A few weeks ago, a congregant, the chair of the VIsion Committee, presented me with a plaque she had purchased at a Hallmark Store. The quote, from Walt Disney himself, “If you can dream it, you can do it.” It was part of Clergy Appreciation Week. (Who knew such a week even existed!). Her comment was that because I am a second career rabbi, I inspire people just because I followed my dream. And while I am following another dream by running the Disney Princess Half Marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I don’t think she realized how big a role Disney played in my completing rabbinical school. One birthday celebration, at Disney, we watched Tinker Bell light Cinderella’s castle, while the theme from Pinnocio was playing, “When you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.” However, it is not just wishing upon a star that make a dream come true. Frequently it comes with hard work.

We have been reading about Joseph the dreamer in our recent Torah portions. Joseph dreamed that the sun and the moon, the eleven stars bowed down to him, that eleven sheaves of wheat bowed down to him. Joseph interpreted the baker’s dreams in prison, putting him in a position to be called upon to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. That’s where we pick up our story.

One of the things that intrigued me about the interpretation of Pharaoh’s dreams is that Joseph explained that they are essentially the same dream. Many of us have that experience, we dream a dream deep in sleep, wake up and dream another dream with the same theme. Our subconscious is making sure we get the message, finding another way to deliver the same idea. Freud and Jung had lots to say about that. Joseph was seemingly ahead of his time.

Rabbi Lord Sacks published a brilliant  d’var Torah explaining the importance of Joseph the dreamer, in terms of leadership. Not only did Joseph dream dreams and interpret dreams but he had the ability to implement the dreams. “No sooner had he told of a seven-year famine then he continued, without pause, to provide a solution.” For Sacks, that is Joseph’s greatest achievement.

As he pointed out, some people find dreaming impractical. He argues that it is one of the most practical things we can do.  “There are people who spend months planning a holiday but not even a day planning a life. They let themselves be carried by the winds of chance and circumstance. That is a mistake.” He reminds us that the sages said, “Wherever [in the Torah] we find the word vayehi, ‘And it came to pass,’ it is always the prelude to tragedy.” (Megillah 10b) A vayehi life is one in which we passively let things happen. A yehi (“Let there be”) life is one in which we make things happen, and it is our dreams that give us direction.

”

So the call of this portion is to lead a life without passivity. To pursue our dreams. To actively chase after them. Theodor Herzl, “the father of modern Zionism” taught us all, like Walt Disney, “Im Tirtzu, Ain Zo Aggadah. If you will it, it is no dream.” The word aggadah is translated here as dream, but our portion uses cholom as dream. Is there a difference between aggadah and cholom? Aggadah is also story, fable, myth. What Herzl is saying is that if you will something then it can leave the story realm and become reality. Again, it requires implementing the dream. It requires hard work.

The early Zionists knew this. They had a song (a new one to my congregation),

Dreamers Keep a Dreaming
What did we do when we wanted corn?
We plowed and we sowed till the early morn.
(Repeat)
Chorus:
For our hands are strong, our hearts are young 
our dreams are the dreamin’s of all ages long 
(just a-dreamin’ just a-dreaming along)

What did we do when we needed a town
We hammered and we nailed till the sun went down 
(Repeat) (Chorus)

What do we do when there’s peace to be won
It’s more than one man can do alone
We’ll gather our friends from the ends of the earth
To lend a hand at the hour of birth

Bridge:
We’ll plow, we’ll sow, we’ll hammer, and we’ll nail 
We’ll work all day till peace is real.

They worked. They plowed, sowed, hammered, nailed and worked for peace.

That dream of peace is real. The haftarah for the Shabbat of Chanukah from Zechariah talks about a vision of a menorah, ” The angel who talked with me came back and woke me as a man is wakened from sleep. ² He said to me, “What do you see?” And I answered, “I see a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl above it. The lamps on it are seven in number, and the lamps above it have seven pipes; ³ and by it are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and one on its left.” ⁴ I, in turn, asked the angel who talked with me, “What do those things mean, my lord?” ⁵ “Do you not know what those things mean?” asked the angel who talked with me; and I said, “No, my lord.” ⁶ Then he explained to me as follows: “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit.”

Debbie Friedman turned those words into a song, “Not by might, not by power but by spirit alone shall we all live in peace. The children sing, the children dream but their tears may fall and we hear them call and another song will rise…” This is the very song that I sang last year, exactly a year ago, the first night of Chanukah, as the unthinkable was happening in Newtown Connecticut, the town in which my college roommate lives. She is the mother of a young child, a first grader. He attends the other elementary school so he was safe that day. But I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with Lisa.

Newtown is a town I know well. I would stop many weeks on the way home from rabbinical school. Lisa and I would have sushi at Sennen or a quick Starbucks. It is an idyllic, quiet, bucolic town. The news of a mass shooting at Sandy Hook couldn’t possibly happen in Newtown, could it? The people of Newtown are still grieving. The recent report that came out was painful. There are no good explanations of why it happened. There can’t be. I applaud NBC who did not play the 911 tapes even though they were released yesterday. The families are exhausted. They want to grieve in private, not under a national microscope. They want to protect their children and shelter them and keep what ever childhood innocence remains. Let them have their space. They need it.

This is a vision, a dream of peace. Since Newtown there have been 30,000 additional deaths by gunfire. Rabbi Menachem Creditor wrote a powerful El Malei Rachamim in memory of the children and teachers of Newtown, http://rabbicreditor.blogspot.com/2013/12/a-newtown-el-malei-for-26-souls-and.html The rabbi in Newtown wrote this:

We dare to live again
By Rabbi Shaul Marshall Praver

The multi colored tulips show their joyous faces. 
Purple wild flowers unfurl their luster upon the countryside. The start of pastel buds are seen as impressionistic highlights adorning canvas. Upon closer inspection, remnants of dry fronds from years gone by are found supporting the luscious green virile buds eagerly making their debuts. 

Winter’s deep darkness is banished before the hope and vigor of spring. And while our tears and blood were shed without mercy, we dare to live again. 

We Kindle our love as a precious flame seeking shelter from a relentless storm. We caress light and welcome warmth of spirit from all places, creeds, and creatures. And in the absence of twenty precious children and six beloved teachers, we dare to live again. 

We know they would want us to walk upon the long island sound, allowing soft waves to slosh between our toes. We know they would want us to venture out into lush meadows and orchards feasting our eyes on the valleys below. 

They would say, “We have gone and what is done is done–so arise and celebrate the years we lived together.” They would speak like sublime winged angels exclaiming, “We are free to enter the garden of alluring fragrance.” They would tell us about fiery swords that briefly paused from their vigilance allowing them entry into a forgotten chamber of light. And those that dared to listen to their soft whispers would hear an accompanying plaintive voice emanating from the midst of the garden like a chamber of mist rising. 

Surely we would recall that a melody can embrace us as a welcoming spirit that delivers us to the source of beauty, bliss and splendor. And they would tell us, “we are like a tree arising from a broken seed. And if only you knew we were the tree and not the discarded seed, you would give yourself permission to live again.” 

And so–for them
We dare to live again! 
For them, We dare to love again!
and for them, light dares to shine again!

I would add we need to dare to dream again. Joseph taught us three things. To take the time to dream. To let our imaginations soar. To interpret and articulate our dreams. And then to find a way to implement those dreams. His words remind me of a poem in Gates of Prayer by Archibald MacLeish, one that brought me comfort after the death of my first fiancé killed by a terrorist bomb:

The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses.
(Who has not heard them?)….

They say, We leave you our deaths,
Give them their meaning. 

I cannot say what the meaning of these 30,000 deaths are. It is not for me to say. As we close out Chanukah, the festival of dedication, I rededicate myself, I pledge to continue to work for a world of peace, a world where children are not afraid to go to school because of the fear of gun violence, a world where mental illness is treated appropriately and without shame, a world where we can each become the bright light of those Chanukah candles glowing in the windows. That is my Chanukah dream. Now I just have to implement it. What is yours?

There has been so much written about the mash up between Thanksgiving and Chanukah that I need to take a break and go back to the roots of Chanukah itself. Last week I attended a Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting. YES, I am now a fully inducted full fledged member. It took a year and a change in the bylaws but that is another story. Rabbi Michael Balinsky did a wonderful teaching. We looked a section of Gemara from the Talmud that asks the question, is it the lighting or the placing of the menorah that makes the mitzvah? He based on a teaching of Rabbi Itamar Eldar from Yeshivat Har Tzion who combines the gemara with some important Chassidic teachings. Thank you, Rabbi Balinsky for showing us the light!

First Chanukah is outlined in Masachet Shabbat. As a “newer” Jewish holiday it does not have a full tractate. It is not from the Torah but from much later Jewish history!

 “Come and hear, for Rabba said: If one was standing and holding the Chanukah lamp, it is as if he did nothing. Thus, we learn that it is the placing which constitutes the mitzvah. For a bystander, seeing him, would assume that he was holding the light for his own purposes [if he does not set it down].” However like most Talmudic arguments there is another opinion: “Come and hear, for Rabba said: If one lit the lamp inside and then took it [to place it] outside, it is as if he did nothing [that is, he has not fulfilled the mitzvah]. Now it makes sense if you say that the lighting constitutes the mitzvah, and hence there is a need to light in the proper place [i.e., outside], and therefore this person has not fulfilled the mitzva. But if you say that the placing constitutes the mitzvah, then why has this person not fulfilled it? [Because] here, too, an observer would conclude that he lit for his own purposes.” (Shabbat 22b)

So what does the Chassidic teaching add? They point out a tension between doing a mitzvah with joy and fixing the mitzvah in its time and place. Doing it correctly. We see this same argument in discussions of Jewish prayer–about kavanah, intention and keva, the set structure. The truth is we need both. What this teaching adds is around the word “kindling”, l’hadlik. As Eldar points out, “we hear the living, vibrant, dynamic element of life. It speaks of enthusiasm, movement, change and power. This is what makes life interesting, surprising, fascinating.” Placing on the other hand is “fixed and static. This is the calming element, reflecting composure and introducing quiet and tranquility into the never-ending rat race of life.”

For Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berechev, kindling the Chanukah lights, doing any mitzvah, is to allow us to arouse fervor in our souls and turn our hearts to G-d with love and wondrous desire. The joy of a mitzvah–and the main thing is to perform each and every mitzvah with love and great desire and with tremendous fervor. When we light the candles we are igniting that fervor. However, he cautions, much like Abraham Joshua Heschel when he talks about the need for structure in our daily prayers to help get us over the hump, “sometimes when a person’s heart and mind have become blunted, such that he is not able to perform a mitzvah with fervor and desire, he should not refrain, heaven fore fend.” He should perform the mitzvah in a state of “placing” even if he has no fervor.”

Sometimes the joy comes from the doing. The Israelites said standing at the base of Mount Sinai, “We shall do and we shall hear.” They committed to the doing before they even knew what they would be doing. The very act of doing can lead to joy.

We place other items to remind us of these very words–mezzuzot and tefilin and tallitot to name a few. Yesterday we had a great pre-Chanukah celebration at Congregation Kneseth Israel. In addition to our annual Latke Lunch, we also had a Chanukat Habayit, a dedication of the home, our spiritual home of CKI. After much work on the foyer and the mezuzah being off the door since last spring, we were able, in the spirit of Chanukah and rededication, nail the mezuzah back up and rededicate the building to our vision of life long learning, embracing diversity, meaningful observance and building community. It was great to hear our youngest students sing Sh’ma while our Machers responsible for the foyers reconstruction, hammered (pun, Maccabee means Hammer) the nails into the doorpost. There was a great deal of joy. And isn’t that the point?

Eldar goes on to point out that “R. Levi Yitzchak addresses one of the great innovations of Chassidut, if not its greatest contribution: “That the essence of man’s service [of God] in prayer and Torah and the mitzvot is to arouse his soul and his heart in fervor towards God, in love and wondrous desire.” Dr. Joseph Rosenfeld, the president of Congregation Kneseth Israel was making a similar point in his most recent HaKol (monthly bulletin) message. He said, “We have a responsibility to work on our joy…we have been chosen by G-d to be his people. Our songs, our wisdom, our duty to heal the world (Tikkun Olam)—these are great privileges bestowed upon us. We are really the Chosen People. Furthermore, you don’t have to be a great scholar to pray to G-d; to reach out and dialogue with the Lord. Spirit (Ruach) in English, in Spanish, or in Hebrew; with a timbrel or a lute; it all works if we believe that G-d loves us, and if we love Him. Thank you to the B’nai Mitzvah celebrants and their families for showing us the way. ” Check us out on Sunday mornings. The building, newly rededicated, is filled with joy, enthusiasm, passion.

Chanukah is an ideal opportunity to work on joy. The Talmudic rabbis set it up that way. In a discussion between Rabbi Shammai and Rabbi Hillel in Shabbat 21b about the proper way to light Chanukah lights, they wonder whether you should light eight candles the first night, seven the second etc OR one the first, two the second and so forth. Rabbi Hillel who argued that the candles should increase each night from the principle of “Ma’alin Ba’Kodesh ve’ayn Moridin, we increase with holiness and do not decrease” won the argument. The increased light increases our holiness and our joy.

 So light your candles. Even if you don’t feel it. The very act may cause you to rise in holiness and joy. And that is a good thing. A very, very good thing.

I woke up singing two songs this morning. One from my Girl Scout days, “The bright sun comes up; the dew falls away. Good morning, good morning, the little birds say.” The other from an old friend who is a songwriter. Bob Franke sings:

The thunder and lightning gave voice to the night;
the little lame child cried aloud in her fright. .
“Hush, little baby, a story I’ll tell,
of a love that has vanquished the powers of hell.
Alleluia, The Great Storm is over
Lift up your wings and fly. http://www.bobfranke.com/lyrics.htm

Here in Illinois it wasn’t like that on Sunday. When I got to Hebrew School early Sunday morning, students were already concerned about the weather. Their parents had discussed the possibility of severe weather, even tornados, with them in their carpools. The wind was kicking up. It was unnaturally warm, 62 degrees. Something was happening.  By 11AM I was getting text messages that tornado watches and warnings had been issued. I didn’t know about Peoria yet. Maybe something had been sited in McHenry County, the next county to Kane. Nothing for our part of Kane and Cook.

I visited each classroom and explained that the adults were watching the weather very carefully and that they didn’t have to worry. In the first and second grade class we made a rain storm (another old Girl Scout exercise) by clapping and snapping. We sang Ufros Aleinu and Ma Tovu, thankful for shelter.

I told the parents who were watching the hail fall in the parking lot that while there is a special blessing for hail (I swear I learned this in youth group but now can’t find it) there isn’t one for snow and that we have a unique opportunity to pray it.

In the 6th and 7th grade class we talked about the responsibility to take care of the earth, for us to exhibit the principle of Bal Taschit, to not destroy the earth (from Deuteronomy 20:19). The haftarah that is tied to that portion, Shoftim, says this in Isaiah: “For I the Lord your God — Who stir up the sea into roaring waves.” What does it mean when we say Yotzer Or, which praises G-d for forming light and creating darkness, for making peace and creating all things? How do we understand this verse in light of the typhoon in the Philippines? If G-d is good how does this make sense? Are storms stronger because of global warming? Would we rather call it climate change? Did the choices we make as a society contribute to all of this?

I admitted to the kids in that class that I don’t have all the answers. This week’s Torah portion was about Jacob wrestling, wrestling with an angel, a messenger, a man, himself, G-d. The text is not clear. What is clear is that Jacob’s name was changed to Israel, meaning G-dwrestler. So these are the issues that our pre-B’nei Mitzvah students should be wrestling with.

Elgin was spared. I have a congregant with a fence that was blown over and already repaired. Another with an outdoor trampoline that toppled. Lights flickered. Then went out. Then came back on. No serious damage. Not so in Peroria or Pekin. Not so in Washington and Coal CIty. Not so in New Mindon. Not so in the Philippines. Not so in Oklahoma last spring. Not so for those in Hurricane Sandy’s path, or Hurricane Irene, Katrina, Bob or Gloria. Not so over and over again.

I can’t explain why we have these natural disasters. They are part of the natural order. They do seem to be stronger. I do know that we have a responsibility to help those directly affected to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives. It was heartwarming to hear about families 140 miles away finding photos and bank statements and other things that had blown away and try to return them to their owners in Washington, IL.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said,

“Prayer invites God to let the Divine presence suffuse our spirits, to let the Divine will prevail in our lives. Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” (As quoted in Gates of Prayer)

 

Prayer can calm us in the middle of the storm. After the storm, on a clear, bright morning like this, it is time for action and comfort. Here are a few ways to help:

For the Philippines:
http://www.juf.org/relief_fund/default.aspx

http://ajws.org/who_we_are/news/archives/press_releases/ajws_announces_first_round_of_philippines_grants.html

https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/donate/onetime.cfm?source=AZD131101D01&utm_source=google&utm_medium=ppc&gclid=CO_pxIKs8boCFY5AMgodrXwAVQ&mpch=ads

For tornado relief efforts:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Washington-IL-Tornado-Recovery/361545887315736

The needs are changing hourly. Please check before donating or collecting goods which can be hard to distribute.

When I did find the time to look for that elusive hail blessing, I found the lyrics to a Debbie Friedman song I did not know. The Hail Blessing:

When the heavens and the earth were finished,
God’s creations sang on high
The heavens clapped, the mountains danced,
And tears fell from the sky.
The cold wind whistled furiously
And turned those tears to ice,
And snow and hail and crashing sounds
Started falling from the skies.
For the rumblings and crashing in the sky
For the mountains that dance with the heavens on high,
For the tears that fall and are touched
By the winds and by the cold,
We sing praises to the One of Being
Whose power and strength filss the world.
Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam,
Shekocho u’g’vurato malei olam (2x)
Eish u’varad, sheleg v’kitor,
Ruach s’ara, osa d’varo.
Hal’luya…
Blessed is Adonai our God, Sovereign of the universe,
whose power and might pervade the world.
Fire and hail, rain and vapor,
stormy wind, fulfilling God’s word

A good song to keep in our back pockets in case there is another storm.

What do Kristalnacht, Women of the Wall and this week’s Torah portion have in common? It turns out quite a bit. This past week we marked the 75 anniversary of Kristalnacht. The Night of Broken Glass, Shattered Glass. On the night of November 9th, 1938, Nazi Germany conducted an organized pogrom against the Jews. On that night 91 Jews were killed, 30.000 Jews sent to Dachau, Buchenwald and Sachsenhausen-Oranienburg concentration camps. 5.000 Jewish shops were looted, 191 synagogues attacked, bonfires made of Torah scrolls, prayer books and volumes of Jewish history, philosophy and poetry. It was really the start of the Final Solution that would lead to the systematic murder of 6,000,000 Jews. For me it is personal. I know people who were there. People who shortly thereafter fled Germany and are lucky to be alive. I treasure their first person accounts–and Susette Tauber’s mother’s plum cake recipe passed down from generation to generation.

I participated in two events to mark this occasion. One at Congregation Kneseth Israel where we wove readings appropriate into the event into our regular Friday night Kabbalat Shabbat service. Hearing Schindler’s List music again like I did in Hamln Germany for yizkor on Yom Kippur, was haunting but not as haunting as reading of the names of the relatives of members of the congregation who died during the Holocaust. One family, the Kofkins, sent in 23 names. 13 of them were murdered on one day in 1942. Words fail.

The next night I trekked into Wilmette for the Illinois Holocaust Museum and JUF sponsored commemoration. A thousand people were there to hear music, stories and a panel discuss the relevance of Kristalnacht today. I learned a couple of facts I did not know. Every Chicago police officer near the end of their Academy training goes to the Holocaust museum because on the night of broken glass the police had been ordered to stand down and not protect Jews, Jewish businesses and synagogues. Chicago police will not be bystanders. I learned that Kristalnacht happened on the same night that Germans mark their surrender of World War I. We, in this country,  talk about the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month and mark that as Armistice Day, now known as Veteran’s Day but for Germans, it is November 9th. It is a day of great shame. November 9th is also the day the Berlin Wall fell. So like Tisha B’av or the anniversary of Paul Revere’s ride, there are overlays of meaning in German culture for Kristalnacht.

Last week was also the 25th anniversary of Women of the Wall. As a national speaker for Women of the Wall, an organization I have supported for 25 years, I trekked into Northfield for a Rosh Hodesh service. It was meaningful to be with a group of like-minded women who support a woman’s right to pray.

For 25 years, starting on Rosh Hodesh Kislev 1988, women have gathered together to pray at the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Their desire, to pray with tallit, tefilin and Torah. To be able to sing. To say the Sh’ma out loud. It has never been easy. There are those within the ultra-Orthodox establishment who have mocked, blocked, bullied, bruised, beaten and worse these women. Noa Frenkel was arrested in 2009. Later she was beaten at the Central Bus Station in Beer Sheva. Her crime? The tale tell signs on her arm of having lain tefillin. Anat Hoffman has been arrested several times. Last October she was arrested, strip searched and brutalized. Her crime? Singing the Sh’ma.

Singing the Sh’ma, reading Torah from a scroll, reciting Kaddish. For some men, these acts by women are anathema. Why? They violate the prohibition of Kol Isha, hearing a woman’s voice. Seems that in order to protect men from being aroused, a woman must be silent, not heard. Hagar cried out. Miriam sang with a timbrel in her hand, leading the women in prayer. Hannah prayed. The daughter of King Saul wore tefilin.

I travelled to DeKalb to speak to Congregation Beth Shalom to talk about Women of the Wall and I listened to their anger grow. How can this kind of persecution happen? How can some Jews do this to other Jews? What was the role of the police?

Why do I care? I care because I was brutally attacked in Israel as a young college student. I was told by the attackers, Israeli soldiers, that I was worse than Hitler because I didn’t live in Israel and wasn’t doing anything to help the Jewish people survive. The Orthodox establishment told me that the attack had been a punishment from G-d, telling me that because I was a woman I couldn’t be a rabbi. It has taken me years to heal, years to be able to speak about it publicly. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I1S3-c1ssrk

This week we read the portion that includes the rape of Dinah. This is not the story in the parsha that we usually tell our youth. We usually focus on the reconciliation between Jacob and Esau.  The Torah tells us that Jacob took his two wives, his two maidservants, his eleven children and crossed the Jabbok. But Jacob had 12 children. What happened to Dinah? Rashi tells us Jacob hid her in a box, in a coffin, to protect her from Esau. Then Jacob wrestles with an angel. His name is changed after fighting all night with that angel or a man or a messenger or himself, to Israel, G-dwrestler. It is an important, formative story.

But the very next story is one of the most painful ones in the Torah. But in the very next story, where was that protection for the wives, for Dinah? We learn about Dinah’s “encounter” with Shechem. Rape, seduction, consensual? Most translations call it rape. Only afterwards, does Shechem fall in love with her, speak tenderly to her and try to procure her as his wife. 

What is missing in this painful story is Dinah’s voice. Was she silent? Did she scream out? What did she think of her brothers’ reactions? From the text we simply don’t know. From the midrash we are told either it was a punishment for her father Jacob (three separate reasons) or it was her fault. Her fault? That is a blaming the victim mentality. However, in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan, Chapter 3 it tells us that Dinah wanted her beauty to be seen and so would wander in the fields to go out and see the daughters of the land. Shechem couldn’t help himself. He was like a man in the marketplace holding meat eventually attacked by a dog. Really? He couldn’t control himself? ‘I feel my anger rising.

We learn that the rabbis see Dinah just like every other woman, weak, because she was created from Adam’s rib which is a concealed, modest place and from that they deduce women should not go out in public (Gen. Rabbah 18:2, 8:2). Other places we are told she did not protest so she must have wanted it. Again, a blame the victim statement. It reminds me of domestic violence victims who tell me that if only they hadn’t gone to that party and talked to a strange man, their husband wouldn’t have beaten her. Really? These are attitudes that still persist in our culture. A culture that denigrates women. Even women who want to worship at the Wall.

Dinah was silent. Dinah was raped. Dinah’s voice was not heard. Not in the Torah and not in the subsequent commentaries and midrashim.

Anita Diamant, the founder of Mayyim Hayyim in Boston, was troubled by Dinah’s lack of voice. She wrote a whole book, the Red Tent, a modern midrashic work, which became a New York Times bestseller, to give Dinah a voice. A tremendous amount of research and creativity went into this novel. I still want the footnotes! It helps but it is still a painful story. I still come out thinking that Dinah was silent. Dinah was raped. Then Dinah learned to survive and make the best out of her life. She learned to love. She learned to be a parent. She learned to live.

The story of Dinah is repeated over and over again. Song of Songs 5:7 describes another woman lovesick, searching for her beloved at night in the city. Horrors, in the middle of this beautiful love poetry, another example of violence against women? “The watchmen that go about the city found me, they beat me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my cloak from me.”

The story of Dinah is repeated over and over again. The statistics are haunting. Today, one out of four women will be sexually attacked in her lifetime. One out of four. Some now say one out of three. That is more than women who will get breast cancer, one out of eight or nine. Why is it OK to talk about breast cancer and not sexual assault? Why have women’s voices been silenced?

Make no mistake, while the Orthodox have used halachic frameworks to justify their behavior, there is NO halacha that permits beating. Watching videos of these arrests are chilling. It is too reminiscent of the pictures of Kristalnacht. youtube women of the wall arrest How can Jewish men treat Jewish women, any woman, this way? Spitting, throwing chairs, drowning out prayer with whistles, beating. It is not right. It is not halachic. Period.

We do not live in Biblical Israel. We do not live in Nazi Germany. Jewish women have the right and the responsibility to pray. They are entitled to it according to the Talmud (Berachot 23a). In the name of the silent Dinah, I cannot be silent any longer.

Nightmares are real. One parent approached me on Sunday and said, “Could you please do something with my daughter. Tell her something that Judaism says about nightmares. Touch her forehead. Anything. Just make her go to sleep.”

I could hear her frustration so I took the challenge head on. I asked ALL the kids if any of them had had a nightmare. They ALL said yes. Even the adults. Then I asked them what they do about them. Some check under the bed. Some go get their mothers or fathers, sisters or brothers. Some leave a light on. Some keep a bottle of spray water next to their bed to ward off monsters. Some sing. Some say the Sh’ma. Most of them said that having some company is comforting.

I explained to them that the rabbis were scared of the night too. They added an extra prayer just for nighttime. Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha. Spread over us the shelter, the sukkah of Your peace. Four simple words. Those words make me feel better at night.  Perhaps there won’t be any less nightmares but now our children will have a uniquely Jewish tool to help cope.

One of those things that can go bump in the night is the tooth fairy. Not very scary but still on the minds of our kids, particularly the 1st and 2nd grade class. They are so proud when they lose a tooth. So again on Sunday I was asked, “Is there a blessing for a tooth?” To paraphrase Fiddler on the Roof, “Is there a blessing for a tooth? Of course!” In Judaism there is a blessing for everything. On RitualWell.org there is an entire ceremony for losing a first tooth. http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/tooth-losing-ceremony

It suggests using this blessing usually used for seeing unusual creatures:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu, Melech Ha’olam me’shaneh habriot.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the world who gives teeth to creatures.

This is not the literal translation which is more like, “who makes varied creatures.” But there is a pun in the Hebrew. M’shaneh, who changes, varies, has the same root as shain, tooth. This is the same word that shows up in the V’ahavta, “V’sheinantam l’vanecha”, to teach our children diligently. More accurately, to set their teeth on edge. Isn’t that what we are doing when we teach our children how to cope with nightmares and how to celebrate losing a tooth.

Teaching our children diligently, passing down the wisdom, the traditions, the prayers of our ancient tradition to the next generation is thrilling. Watching a child “get it.” it fun and inspiring. Watching them take these tools and apply them to live today in the 21st century with all its complexities is inspiring. In the process, they teach me much.

This weekend we mark Rosh Hodesh Kislev, the month in which Chanukah falls. The word Chanukah itself means dedication, because that is what the Maccabees did: they rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem and made it fit, proper, kosher, for Jewish worship again. The Maccabees fought for religious freedom, the privilege to worship as Jews as Jews see fit.

For 25 years a group of women have gathered every Rosh Hodesh at the Western Wall, the Kotel, the last remaining remnant of that same Temple that the Maccabees fought to preserve. Those women want the right to worship as Jews, as women, as they see fit. For 25 years I have stood with them, usually from a distance, and today I salute their work. Tomorrow they are expecting 700+ people to join them at the Kotel itself. I will be in Northfield at a Torah service held in solidarity.

Why is their work important? Because even this weekend, I was asked questions about why a woman would or would not cover her head or wear a kippah, how is a woman wearing a tallit not penis envy, how can a woman even be on the bimah?

For me, these are easy answers. What surprises me, but probably shouldn’t, is that we have to keep answering these questions over and over again. So here goes.

I wear a kippah to remind me that G-d is above. For me it is a sign of humility and it keeps me in check. It does not have to do with women’s modesty and the fact that I am a married woman.

I wear a tallit because in Numbers it says that all the people should wear a fringed garment. That morphed over time to the rabbi, then married men, then men over Bar Mitzvah age. I like the what Psalms says: “Bless Adonai, O my soul. Adonai, My God, You are very great, You are clothed in glory and majesty. You have wrapped yourself with a garment of light, spreading out the heavens like a curtain.” When I put on my tall it and encase myself in its soft, warm cloth, I wrap myself in that Divine light. It is one of the most powerful moments of my prayer. While I am not male, I am a rabbi, so it is a sign of my rabbinic office.

Women are expected, even commanded to pray. While exempt from positive, time-bound mitzvot, tefilah itself was not exempt precisely because G-d is described as Rachaman, the Merciful One. (Berachot 20b). There has been much written about this topic, in much greater depth than I can go into here. If people want or need resources I will be happy to provide them. But let me reiterate, no man has the right to harass, arrest, throw stones or chairs, spit on, hit or beat anyone, male or female for davenning. For any reason. That is not consistent with Jewish halacha. Period. That is why we need Women of the Wall. To continue to make this point. To continue to protect a woman’s right to pray. To be able to pray at the most holy site in Judaism. As it used to be. Without fear of reprisal. Just in order to pray, to have a conversation with G-d in the place where G-d is closest to us.

This was also the weekend in our congregation where we celebrated a Bat Mitzvah of a remarkable young woman. She is the daughter of an Orthodox mother who isn’t comfortable with women on the bimah. However, she allows her children to learn Judaism, to learn halacha and to make their own decisions based on that knowledge. With her mother’s blessing, my Bat Mitzvah student took on as one of her projects, writing a formal responsum on women’s head coverings. She then presented it to the ritual committee who discussed it at two ritual committee meetings. She drew extensively on halachic material on the Women of the Wall website.Teshuvah on Women’s Headcoverings and Talitot for Congregation Kneseth Israel Web

Her maftir parsha from Toldot spoke about digging wells, one of mayyim hayyim, fresh living waters and one of sitneh, hostility. Another reason for Women of the Wall has to be passing down our tradition as one of living waters that refresh the soul, not one of hostility, hate and fear.

As I stood next to my student, reading Torah on the bimah, I had goosebumps when she read the words mayyim hayyim. I was proud of her–and proud of her mother–who gave her daughter the space and the tools to learn and learned right along with her. He d’var Torah linking this all together brought us light as we move into Kislev.

So as we celebrate Rosh Hodesh Kislev with its focus on dedication and light, I rededicate myself to prayer–like that of our matriarchs, Hagar and Hannah, Miriam and Deborah.

We Jews are very good at praying the words on the page. We are used to the structure (the keva) and the order (seder) of the words in the prayerbook (siddur, some root as seder, order). In fact, we like the order. Some of us like the same tunes week after week. They are old familiar friends and they bring us comfort.

But we don’t have to pray with the prayerbook. We can pray the feelings of our heart. Sometimes we call this kavanah, intention. Sometimes people find this scary or just plain wrong. We should always use the printed word. The rabbis wrote them 2000 years ago, some of them, they must be right! And they are–but they are a reflection of the rabbis’ own kavanah, intention. Their own sense of wonder and amazement, fear and trembling, awe.

My class has been working on Ain Kamocha, the introduction to the Torah service. Ain Kamocha, None compare to you, O Lord. It answers the question, “Mi Chamocha” Who is like You O Lord? The 4th grade class has been working on Ein Keloheinu, “No one is like our G-d. No one is like our Lord. No one is like our King. No one is like our moshianu, redeemer or deliverer.” It too answers that question, Who is like You? with a resounding NO ONE! No god, no lord, no ruler, no redeemer.

Mi Chamocha was first sung by Moses and Israelites in thanksgiving right after they crossed the Red Sea, right after the waters of the sea parted. What would these kids say? “Wow!” “That was cool!” “That was amazing!” “That was awesome.” “Do it again!” “How did You do that?” “What just happened here?” “What happened to the Egyptians?” “We are safe now.” “We are free.” “Thank you G-d.” “Hallelujah.” One girl said she would have fainted. They got the awesomeness of this moment. Just like Moses when he first sang Mi Chamocha. And that is what real prayer is–the prompting our hearts to what is going on around us.

But this story isn’t quite over. We were still talking about Ain Keloneinu and relating it back to Mi Chamocha. We know the words Eloheinu, our G-d, Adonainu, our Lord, Malkeinu, our King, but what is Moshianu? What does it mean to be our Redeemer or our Deliverer? I said somehow it is related to G-d bringing us out of Egypt. One girl, 4th grade explained it. “I think about when a baby is delivered. The doctor is the deliverer.” It was one of those wow moments. I hadn’t thought about it that way before. G-d is the midwife to the Jewish people. They are coming out of Egypt, out of the narrow places, out of the birth canal. They are being birthed as a new nation. They are delivered so G-d is the Deliverer. That’s what redemption means.

Mi Chamocha and Ain Keloheinu will never be quite the same for me–or any of us who were present Wednesday afternoon for ruach. Then we sang Mi Chamocha. Teach the children to pray? Maybe it is the other way around!

A pumpkin of gratitude

Halloween. All Hallow’s Eve. All Saints Day. All Souls Day. I have Jewish friends who don’t celebrate Halloween because it is Christian. I have Christian friends who don’t celebrate because it is pagan. I am a rabbi. What to do? Do we cancel Hebrew School because we know the kids aren’t going to show up or do we hold it any way in some kind of defiance? Do we carve pumpkins? Go trick or treating? Pass out candy? Have a party?

Here is my answer. While Halloween has its pagan, wiccan roots and its Christian overlay, it has become a fun holiday that kids (and adults) look forward to. The Talmud says at the end of some thorny arguments, “Puk Hazei Mai Amma Davar – go see what the people are doing” (Berachot 45a, Eruvin 14b). The people are celebrating Halloween. That much is clear. Why?

Partly because it is fun. Partly because it falls (pun intended) during a dark part of the year and we need a little joy. Partly because many people have a fascination with the world beyond. Just look at the growing industry around Zombies.

So what how can Jews mark Halloween in a meaningful way, if not religiously?

We can use this time to join with the secular community for fun. The students in my Chai School (post Bnei Mitzvah) hosted a party at the Community Crisis Center for children and parents who might not have had any Halloween fun. They carved pumpkins, frosted Halloween cookies and painted faces. Nothing scary, mostly cats.

Frosted Cookies at the Community Crisis Center

We can use this time to teach about our own traditions around death and dying. What does Judaism say about life after death (Trick question. No one answer)? What is a golem? A dybbuk? Do we believe in resurrection? Reincarnation? Why do we say Kaddish for a parent for 11 months and not 12? Is there purgatory? What does it mean that we live on in the memories of those we touch?

We can retell the story of the Rabbi and the 29 witches. Maybe that is where Baum got some of his ideas for the Wizard of Oz. Marilyn Hirsch wrote this up as a delightful children’s book which was reprinted recently as a PJ Library book. The gist of the story, from the Talmud no less: Rabbi Simon ben Shetach knew of a cave with 80 old women or maybe 29 just wasting away. Nonetheless they were scaring the townspeople. They would not come out of the cave because they were afraid of the rain. (Cue music here, “I’m melting, I’m melting”?) One day when the rain was coming down especially hard (like maybe tonight?!) the rabbi gathered 80 eighty tall, young men. Each man received a new tallit (prayer shawl) and a pitcher. They put the prayer shawls in the pitchers to keep them dry. Rabbi Shimon gave the men instructions. “When we arrive at the cave, when I whistle once put on your prayer shawls. When I whistle again, come into the cave and pick up a witch in your arms. (Apparently when witches are off the floor they lose their power!).  When they reached the cave, Rabbi Shimon knocked. The head witch noticed that he was dry despite the rain. “I walked between the raindrops,” the rabbi answered. Four witches performed magic tricks for the rabbi. Witches are very good at magic. Then the head witch said, “What can you do?” He answered that he could whistle and 80 men would appear to entertain them. He whistled and 80 men appeared with their dry prayer shawls, and danced with the witches, right out of the cave and into the rain. The witches were not a problem again. The PJ Library reader’s guide makes this charming story to be about social action and tikkun olam. The rabbi had courage to take on a problem and solve it. How can we?

Witches have a storied history in our culture. The Bible says “Suffer a witch not to live.” In truth, Judaism never put someone to death for being a witch. That happened in Salem, MA. More out of fear than anything else. (I could and have written pages on that topic!). Judaism does teach that we should treat the widow, the orphan and the stranger with kindness. Those people who are the most marginalized among us. 36 times this refrain is repeated. So if there are people we are afraid of, like the witches in the rabbi and the 29 witches, maybe the rabbi had the right idea. Instead of shunning them, we should welcome them into the community. Maybe that is what Halloween is about.

Halloween has many similar features to the Jewish holiday of Purim. At Halloween we collect treats. At Purim we give treats. One thing some youth groups have done is to collect canned goods for a food pantry. Or some kids still collect pennies for UNICEF.

Children get to choose costumes. Act out who they would like to be. It could be a witch or a vampire or a zombie. It could be a ballerina, a princess, a fairy, a cheerleader, a super hero, a football player, a fireman. Talk to your child about who they want to be. One year, when Sarah’s third grade class did biography day for Halloween she was Anne Frank among a lot of Michelle Kwans. Her choice. Really. This is not that different from a Jewish custom at Sukkot of inviting the Ushpizin, guests. Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob, Rachel and Leah, etc. Eight nights of guests. If you could invite anyone to dinner, past of present, who would you invite? Sukkot is the Jewish harvest festival, also at this time of the year. This year, based on something we say on Interfaithfamily.com, our students decorated a pumpkin with things we are thankful for. We will keep this pumpkin until Thanksgivingkuh. We will also use it to make a Giant Book of Blessings.

Rabbi Everett Gendler has always had a service Halloween Weekend that he calls Ya’akov Lantern. You know, Jack’s Hebrew name. Because we should light a candle against the darkness. It is a beautiful service with young and old bringing their carefully carved pumpkins, often with Jewish stars, to shul. The sanctuary glows with light.

My mother’s favorite holiday was Halloween. Just because it was fun. Some thought she was a witch and she could play that role. She lived in a black house. Wore black clothes. Collected kitchen witches. Twice she almost died on Halloween. Once she had lung surgery on Halloween. Her last year she was in the hospital planning costumes with red jello as blood and hospital gowns. Giggling like a teenager. She was happy, looking forward to my planned visit from Boston the next day. Then she had a heart attack. They revived her so the family could gather but some believe she really died on that table. I flew to Grand Rapids in my pumpkin shirt.

Tonight I will be passing out candy, making a bubbling caldron of chili to share with friends and remembering my mother, who taught that every day was a holiday so we should celebrate. Life is short, we learned from her as well. And we have much to be grateful for.

So have fun tonight. Light a candle or a pumpkin. Dance between the raindrops. Eat some candy but not too much. Share with others. Remember those who came before. Become, at least for a night, the person you want most to be.

A rabbi, a priest and a president of a Baptist University walk into a Methodist Church. Not the introduction to a joke. We were each asked to talk about what we as Christians and Jews have in common. I wrestled with what to say and many of you, via Facebook, had good suggestions. Talk about the environment. Talk about Jacob and Esau, peace and reconciliation. Talk about tikkun olam, repairing the world and our joint responsibility for social justice. What follows is what I actually said.

The challenge—say something meaningful about Judaism and Christianity and what we share in common in 7-10 minutes. You have to be kidding me. This is a 5000 year tradition and I am but one person, and no two Jews agree.

There is more that we Jews and Christians share in common than not. And those differences should not be glossed over but that is a discussion for another time. Today is a day to celebrate our commonality, our unity.

It is always a pleasure to be in this sanctuary with its beautiful stained glass window with a Torah, a shofar, a Star of David, and David’s harp. It feels like coming home. Thank you for welcoming me home. And that is part of what I want to talk about: home. A synagogue, which is a Greek word, is a Beit Tefilah, a House of Prayer, a Beit Midrash, a house of study and a Beith Kneseth, a house of assembly. These are three functions that we Jews and Christians share in common—prayer, study and building community, building a home.

Perhaps my most powerful moment in my life was the day after 911. I had been at rabbinical school in New York on 9/11 and it was difficult to get home to Boston. It was a harrowing drive back to Massachusetts. When my cell phone finally began working again, after I reached Connecticut, there were many phone calls to make, reassuring people that I was OK. I consulted with an elementary school principal about how to tell her young students about the events still unfolding, a rabbi about whether to cancel Hebrew School that day and a UCC minister who by that time knew he was going to have to do the funeral together with a Catholic priest, of John Oganowski, the pilot of flight 11.  But the next morning, members of Greater Lowell Interfaith Leadership Alliance, an organization like CERL here in Elgin, in a pre-scheduled event gathered to work at a Habitat for Humanity site. When all the world seemed to be crumbling, we were building. Building a home, together. “Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.” That is the power of unity. That is the power of Interfaith Dialogue. That is the power of tikkun olam.

Judaism talks a lot about tikkun olam, repairing the world. The idea comes from a story in the Zohar about the story of Creation. According to the 16th century Kabbalists, in order to make room for the world, G-d needed to contract, tzimtzum in Hebrew, an act of love. Think about times when you hold back in order to allow someone to grow. G-d created special vessels to hold the Divine light. However, G-d’s light was so bright, so intense, that it shattered the vessels, scattering the shards with some of the Divine light still attached. It is our job, to gather those broken shards together, to repair the brokenness in the world. Gathering those shards together, to help find the lost light is the purpose of the rules, the commandments, the mitzvoth in Torah, the Five Books of Moses. When we practice mitzvoth, we are bringing holiness back into the world, releasing the light within.

I grew up in Grand Rapids Michigan, at the time a town that was 85% Dutch Reform. It even had its own form of Girl Scouts, the Calvinettes. It has been said you can the girl out of Grand Rapids, but you can’t take the Calvinist out of this Jew. Funny, yes, but I am not so sure. Those of us who were not Dutch Reform banned together in our ways. My Catholic Girl Scout troop would go caroling every year at Clark Retirement Community, the Methodist home that eventually my mother would spend her last days living in. The rabbi was on the board at Clark. Our next door neighbors were a good Methodist family. When they first came to celebrate Chanukah with my parents, their youngest asked why they couldn’t be Chanukahish instead of Christmas. That neighbor is a music minister in her church. Recently I had dinner with her and I think somehow she, and my mother, would be pleased I am here today.

What I learned in Grand Rapids, is that many Christians think that the G-d of the Old Testament was one of jealousy, vengeance and anger and that the G-d of the New Testament is the G-d of love. Somehow the New Testament is better than the Hebrew Bible. It is newer. It is better. It completes the Old.

It took me a long time to learn that while there are various scriptures we could point to argue that position, it is not correct. We share the same G-d that we both pray to. And that one G-d is a G-d of love and compassion. Remember when the Israelites were dancing around the Golden Calf? Remember when Moses smashed the 10 Commandments? G-d told him he would have to come back up and get a second set. Moses wasn’t too happy. Who me? I’m tired. I’m tired of leading this stiff-necked, stubborn people. Their YOUR people, not mine. G-d takes the people back in love, convinces Moses that G-d will go with him and lighten his burden and give Moses rest and that G-d will share with Moses his essential attributes. Moses agrees and is hidden in a cleft of the rock. All G-d’s goodness passes before Moses and he hears whispered, “Adonai, Adonai, El rachum v’chanun, erech al payim, v’rav chesed v’emet. Noseh chesed l’alaphim, noseh avan v’pesha v’takah v’nakeh.” The Lord, the Lord G-d is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, patient, full of lovingkindness and truth, granting lovingkindness to a 1000 generations and forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin. 13 different phrases to describe G-d. Thirteen different ways that we know that G-d is a loving G-d, full of compassion and grace.

This then is the answer to the Calvinists in Grand Rapids, and the reason I became a rabbi. But there is another midrash. After the Israelites received the second set of tablets, they put it in the ark of the covenant. They also gathered the broken fragments, the shards of the first set and lay them in the ark as well.

What this means is that G-d loves us and gives us a second chance. Even a third and a fourth. This brings us comfort.  I don’t know about you, but I am learning. I am not perfect. G-d does not require our perfection. It is OK to make a mistake. It is a natural, even necessary part of development. Sometimes we only learn to appreciate life’s gifts after we have lost them. If, however, we are lucky enough to be given a second chance, with the wisdom we have acquired through our experience of failure, we learn how to cherish and hold on to what we are given. The first tablets of Sinai did not endure, say certain Biblical commentators, because the Israelites had not developed sufficiently strong inner vessels to hold on to their powerful light. The first tablets, like the initial visions we have for our lives, frequently shatter, especially when they are based on naïvely idealistic assumptions. Our first marriages or first careers may fail to live up to their initial promise. We may join communities or follow spiritual teachers and paths that disappoint or even betray us. Our very conceptions of God and our assumptions about the meaning of faith may shatter as we bump up against the morally complex and often contradictory aspects of the real world. Yet, if we learn from our mistakes and find ways to pick up the broken pieces of shattered dreams, we can go on to re-create our lives out of the rubble of our initial failures.” Estelle Frankel

During that process of maturing, we are told what G-d requires of us: To do justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with G-d. Micah 6:8. What does it mean to walk in G-d’s ways:

“To walk in God’s ways” (Deuteronomy 11:22). These are the ways of the Holy One: “gracious and compassionate, patient, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, assuring love for a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression, and sin, and granting pardon” (Exodus 34:6). This means that just as God is gracious, compassionate, and forgiving, you too must be gracious, compassionate, and forgiving.

Just as G-d clothed the naked, when He clothed Adam and Eve, we too should clothe the naked. Just as G0d visited the sick when He visited Abraham in his tent after the circumcision, we too, should visit the sick. Just as G-d fed the hungry in the wilderness by giving them mana, we too should feed the hungry. Just as G-d buried Moses, we too, should bury our dead and console the bereaved.

We are commanded to take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger, the marginalized among us. 36 times in the Hebrew Bible, it tells us that we need to do so. Many more times than it tells us to not eat pork or to observe the Sabbath.

Yesterday Jews around the world read the portion of Genesis called Chayeii Sarah, the Life of Sarah. And Sarah was 100 and 20 and 7 and Sarah died in Kiryat Arba. The portion finishes several chapters and years later with the death of Abraham. What do we know about this matriarch and patriarch we share in common? We know that Sarah welcomed guests to her tent which was opened on all four sides. She fed them bread that was blessed. She lit candles against the darkness that would last from one Shabbat to the next. She was as innocent at 20 as she was at 7 and as beautiful at 100 as she was at 20. She was a true woman of valor. We know that Abraham followed the one true G-d, that he listened to that voice, that he sent Hagar and Ishmael out into the wilderness, that he almost sacrificied Isaac. That he arranged for a wife for Isaac and that Isaac loved her. We know that Abraham died alone and that only after his death did Isaac and Ishmael come back together to bury their father.

Eli Wiesel teaches that “True, we are often too weak to stop injustices; but the least we can do is protest against them. True, we are too poor to eliminate hunger; but in feeding one child, we protest against hunger. True, we are too timid and powerless to take on all the guards of all the political prisons in the world; but in offering our solidarity to one prisoner, we denounce all the tormentors. True, we are powerless against death; but as long as we help one man, one woman, one child live one hour longer in safety and dignity, we affirm a human’s right to live.

-Elie Wiesel, Sages and Dreamers

Dr. King, whose PhD came from that great Methodist school, Boston University, once said it similarly, “Everybody can be great, because everybody can serve. You don’t have to have college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and verb agree to serve. You only need a heart full of grace. A soul generated by love.”” Answer “life’s most persistent and urgent question,” as Dr. King called it. “What are you doing for others?”

Part of how I serve will find me back here on Thanksgiving morning. I and my family, with our sleeves rolled up, taking that mitzvah of hospitality seriously as we help with the Community Thanksgiving Dinner. My tradition teaches, the world is not complete. We are completing it. It also teaches that it is not ours to complete the task neither are we free to ignore it. There is still work to be done–plenty of it–with the legacy of King, Wiesel, Heschel and others. It also teaches that in a place where there is no humanity strive to be fully human. I think that participation in this kind of dialogue leads today to our ability to do all those things.

It leads to the knowledge that we share a G-d of love, a G-d of truth and a G-d of righteousness and compassion. Today, if only we would follow the voice of the Divine.

I’d like to close with a Franciscan benediction:

May God bless you with discomfort
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships
So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger
At injustice, oppression and exploitation of people,
So that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.
May God bless you with tears
To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, starvation and war
So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them
And to turn their pain into joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness
To believe that you can make a difference in the world,
So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
– Franciscan Benediction

What does a Jewish congregation do when it has an interfaith family, a bi-racial family, where the mother is on the board of directors and the Bar Mitzvah’s grandfather is a Pentecostal minister? You find ways to be as inclusive as possible within the halacha.

A little history: One of Congregation Kneseth Israel’s four vision planks is embracing diversity. It wasn’t always this way, I am sad to report. Last year when I first arrived I was told that we had turned down a different bi-racial family because the children were not Jewish according to halacha; it was their mother that was black. For this Bar Mitzvah, the mother is Jewish, the children have been raised as Jewish and the father, while a practicing Christian has been supportive.

The congregation was founded 121 years ago by the Jews of Elgin with the help of Rabbi Emil Hirsch of Congregation Sinai in Chicago. He was one of the leading luminaries of the Reform Movement. Then the congregation went through an Orthodox period. A congregant who came to town to head the Elgin Watch engineering department wanted to sit with his wife at services. The barriers to mixed seating were broken. Then there were a series of Reform rabbis, a series of Conservative rabbis and cantors. Three years ago the congregation thought it was dying. It participated in an in-depth visioning process with focus groups, a change to the by-laws and the divestment from the Conservative Movement. They changed its by-laws and adopted a vision that calls for meaningful observance, life-long learning, building community and embracing diversity.

They are still not clear what to call themselves. Independent? Pluralistic? Just Jewish? Traditional? Conservative with a small c? We are probably all those things. We uphold halachic values and practice. We have endless debates over headcoverings and kashrut, Shabbat observance in the modern world and what our interfaith families can and cannot do. In the end what we are is a community of Jews celebrating our diversity.

That was clear this past weekend when we celebrated an Orthodox member’s second Bar Mitzvah at age 83 (see previous post) and that was true when we celebrated AJ’s Bar Mitzvah during Sukkot.

What halachic considerations were in play? Are the children halachically Jewish? Yes! No question about that. Their mother is Jewish. They are being raised as Jews. They are Jews. What can a non-Jewish parent or relative or friend do during a Saturday morning Bar Mitzvah celebration? How do we also celebrate Sukkot, take care of more traditional families sense of obligation and meet the requirement to be out of services by 11:45? Do we do Hallel? Kohellet? Musaf? What balance should we strike between Hebrew and English? How do we honor the unique special needs of this family? For me, this was easy and most of the way had been paved previously. This is what we opted for:

• The grandfather presented the Bar Mitzvah boy with his own father’s tallit. Ironically, the grandfather was not wearing a tallit himself, something I heard about after the fact but I never even noticed. I reassured people who asked that not every adult Jewish male wears a tallit and while our custom is that all men over Bar Mitzvah age do, some opt not to.
• The Bar Mitzvah boy lead Ashrei, having explained that we are happy because we are enriched by G-d’s words.
• He lead Hallel because it was Sukkot. Some of the Psalms were read responsively in English with two of his grandmothers leading them.
• His grandfather, the Pentecostal minister read selections from Ecclesiastes from Siddur Sim Shalom because it is a text we share in common even if the translation was different.
• The Bar Mitzvah boy lead the Torah service. His mother and Jewish relatives had aliyot. The Torah was passed down from Jewish grandfather, to mother to Bar Mitzvah boy.
• The Bar Mitzvah boy chanted his maftir, read his Haftarah and his father read part of the translation in English. Again, while this is a text we share in common, this proved to be the controversial move. People really questioned whether the haftarah could be read in English or by a non-Jew. Since in ancient times the haftarah was translated into Aramaic, the lingua franca of the day, it is certainly permissible to read the Haftarah today in English. (http://ccarnet.org/responsa/arr-94-100/). This took some of the pressure off the Bar Mitzvah boy and enabled him to shine. It included his father in a meaningful, significant way and to enable everyone more access to the text, within the bounds of halacha while making everyone feel welcome.
• The Bar Mitzvah boy himself did the haftarah blessings, before and after the reading, including the insert for Sukkot.
• The grandfather and I did the priestly benediction together. Mine in Hebrew, the grandfather in English. Again, this is a text we share in common.
• Everyone through candy–two Smarties tied together with pipe cleaner to look like a Torah scroll.
• At the end of the service, the family gathered for Kiddush all together. The Bar Mitzvah found a ceremony online while researching his speech/D’var Torah about the 13 Attributes discovered a way to do kiddush that would be inclusive of all his aunts and uncles on both sides while featuring the number 13 and reflecting on the attributes we wish for a Bar Mitzvah boy–mirroring the 13 Attributes but not a direct parallel: http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/cup-life-ceremony
• After a Kiddush at the synagogue where the mother and all grandmothers were involved in the strictly kosher preparation, the family headed to a pumpkin farm for a Sukkot afternoon appreciating the harvest. At the down home farm luncheon, the Bar Mitzvah father gave a remarkable speech which I wish we had captured on film. Essentially he said, “AJ you are a leader, just like today how you brought all of us together for the first time and lead us in prayer. Now continue to be a leader, don’t follow the path, go where there is no path and leave a trail.”

It was a lovely day, one of embracing diversity, building community, lifelong learning and meaningful observance. We were warm and welcoming, while following halacha. Well, maybe except for my late Shabbat afternoon ride on a camel, but that is a story for another time.