Reb Barry's Blog ... neshamah.net

Human Rights and Passover

As of last week, I'm the chairman (well, co-chair actually, along with Rabbi Moshe Yehudai) of Rabbis for Human Rights.

On hearing this, some friends have reacted with a little surprise, knowing I have a heavy work and travel schedule.  Like I didn't have enough to do with my "spare time."

I accepted, with humility, this important task because I think it's vitally important.  And the reason I believe it's vitally important is because of lessons I learn from the story of Passover.

The lessons are:

1. We are commanded to be kind to the stranger, because we know what it's like to be a stranger.  Over and over again the Torah commands us (in different words in different places) "You shall not oppress a stranger, since you yourselves know the feelings of a stranger, for you also were strangers in the land of Egypt."
2. When we recite the ten plagues, we take a drop out of our cups with each one, to symbolically reduce our joy because others suffered as we were liberated.
3. When the angels wanted to sing praises to God after the parting of the Red Sea, God stopped them, saying "how can you sing when my children are drowning?"
4. I also learn that our concern for others extends to everyone, as we recite: "let all who are hungry, come and eat."

RHR has a reputation in some circles as only being concerned with the human rights of Palestinians -- leading some detractors to label us "Rabbis for Palestinian Rights."  That accusation is wildly inaccurate: we are concerned with the human rights of all humans in Israel and territories under Israeli control: Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze, Bedouins, foreign visitors, temporary workers, you name it.  We are all created in the image of God, and our concern extends to all.  RHR's work is in three major areas:

1. Human rights in the West Bank
2. Human rights education
3. Social and economic justice

The work we do in the West Bank -- supporting Palestinian farmers who are harassed by settlers, arguing against unjust home demolitions, working to make sure the Israeli authorities respect the human rights of those under their jurisdiction -- gets the most headlines.  Because it's very dramatic if our executive director, Rabbi Arik Ascherman, gets arrested for standing in front of a bulldozer, or protesting where the government doesn't want protesters.  But the other work we do -- educating Jews on what the tradition has to say about human rights -- interestingly, including in some settlements -- and fighting for the rights of poor people, including both Jews and Gentiles -- is equally important, even if it doesn't make such dramatic headlines.

RHR as an organization is in a very lonely place: we are unabashedly Zionist.  Whether immigrant or Sabra, all of our members are very committed to the idea of Israel as a Jewish state.  Which makes us somewhat suspect in the eyes of many organizations that are concerned about human rights in the West Bank and Gaza.  And we ARE concerned about the human rights of all, including Palestinians, which makes us suspect in the eyes of other Zionist organizations.  That tension, however, is exactly where I believe the Jewish tradition -- Torah, Talmud, our history, etc. -- tells me to live. 

Passover has messages that are both particular and universal.  We leave Egypt to serve God, and God gives us the Torah, our uniquely Jewish way of serving Him.  At the same time, part of what God commands us to do is to care about others, to make the world a better place.  We cannot neglect either side of that equation.

So even though I just got rid of my chametz (leaven), which is supposed to symbolize pride, in all humility I remain proud to support the work of RHR, and look forward to contributing to the effort to see Israel live up to the ideal of a Jewish AND democratic state, striving to be a light to the nations.

Chag sameach,

Reb Barry

The Meaning of Passover

            On the night of March 29, if previous years are any guide, something truly miraculous will happen.  Something like 93% of all Jews in North America will find their way to a seder, to celebrate Passover together with other Jews.  Religious Jews, secular Jews, Reform, Conservative, Orthodox Jews, Jews who are in shul every week, Jews who never go to shul, but for at least one night almost all of us will be doing the same thing: recalling the Exodus from Egypt.

Why?  What makes Passover so important?  What is the essential message of Passover?

When I ask people “what’s the message of Passover” the usual response is “Freedom.”  We were slaves, now we are free.  If that’s all there were to it, however, Passover would not have lasted as a holiday for millenia.  How many African Americans celebrate Juneteenth, the emancipation of slaves in America?

Passover is much more about faith, and about our fundamental beliefs as Jews.  We are told by the Mishnah that every generation is obligated to view themselves as if they, personally, were brought out from Egypt.  We are COMMANDED to tell the story in the first person, as a story that is our story, today, in this generation.  Why?

This is a time for us to draw near to God.  Spring is a time of renewal and rebirth, and we renew our relationship with our Creator.  In the Shema we recite the verse “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt in order to be your God.”  The redemption from Egypt was not just so we could be free from oppression—it was so we would be free to serve God.  But without faith in God, will you be an effective servant of God?

The most effective path toward faith is direct experience.  Now that I live in Israel, my faith in the importance and centrality of Israel to the Jewish people is incomparably greater than it was before I lived in Israel.  Nothing I could have read could have brought me to the same level of understanding as the direct experience.

This is why it is so important to bring our seders to life.  No disrespect to my grandfather, but when I was a kid growing up our seders consisted of speed reading the Maxwell House haggadah so we could get to the food.  It was mostly in Hebrew, so I had no idea what was going on.  I can’t say the experience did much for my connection with the true meaning of Pesach, although it was fun to see my cousins, and the food was great.

Strengthening faith, however, is only one part of the Passover message.  The next question is what do we do with that faith?  There are two key elements in the Passover experience, on the one hand to reinforce our Jewishness, and on the other hand to remind us of our universalistic values that transcend nationalism.

Why is the Exodus story so central to Judaism?  Why do we mention it several times a day in our prayers?  Why does the Torah say (quoted in the Shema), “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt” instead of “I am the Lord your God who made you?”  Wouldn’t it be more compelling to focus on God as Creator as a reason to obey the commandments?

The Exodus story is so central because it celebrates the formation of the Jewish people.  Before the Exodus and the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai there really was no such thing as the  “Jewish people.”  There were 12 tribes descended from Abraham, but it was only after the Exodus and the receiving of the Torah that God gave us all the laws, such as keeping the Sabbath and keeping kosher, that identify us as Jews.  Passover’s celebration of our Jewishness, and our special relationship with God, is what has kept Passover alive as a holiday for so many otherwise disengaged Jews.  It’s a way to acknowledge who we are, no matter how far we may have strayed.

The Exodus story celebrates our “choseness,” our uniqueness, but that’s not the reason it is mentioned so often in our daily liturgy.  One of the most common recurring phrases in the Torah is “because you were strangers in Egypt.”  We are admonished not to wrong the stranger, because we were strangers in Egypt.  We celebrate our uniqueness, through the Exodus story, but it is for the purpose of carrying a universal message: to be kind to the “other.”  We know what it is like to be “other” and we are told, over and over again (36 times) to remember that WE were slaves in Egypt.

Celebrating freedom certainly is part of the Passover story, but it’s not simply a “freedom from”—freedom from oppression, freedom from living in fear—but more than that, it is “freedom to”—freedom to serve God.  Hedonistic “freedom from” – the sort that teenagers especially crave, no one telling them what to do – is what Janis Joplin immortalized in song: “freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.”  It’s a very empty freedom. 

That kind of empty freedom pales very quickly.  After the miracle at the Red Sea, and succeeding in getting away from the Egyptians, what’s the first thing our ancestors did?  Complain about how terrible it was living out in the desert, begging to go back to the flesh pots of Egypt.  Many of us with misspent youths can testify to how quickly the novelty of “freedom from” can wear out.

A certain amount of “freedom from” is a necessary precondition for “freedom to.”  Our ancestors needed to be free of the demands of the Egyptians before they could be free to serve God.  Today, each one of us needs to be free from whatever our Egypt is to be able to serve God, family, and the Jewish people.  For most of us, the trick is learning to say “dayeinu,” enough.  As long as you put making money or advancing your career ahead of making time for the things that you would undoubtedly claim are more important, you are a slave.  The handcuffs may be golden, but you’re not free.  True freedom means being able to say “dayeinu,” I have enough.  As it says in Pirkei Avot, “who is wise?  The one who is content with his lot.”

Once we’ve achieved an element of freedom from, we are ready for the freedom to; the freedom to serve God.  And Passover is certainly full of many opportunities to perform mitzvot, to serve God.

When you sit down at your seder this year, remember that the holiday is NOT just about celebrating freedom from Egyptian enslavement.  Spend a few minutes of your seder conversation exploring the question of why God wanted us to be free.  What are you doing to accomplish that mission?

Chag Sameach,

Reb Barry

Vayikra 5770 -- God Calling

"  And God called to Moses "

Rashi, the medieval rabbinic commentator par excellence, brings two interesting teachings about this phrase, which opens this week's Torah reading:

1) When the Torah says God "called" to someone, it is language of affection, as we see exemplified by Isaiah who quotes the angels "and they called to one another, holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Hosts."

2) Rashi also says that "the voice traveled and reached Moses' ear, but all Israel did not hear."  In other words, when God was calling Moses, only Moses heard the calling.

God calls to each of us, in a unique way.  God called to Abraham, from a mountain.  God visited Jacob in a dream.  God called Moses from a burning bush, and in this week's parsha at the Tent of Meeting.  Ezekiel's calling came in a wild vision, Elijah's in still small voice. 

God calls to each of us: there is a reason we were put here, and God calls to us, asking us to fulfill our mission, to accomplish our work, to do our task, to help with the project of making this world a better place.

But doesn't everyone who acts in the name of religion think that God is calling them to do so?  Doesn't the suicide bomber think he is answering a call from God?

The first Rashi comment says calling is language of affection.  God calls to us in love.  God doesn't call to us in hate, and doesn't call on us to kill.  It is interesting to note, that in Exodus chapter 17, when Amalek comes to attack, God doesn't call Moses to go to war.  The war -- both the start and the initial response -- are human initiatives.  The Torah does show God taking sides -- but God didn't call on us to start a war.

God didn't give us the world to destroy it, and he didn't create people for us to destroy each other.  Seems pretty simple.  We're all God's children, and I'm quite certain that what God calls on us to do is to find a way to get along and love one another.  We are partners with God in creation, responsible for helping God with the perfection of the world.

And as God called to Moses and the prophets, God also calls to each of us, asking us to fulfill our role.  Sometimes we don't hear it, sometimes we don't recognize God calling us:

In Samuel I, chapter 3, God calls to the prophet Samuel, and Samuel fails to recognize the call:

That the Lord called Samuel; and he answered, Here am I.  And he ran to Eli, and said, Here am I; for you called me. And he said, I called not; lie down again. And he went and lay down. And the Lord called again, Samuel. And Samuel arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for you did call me. And he answered, I called not, my son; lie down again. And Samuel did not yet know the Lord, nor was the word of the Lord yet revealed to him.

God is calling to you to.  Are you like Moses, responding to the call?  Or like the young Samuel, not even recognizing it when God does call?

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

Author, author!

I recently fulfilled a promise I made to myself over four years ago, when I turned 50: I published a book.  Took me about three years longer than I had planned, but what the heck, "better late than never."

Those of you who are observant (in the "noticing things sense" not necessarily in the "religious" sense!) may have noticed on the right side of the blog a new section "Reb Barry's new book."  I posted the link, but didn't really promote it too much yet, as I wanted to see a copy of the finished product myself.  I've finally done that, and cleaned up the typos / grammatical errors that were still there after MANY hours of editing, and I finally feel the book is ready for "prime time."

God, Torah, and the Meaning of Life: Musings on the things that matter is a collection of things I've written over the last seven or eight years.  Most of which have been published online before.  So why collect them into a book?

I wanted to write a book that captured my "life's philosophy," largely as something to pass on to my kids.  Having passed the age of 50, I noticed it was no longer unheard of for people my age to suddenly drop dead.  I also observed that in the digital age, when we don't leave physical pages of drafts of things sitting around, posterity is not what it once was.  Yes, stuff on the internet sometimes seems to live forever; but stop paying the bill, and you'll probably find it disappears in the blink of an eye. 

As I started thinking about it, I realized that this book had already been written -- just not as a book, but rather as essays, a piece at time.  The essays in the book really do capture my thoughts on everything from the nature of God to how to connect to God to ritual, ethics, Israel, Conservative Judaism, and yes, the meaning of life!

Clicking on either the above link or the picture of the book's cover on the right will bring you to a page with additional information, including a sample chapter, the table of contents, and information on how to order the book in all the most popular formats: hardcover, softcover, pdf and Kindle.

As always, I welcome your feedback, comments, suggestions, etc.  If you read and enjoy the book, a review posted on Amazon would be most appreciated!

B'vracha,

Reb Barry

Vayakhel 5770: Skiing on Shabbat?

Two weeks ago I found myself in Breckenridge, Colorado for the weekend.  My brother's family rented a ski condo, so we had a "mini family reunion" on the ski slopes.  For the first time I was presented with skiing on Shabbat as a practical question, not just a theoretical question.

After thinking about it, I decided it was technically OK to ski -- the ski lift is basically an outdoor Shabbat elevator.  I bought my ticket before Shabbat, the condo was "ski-in, ski-out," so no need for any transportation to the lifts -- also convenient for lunch without having to carry food or spend money.

So I went skiing.  I tried to make it somewhat Shabbas-dik: I started late, after davenning; I even took a nap after lunch, to try and keep a bit of the feeling of a day of rest, and I tried not to push myself too hard (normally I spend all day on the "black diamond" mogul slopes and keep my heart rate up).

However, after having done it, I don't think I would do it again.  It wasn't that restful -- I couldn't resist the temptation to ski my usual terrain, especially since I was skiing with my brother-in-law who's a great skier.  The day just did not "feel" like Shabbat at all.  Part of that is not being with a community on Shabbat. 

This week's Torah portion starts our with Moses gathering the people together; and right after they are gathered together, he reiterates the commandment to keep the Sabbath.  Seven years ago, for this parsha in 5763, I gave a d'var Torah where I explored the relationship between community and the Sabbath; you can read it here.  In that drash I observed:

A few weeks ago I had what for me is an unusual experience:

Shabbat without community. I had surgery on a Friday, and Shabbat was spent recovering at home. Most of that Shabbat was spent sleeping. I observed all the traditional observances—we had a Shabbat dinner, I prayed, etc.—but all without the presence of community.

It was a much different experience than a “regular” Shabbat. Yes, it was a very restful day. However, the lack of community—the lack of praying together, studying together, eating together—also made it

less spiritually fulfilling and uplifting. A lot of the power of Shabbat to change our lives comes because of the power of community to nurture us.

So a few weeks ago I was given a reminder that "community" does make a difference. 

So I would in the future hold that skiing on Shabbat is something I won't do, not because it's technically prohibited, but because I would include it in the category of a "shvut" prohibition, something that not in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat.

There are things that are considered forbidden on Shabbat because of shvut; personally, I don't think I would make halachic rulings for other people based on shvut because what's in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat is clearly in the eye of the beholder.  TV can make an interesting example.

I consider it OK to use electricity for permitted purposes on Shabbat.  As a practical matter, this means that I will flip light switches on Shabbat, but not anything else, because pretty much anything else you might want to do with electricity -- cooking, grinding, etc., -- is forbidden on Shabbat regardless of how you do it.  However, I never watch TV on Shabbat -- not for any playoff games, not for the Olympics, nothing.  Not with the TV left turned on before Shabbat or any other technique.  Because for me, even though I'd say it's OK to turn it on and off from the electricity perspective, I consider TV totally NOT in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat, so we're very strict about it.  But I had a congregant a few years ago who posed an interesting question: what if he ONLY watches TV on Shabbat, so it's part of how he makes Shabbat different than the rest of the week?  Could it be permissible then?  I had to admit it was a good question.  I'd probably rule it permissible for him, even though I'd never consider it permissible for me.

However you manage to find it, may your Shabbat be filled with the spirit of Shabbat, filled with good food, family, friends, and the presence of the Shechinah!

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

Israel Heritage Sites

Abba Eban famously quipped "The Arabs never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity."  Well, we know Arabs are Semites, and Jews are Semites, and apparently the same thing is true for Jews.

One of the most recent public controversies is an excellent case in point.  The Israeli government, in what I would consider a positive development, created a list of "National Heritage Sites" that should receive funding for preservation / restoration.  Great.  At the last minute, right wing party Shas got the government to include two sites located in the West Bank -- Rachel's Tomb and the Cave of the Patriarchs.  And here's where the trouble begins.

By doing this unilaterally, it seems like the Israeli government is pushing out the Palestinians and staking these places out for the Jews.  Naturally there was a big outcry from Palestinians, riots, practically, some violence, etc.  Moshe Arens wrote a way off base piece in Haaretz claiming that this was another example of the Arabs denying a Jewish connection to the land, etc. Arens' piece "Shedding Light on the Imbroglio," far from shedding light, adds obfuscation and darkness.

In his closing paragraph, Arens says:

The structure of the Tomb of the Patriarchs is in dire need of repair and refurbishment. And the days during Ottoman and British rule when Jews coming to pray at the site were not allowed to ascend beyond the seventh step on the stairway leading to the prayer area, and during Jordanian rule when they were denied access altogether - these days are gone forever.

He misses the point.  None of the Israeli protesters (myself included!) are saying that Jews should bot be able to pray at these places.  What's wrong is not wanting to refurbish these sites -- it's choosing to do it unilaterally.

Just imagine if instead of reading about the decision in the newspapers, someone from the Israeli government called someone in Abu Mazen's office and said "hey, we've got an idea."  Let's work together to preserve some places that are important to Jews, Christians, AND Muslims.  We'll provide some money that will help preserve these important sites for both Jews and Muslims. We invite you to be part of a joint committee that will study the sites and determine what work needs to be done.  We can work together to preserve these sites as our shared religious heritage.

It could have been a way to use religion as a way to build bridges, as a way to connect with other people who hold these places as holy.  Instead, our stupid government acts like a bull in a china shop and makes a big mess, in a place where no mess was needed.  Instead of violence and recriminations, we could have had cooperation and reconciliation.  Another missed opportunity.

I plan to sign a letter being drafted for the signatures of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim clergy encouraging the Israeli government to involve other religious authorities besides Jewish in the planning process, and to ensure the accessibility of the sites to all who wish to visit.

There are enough things to fight over in this part of the world without going out and looking for more.

Reb Barry