head of CBS in New York. He asked that his friend put in a good word with Juan Trippe of Pan Am to secure passage for my mom's family on the Yankee Clipper sea plane. Apparently the Chicago community was enchanted with my mom's brother Leonard and many people were campaigning for my family. I am named Edwin after one of these people. It worked and my mom flew to America -- along with U.S. diplomats being called back to D.C. on the eve of war. (My mother's parents warned her to behave with her best manners because on the plane they would be dining with American diplomats. She found the actual experience shocking because she considered their American table matters atrocious.)
They left Europe just in time.
A whole new world opened up for Reggie the teenager, living in a posh Chicago suburb, attending New Trier High, and then Northwestern University.
My mother would have become a physician had she been born later but she instead became a medical technician.
She met my father Wesley on a blind date and they were married in 1952. It was a clash of cultures. She was European and Jewishly tradititonal. My father's family had been in America since the 1860s. And was Classical Reform. And there were disagreements. But as my father liked to remember, he only played bridge on Friday night once!
My mother and father quickly had three kids. Their eldest, Jerry, then tragically developed cancer and died at the age of 7 in 1961. I often wonder how my mom could continue living and believing in God after such a tragedy. But her faith grew stronger somehow and she continued to live for the sake of her kids, Linda and Steve, and then the new arrivals that brought her such joy, my twin brother Roy and yours truly.
My mom had many hobbies and activities: regular synagogue attendance, the Jewish country club for tennis, bridge games, baseball, road trips. Train trips. Reading. And she was always a doting mother, making us whatever food we wanted, shlepping us to every kind of lesson, taking us to the opera. When we would go to summer baseball games -- the Kansas City A's -- and later the Royals -- she would bring a pile of coats, just in case the 90 degree humid weather should change!
She also became an active volunteer at Jewish Family and Children Services in K.C. and eventually earned her MA in social work and became a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, very active in the Jewish and general community. This profession of hers wasn't always easy for me. First, she was told to try pot once so she could understand what many of her clients at this coffee house were experiencing. After that, my siblings and I knew we could never smoke without her knowing it. Not that we would, of course. And then in college I was dating someone and at dinner one night we realized that she was seeing my mother as her therapist. That relationship did not last any longer than that dinner!
Reggie's children grew up and moved away but she and Wesley would visit us wherever we lived and visited me in Israel many times when I was there, and later when Melanie, Joey and I lived there. In fact I introduced them to Israel. It was one of the highlights of my life.
My father died from cancer ten years ago and throughout his sickness and dying my mom was amazing. After he died her faith only strengthened, and she would take the Grey Gates of Prayer and pray every day. She moved to Miami and as you know became very involved in the synagogue, here every Friday night and Saturday morning as well as shopping for the soup kitchen. She started playing serious bridge, apparently realizing that her lack of skill in earlier days justifiably made my father annoyed.
Melanie, Joey, Benjy and I were spoiled to have her at our house for dinner every Shabbat and often we would go out for dinner on Sunday night. She would never let us pay. She would also come and cook dinner for me and the boys when Melanie was out of town. She loved to find out what we liked and then rain the thing down upon us. Once I said I liked Good Earth tea. She would scour the city for the stuff and bring boxes. Or I would mention a bottle of wine I liked and she would buy us a case. She was a GIVER.
Mom had many friends, and many of you are here today, but her greatest love was for her children and their spouses, Linda (Kory), Steve (Robin), Roy (Laura) and me and Melanie, as well as her eight grandchildren, Caleb, Joey, Jacob, Benjy, Brandon, Madeline, Siena and Jonathan.
Mom also never forgot she was a refugee from the Holocaust and participated in a children's survivor group and worked in Holocaust education.
Her disease began a few years ago but she would not let it stop her from doing the things she loved most, especially being with her family. She would fly to Seattle, D.C. and San Francisco, often via three stops to save money, and reveled in her time with family, always thinking she was living in a dream.
These last 6 months were hard on her and us, as she began to fail. But even at the end she never stopped being a grand and gracious lady. And my family are so grateful to the caregivers who made these last few months bearable: Dr. Harry Aldrich, and Claudette Traill, Jennifer Morris, Kareema Sabur, Dawn Cargill, and Lola Morris.
Last Thursday night at 12 noon, after saying to me andMelanie and my siblings that she loved us (either in person or on the phone) my mom sat up and threw her neck pillow across the room (this after having not enough energy to sqeeze my hand a few hours before). She then yanked the oxygen from her nose and announced to her aide, "That's it. I am coming out." As my brother-in-law Kory has observed, an interesting declaration for a refugee. Maybe she also meant she was coming home, to her husband and son and parents and siblings and to her God, whom she lovingly always called, "the Good Lord". She died at one a.m. on June 20. Exactly 47 years after her son Jerry died. To the day.
I do know that my mother always loved music. And Melanie and I on the afternoon before she died sang to her many songs. And I can't stop thinking about the song she used to sing to me and my brother Roy as she put us to bed: Good night my someone, good night my love." And so to my mother, a super mother in so many ways, I do not say good bye but good night. Good night my someone, good night my love. Sleep well and know that your strength, love and beautiful soul will be ever cherised by the love and loved ones you leave behind.
e>
Friday, June 13, 2008
Should You Leave?
Did you ever hear the story of the Welshman who was shipwrecked at sea and marooned on a desert island? When a passing vehicle picked him up five years later, the crew was amazed to find his little island covered in fine buildings that he had built himself. With pride the Welsh Robinson Crusoe took the captain round the island and pointed out to him his house, workshop, electricity generator, and two chapels.
“But what do you need the second chapel for?” asked the captain.
“Oh,” he replied. “That’s the one I don’t go to.”
Perhaps you have heard a similar version told about a Jew. The difference in the Jewish version is no one would believe the average Jewish man could have built a workshop or electricity generator. But the two synagogues, including the one he won’t step foot in, that rings a bell!
Let’s face it; people have been quitting their respective church and synagogues for a long time. And so the fact that last week Senator Barack Obama and his wife finally resigned from the church they had attended for nearly 20 years is not so surprising. As we know, the move was precipitated by the controversial remarks of the former pastor of the church, Reverend Jeremiah Wright.
Obama’s problems with Trinity Church were not helped by the guest speaker, Reverend Michael Pfleger, a Catholic priest, who in his sermon mocked Senator Hillary Clinton.
In their letter of resignation, the Obamas explained their decision to leave was rooted in Reverend Wright’s controversial remarks.
I have been thinking about the Obamas’ choice lately in terms of religion in America. Why do people join congregations? Why do they leave?
The first time I encountered a congregant threatening to leave was when I was a new rabbi in Cincinnati and we had just finished Rosh Hashanah evening services. A long-time member rushed in a complained to the senior rabbi that he was leaving. Why? It seems a new melody to Adon Olam had been played, and this was unacceptable. That’s when I learned that, at least in American Judaism, saying something controversial was potentially dangerous, but choosing the wrong melody was positively suicidal!
Of course there are more profound reasons to leave a synagogue, such as disagreeing with the rabbi on a core issue, or perhaps not feeling you belong in a community with different values than yours. I personally would be interested to know what would make you leave our synagogue, or any synagogue. Doctrinal differences? Conflicts with other members? Unfriendliness by the congregation? Dislike of the rabbi? A personal slight? And if you did decide to leave, what steps would you take to determine if it was the right thing to do? Would there be a way to stick it out work things through?
I am speaking here of people leaving the synagogue because of philosophical or personal issues beyond economic, consumer incentives, such as the preschool is cheaper at another place, or more conveniently located, or the bar mitzvah date is easier to schedule. These are reasons I know.
But what about when the reason is deeper? Is there some guidance in Jewish tradition to help one determine if it is time to go or to stay?
During the summer it is customary in Judaism to study the Talmudic work entitled, Pirkei Avot, or Teachings of the Sages. As it so happens, Pirkei Avot may shed some light on our question. In chapter five, section seventeen, we read the following:
Any dispute which is for the sake of Heaven shall in the end be of lasting worth; but that which is not for the sake of Heaven shall not in the end be of lasting worth. What dispute was for the sake of Heaven? That of Hillel and Shammai. And which was not for the sake of Heaven? That of Korach and his company.
Translation for our purposes: If you decide to leave a congregation because of some philosophical issue, that is, for the sake of upholding an ethical and/or Jewish principle, then it is the right decision. But if you choose to leave because of something personal, then it is not the right decision.
The Talmud cites the sages Hillel and Shammai as examples of sages who never made things personal. Their disputes in matters of legal interpretation were to clarify the law for future generations. And even when the dispute was heated, it wasn’t personal. On the other had, the rebellion of Korach (in a later Torah portion this summer) and his company was seen by the rabbis of the Talmud as a personal challenge of Moses for glory and power. It was a personal issue disguised as a communal issue.
So if you are leaving the synagogue to somehow punish the rabbi or leadership, then your motives may be questionable.
The psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung used to speak of actions we take from our shadow, or things we do out of hurt and resentment. Usually such actions feel good when we do them but not after awhile. We come to see that we were responding out of emotion instead of reason. And often we come to regret our actions.
As you might imagine, this insight applies to far more than a synagogue. It is also about a job, a friendship, even a marriage.
I often counsel couples that getting a divorce is kind of like getting all new tiles when playing a game of Scrabble. The new tiles might seem helpful but I personally have never won a game after trading in all my tiles.
Likewise, whenever you leave a relationship of any kind, including a congregation, you are sacrificing the connections and you have made. Is it really worth it? Leaving feels good for awhile, but then you start from scratch again. And what have you really gained?
In conclusion consider this poem, by anonymous:
I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town;
With a ho-heave-ho and a lusty yell
They swung a beam and the sidewalk fell.
I asked the foreman: “Are these men skilled
As the men you’d hire if you had to build?”
He gave a laugh and said, “No indeed!
Just common labor is all I need.
I can easily wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do!”
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds to a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker, who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down?
There are times, my friends, will we will have to leave. We will have to end a relationship. We will have to start again. But make no mistake: let such decisions be made for the right reasons. And in the meantime, I hope we can join together in the difficult but vital work of building and creating and forging together a community that is – in its best moments – for the sake of heaven.
“But what do you need the second chapel for?” asked the captain.
“Oh,” he replied. “That’s the one I don’t go to.”
Perhaps you have heard a similar version told about a Jew. The difference in the Jewish version is no one would believe the average Jewish man could have built a workshop or electricity generator. But the two synagogues, including the one he won’t step foot in, that rings a bell!
Let’s face it; people have been quitting their respective church and synagogues for a long time. And so the fact that last week Senator Barack Obama and his wife finally resigned from the church they had attended for nearly 20 years is not so surprising. As we know, the move was precipitated by the controversial remarks of the former pastor of the church, Reverend Jeremiah Wright.
Obama’s problems with Trinity Church were not helped by the guest speaker, Reverend Michael Pfleger, a Catholic priest, who in his sermon mocked Senator Hillary Clinton.
In their letter of resignation, the Obamas explained their decision to leave was rooted in Reverend Wright’s controversial remarks.
I have been thinking about the Obamas’ choice lately in terms of religion in America. Why do people join congregations? Why do they leave?
The first time I encountered a congregant threatening to leave was when I was a new rabbi in Cincinnati and we had just finished Rosh Hashanah evening services. A long-time member rushed in a complained to the senior rabbi that he was leaving. Why? It seems a new melody to Adon Olam had been played, and this was unacceptable. That’s when I learned that, at least in American Judaism, saying something controversial was potentially dangerous, but choosing the wrong melody was positively suicidal!
Of course there are more profound reasons to leave a synagogue, such as disagreeing with the rabbi on a core issue, or perhaps not feeling you belong in a community with different values than yours. I personally would be interested to know what would make you leave our synagogue, or any synagogue. Doctrinal differences? Conflicts with other members? Unfriendliness by the congregation? Dislike of the rabbi? A personal slight? And if you did decide to leave, what steps would you take to determine if it was the right thing to do? Would there be a way to stick it out work things through?
I am speaking here of people leaving the synagogue because of philosophical or personal issues beyond economic, consumer incentives, such as the preschool is cheaper at another place, or more conveniently located, or the bar mitzvah date is easier to schedule. These are reasons I know.
But what about when the reason is deeper? Is there some guidance in Jewish tradition to help one determine if it is time to go or to stay?
During the summer it is customary in Judaism to study the Talmudic work entitled, Pirkei Avot, or Teachings of the Sages. As it so happens, Pirkei Avot may shed some light on our question. In chapter five, section seventeen, we read the following:
Any dispute which is for the sake of Heaven shall in the end be of lasting worth; but that which is not for the sake of Heaven shall not in the end be of lasting worth. What dispute was for the sake of Heaven? That of Hillel and Shammai. And which was not for the sake of Heaven? That of Korach and his company.
Translation for our purposes: If you decide to leave a congregation because of some philosophical issue, that is, for the sake of upholding an ethical and/or Jewish principle, then it is the right decision. But if you choose to leave because of something personal, then it is not the right decision.
The Talmud cites the sages Hillel and Shammai as examples of sages who never made things personal. Their disputes in matters of legal interpretation were to clarify the law for future generations. And even when the dispute was heated, it wasn’t personal. On the other had, the rebellion of Korach (in a later Torah portion this summer) and his company was seen by the rabbis of the Talmud as a personal challenge of Moses for glory and power. It was a personal issue disguised as a communal issue.
So if you are leaving the synagogue to somehow punish the rabbi or leadership, then your motives may be questionable.
The psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung used to speak of actions we take from our shadow, or things we do out of hurt and resentment. Usually such actions feel good when we do them but not after awhile. We come to see that we were responding out of emotion instead of reason. And often we come to regret our actions.
As you might imagine, this insight applies to far more than a synagogue. It is also about a job, a friendship, even a marriage.
I often counsel couples that getting a divorce is kind of like getting all new tiles when playing a game of Scrabble. The new tiles might seem helpful but I personally have never won a game after trading in all my tiles.
Likewise, whenever you leave a relationship of any kind, including a congregation, you are sacrificing the connections and you have made. Is it really worth it? Leaving feels good for awhile, but then you start from scratch again. And what have you really gained?
In conclusion consider this poem, by anonymous:
I watched them tearing a building down,
A gang of men in a busy town;
With a ho-heave-ho and a lusty yell
They swung a beam and the sidewalk fell.
I asked the foreman: “Are these men skilled
As the men you’d hire if you had to build?”
He gave a laugh and said, “No indeed!
Just common labor is all I need.
I can easily wreck in a day or two
What builders have taken a year to do!”
And I thought to myself as I went my way,
Which of these roles have I tried to play?
Am I a builder who works with care,
Measuring life by the rule and square?
Am I shaping my deeds to a well-made plan,
Patiently doing the best I can?
Or am I a wrecker, who walks the town,
Content with the labor of tearing down?
There are times, my friends, will we will have to leave. We will have to end a relationship. We will have to start again. But make no mistake: let such decisions be made for the right reasons. And in the meantime, I hope we can join together in the difficult but vital work of building and creating and forging together a community that is – in its best moments – for the sake of heaven.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Israel and the U.S. Presidential Campaign
Sometimes you have to stop and take notice of good news. Although the primary season still drags on, it is easy to say with confidence that -- barring any major surprise, either Barak Obama, Hillary Clinton, or John McCain will be sitting in 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue next January. The good news is that all three candidates are major supporters of Israel. All three have expressed their commitment to the people and security of Israel. All three also understand that the Jewish population of the United States is tiny (2%) but we have considerable influence in American politics, and therefore their support for Israel is not only morally justifiable; it is also politic.
Tom Friedman writes in a recent NY Times op-ed (May 18) that the question is not if any of the candidates support Israel. They (including Senator Obama) do. The question is whether or not unconditional support for Israel is good for Israel. Friedman fears a president who is too accepting of any Israeli policy, as well as one who overtly favors the Arab side. Writes Friedman: "I don’t want a president who is just going to lean on Israel and not get in the Arabs’ face too, or one who, as the former Mideast negotiator Aaron D. Miller puts it, 'loves Israel to death' — by not drawing red lines when Israel does reckless things that are also not in America’s interest, like building settlements all over the West Bank."
I agree with Friedman. I want my president to understand that Israel is a sole democracy in a dangerous part of the world. And I want my president to mourn with Israelis when they are victims of terror. But I also want a president who, like most of Israel, recognizes that there needs to be a Palestinian state, and Israel needs to find a way out of its occupation of Arab lands. To the extent that our new president can seize any opportunities for this to happen, I celebrate the fact that all three potential leaders have shown the willingness and ability to act. Of course, nothing can happen without the willingness of the Israelis (which we have) and the ability of the Palestinians to make a peaceful deal (sadly questionable), but should the opportunity arise, the next occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania will be a friend of Israel. And for this we should rejoice.
Tom Friedman writes in a recent NY Times op-ed (May 18) that the question is not if any of the candidates support Israel. They (including Senator Obama) do. The question is whether or not unconditional support for Israel is good for Israel. Friedman fears a president who is too accepting of any Israeli policy, as well as one who overtly favors the Arab side. Writes Friedman: "I don’t want a president who is just going to lean on Israel and not get in the Arabs’ face too, or one who, as the former Mideast negotiator Aaron D. Miller puts it, 'loves Israel to death' — by not drawing red lines when Israel does reckless things that are also not in America’s interest, like building settlements all over the West Bank."
I agree with Friedman. I want my president to understand that Israel is a sole democracy in a dangerous part of the world. And I want my president to mourn with Israelis when they are victims of terror. But I also want a president who, like most of Israel, recognizes that there needs to be a Palestinian state, and Israel needs to find a way out of its occupation of Arab lands. To the extent that our new president can seize any opportunities for this to happen, I celebrate the fact that all three potential leaders have shown the willingness and ability to act. Of course, nothing can happen without the willingness of the Israelis (which we have) and the ability of the Palestinians to make a peaceful deal (sadly questionable), but should the opportunity arise, the next occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania will be a friend of Israel. And for this we should rejoice.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Rabbi Goldberg's Remarks to the Mekabley Torah (Confirmands)
Congratulations are in order to you for having made it through tenth grade at Temple Judea. Is has not always been easy. Most of you have been together since preschool days. You are more like siblings than classmates. That is why it has not always been easy. But here you are, pledging to take seriously your role as students of Torah and members of the Jewish people.
Why bother with this year of study (which hopefully will be followed by next year’s program)? One lesson comes from my favorite TV show, Lost. This year, we learn that there is a time distortion caused by the mysterious island featured on the show. Travelers to and from the island can actually be stricken with time-sickness, and it can be fatal. The cure for such an ailment is to have a “constant” – someone with whom you have a relationship that you can contact in the case of time-sickness.
In a couple of years all of you will be on your own. You may become lost, not only from Jewish things but from the values that your parents have tried to instill in you. You may find yourself in place that is unfamiliar, even mysterious. We call it young adulthood. Unfortunately, during the years of major decisions in your life, such as what profession to choose, whom to marry, whether to have children, studies show that religious affiliation is at its lowest. Just when you needed it the most!
I hope that, because of your connection to Temple Judea, and because you have chosen to study Judaism with me, and with each other, you have established a constant, a resource to which you can turn when you feel lost.
Judaism can be a constant source of the values that will guide you, values such as compassion, social justice, seeking peace, as well as marking special times in our lives such as Shabbat and holidays. And your Judaism can remind you of our special relationship with Israel.
And so that’s my appeal to you: Let Temple Judea and the Judaism for which we stand be your constant. If you do, you will never be lost. And your life will be richer.
Why bother with this year of study (which hopefully will be followed by next year’s program)? One lesson comes from my favorite TV show, Lost. This year, we learn that there is a time distortion caused by the mysterious island featured on the show. Travelers to and from the island can actually be stricken with time-sickness, and it can be fatal. The cure for such an ailment is to have a “constant” – someone with whom you have a relationship that you can contact in the case of time-sickness.
In a couple of years all of you will be on your own. You may become lost, not only from Jewish things but from the values that your parents have tried to instill in you. You may find yourself in place that is unfamiliar, even mysterious. We call it young adulthood. Unfortunately, during the years of major decisions in your life, such as what profession to choose, whom to marry, whether to have children, studies show that religious affiliation is at its lowest. Just when you needed it the most!
I hope that, because of your connection to Temple Judea, and because you have chosen to study Judaism with me, and with each other, you have established a constant, a resource to which you can turn when you feel lost.
Judaism can be a constant source of the values that will guide you, values such as compassion, social justice, seeking peace, as well as marking special times in our lives such as Shabbat and holidays. And your Judaism can remind you of our special relationship with Israel.
And so that’s my appeal to you: Let Temple Judea and the Judaism for which we stand be your constant. If you do, you will never be lost. And your life will be richer.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Decrying China's Inhumanity
In a few weeks the world will be watching the Olympics in China.
It greatly troubles me that the democracies of the free world would honor China by permitting them to host the Olympics. And it is precisely the democratic countries that we can influence as private citizens to take those steps which would not reward China or any other country for maintaining a cruel regime against its own citizens. As a Jew, I am obligated to speak out forcefully and vigorously against China's well-documented human rights violations - in the areas of workers' rights, freedom of speech, the free flow of information and the press.
China’s blatant and heinous support of the
genocide in Darfur and repression in Tibet is enough to impel us all to light this torch of freedom and to support its journey with Olympic speed. The forthcoming Olympic Games are an embarrassment for the world, but they are also an opportunity to shine the light of truth on China's abysmal record on human rights and freedom.
I am deeply concerned about continuing reports of Falun gong practitioners in China who are suffering from restrictions on freedom of belief and expression, arbitrary detentions, and even torture and death in custody. There are even reports of organ harvesting from these political prisoners, evoking the barbaric practices of the Nazis. The world cannot stand by and allow such torture and barbarity to happen.
The Global Human Rights Torch Relay Campaign will give us an opportunity to focus the attention of the world on China, especially in light of the upcoming Olympic Games in Beijing, and to use our influence to effect changes in the Chinese regime.
May our voices be an influence for change and hope for all China's citizens. Until the Chinese government ceases its persecution of the Falun gong practitioners, stops supporting the Sudanese and repression in Tibet, we cannot rest, and our outrage must not subside. May this torch remind us, in the words of the Talmud, that we are not required to finish the work (of perfecting the world) but neither are we allowed to stop trying.
It greatly troubles me that the democracies of the free world would honor China by permitting them to host the Olympics. And it is precisely the democratic countries that we can influence as private citizens to take those steps which would not reward China or any other country for maintaining a cruel regime against its own citizens. As a Jew, I am obligated to speak out forcefully and vigorously against China's well-documented human rights violations - in the areas of workers' rights, freedom of speech, the free flow of information and the press.
China’s blatant and heinous support of the
genocide in Darfur and repression in Tibet is enough to impel us all to light this torch of freedom and to support its journey with Olympic speed. The forthcoming Olympic Games are an embarrassment for the world, but they are also an opportunity to shine the light of truth on China's abysmal record on human rights and freedom.
I am deeply concerned about continuing reports of Falun gong practitioners in China who are suffering from restrictions on freedom of belief and expression, arbitrary detentions, and even torture and death in custody. There are even reports of organ harvesting from these political prisoners, evoking the barbaric practices of the Nazis. The world cannot stand by and allow such torture and barbarity to happen.
The Global Human Rights Torch Relay Campaign will give us an opportunity to focus the attention of the world on China, especially in light of the upcoming Olympic Games in Beijing, and to use our influence to effect changes in the Chinese regime.
May our voices be an influence for change and hope for all China's citizens. Until the Chinese government ceases its persecution of the Falun gong practitioners, stops supporting the Sudanese and repression in Tibet, we cannot rest, and our outrage must not subside. May this torch remind us, in the words of the Talmud, that we are not required to finish the work (of perfecting the world) but neither are we allowed to stop trying.
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