What makes a rabbi? A series of moments

This past weekend I was installed as the Rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It fulfills a lifelong dream, which my ordaining rabbi pointed out, started at my own Bat Mitzvah. I don’t even remember telling my 8th grade English teacher in Grand Rapids that I was going to be a rabbi, but she did and when I started rabbinical school she sent a lovely note to my mother telling her that and assuring her that the hand of G-d would be on my shoulder every step of the way.

This past weekend was filled with many singular moments all of which contributed to my officially becoming the rabbi at CKI. Friday evening we had Shabbat dinner at the home of one of the members we have grown close to. The table was set beautifully, the fish was delicious, the conversation was good. How she had time to do all that in between cooking for the weekend, attending a funeral, getting her husband ready to do a triathlon and the other myriad number of things we all do during the course of a week, I do not know. But I do know that when we sung Shalom Aleichem I was thinking about her preparedness and the grace she displayed.

Saturday morning there was a minyan before we even started at 9:30. My ordaining rabbi in town to do the installation, was giving the d’var Torah. I led most of the service. I love it when of my Bar/Bat Mitzvah students leads Ashrei because it is such a generation to generation moment. This week was no exception. My dear friends, Linda and Marylin walked in just as we were singing V’ahavta which says in part, “Speak of these words on your way and in your home.” I knew that Linda and Marylin had traveled a good distance and that they no doubt had discussed Torah on their way. I also knew that when they walked in they entered my home. More to the point that I knew I was home. I beamed from ear to ear as they were welcomed and then sat down with Sarah. They have been some of Sarah’s other mothers but let’s face it, they are actually some of my other mothers too! Then one of our congregants, another of Sarah’s other moms, joined them in that row. The world felt whole, complete.

Rabbi Neil Kominsky’s sermon was about mistakes. The Torah portion this week, Shelach Lecha, includes a piece from my Bat Mitzvah portion, where Moses pleads for forgiveness. The 13 Attributes of the Divine are repeated and from here they become part of the liturgy for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. G-d answers, “Vyomer Adonai, silachti kidvarecha.” “I pardon, according to your word.” This is what we sing right after Kol Nidre. How perfect for this morning. Not only was it a repeat of part of my Bat Mitzvah portion, but it is the reason I entered rabbinical school and the very verses I wrote about for my thesis. You can’t plan this stuff.

Neil’s take on it is important. G-d expects us not to be perfect, but to make mistakes. There is a system already in place for making it right. Every body makes mistakes. No one is perfect. No community is perfect. Sometimes those mistakes are made “unwittingly.” And that is OK. You will be forgiven by the community and by G-d.” I thought he was speaking directly to me, who wrestles with needing to be perfect. Others thought he was speaking directly to them who wrestle with balance.

Later that afternoon, when more of our out-of-town guests were here, we went to the Lucky Monk for dinner. Yes, it can be said that I am a member of the Monk Society, a place where the slogan is “Elevate Your Soul”. So a rabbi, a priest and a minister went into a bar and it is not a joke. It had rained off and on all afternoon but the sun was struggling to peak out. I couldn’t find my Monk Society card so I went outside, by myself and without my cell phone. Wouldn’t you know it? There was the rainbow I had hoped to see earlier in the day. No one to witness. No photos to prove it. And I smiled, because it felt like G-d was smiling on me. Too anthropomorphic perhaps, but it felt that way.

Belief in G-d did not come easily to me. My parents were rationalists, scientists. G-d can’t be explained or easily proven. My belief grew slowly over time. One of the ways that I came to a belief in G-d was through studying in a parsha ha’shavua class, a weekly class looking at the portion of the week. I had never done this kind of in-depth Bible study before. The portion of Noah comes early in the academic year. There was something magical, mystical, beautiful, in the idea of a rainbow being a sign from G-d. A rainbow requires the perfect balance between sun and rain, just the right angle of the sun. For me that was “proof”. Now when I see a rainbow I am reminded of that night, the world feels whole and my place secure. Seeing a rainbow on the eve of my installation was a brief spiritual affirmation.

When I became a rabbi, when I was officially ordained there were lots of little moments along the way. The dean saying yes, my name would be on the invitation that year, the presentation of my thesis, the trip to Israel, the last comp and ritual skill passed, the handing out of the tallitot atarot, the tying of the knots on the tallit, going to the mikveh at Mayyim Hayyim, going to the mikveh with my class, the blessing circle, the quiet walk along the Long Island Sound the morning of ordination, the signing of the document, the actual ordination, driving back out, all alone from the College of Mount Saint Vincent. At what point did I become a rabbi?

Then I took a rabbinic job as a Jewish educator. I sat on my favorite rock in Oqunquit right at the ocean’s edge along the Marginal Way and debated its merits. It would give me a chance to work as a rabbi and to test out my theories as an educator. It would give me new, fresh experience. It would pay me a salary and I could keep my consulting practice going while paying off rabbinical school. I took the job. Congregants debated whether I was a real rabbi. After all I didn’t go to JTS. I hadn’t trained as a pulpit rabbi, whatever that means, and I was a woman. My position on Israel was seen by some as too liberal. I was not Conservative, traditional or observant enough. I didn’t like some of the inconsistencies of practice. I loved working with the families and miss many of them. But it wasn’t a good fit, even if I was a rabbi if not the rabbi.

I began writing my own vision of what I wanted my rabbinate to look like. I went away by myself, back to Ogunquit to write. I walked along the Marginal Way. I walked the beach for hours. When I got back to my hotel room, the dean of placement at the Academy had sent me an application for “spiritual leader” of Congregation Kneseth Israel. Its vision mirrored my own and they were intentional about it. My application was completed before I went to bed on my birthday.
Sending an application, going through a phone screening interview, then a Skype interview, then an in-person demo weekend, then waiting for a search committee vote, a board vote, a congregational vote seemed to take forever. Negotiating a contract was slow. I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen. More trips to Ogunquit. Do I really move my family half way across the country? Will this rock still be here when I return? How can I leave my friends, my house of 23 years, this ocean? Every time I asked the questions, the answers came back yes. There was a pull, a calling, something I can’t explain.

I started this job in August. Along the way there have been lots of highlights. Some deep spiritual moments. Some less spiritual and more community oriented. When did I become the rabbi at CKI? When the congregational vote passed? When the contract was negotiated, voted upon and signed? When I arrived for the picnic and a funeral? When Sarah and I camped that first week? When the moving truck arrived? When I led my first Shabbat morning service? When we celebrated the first High Holidays together?

Sunday night I was installed as the rabbi at Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was really the public affirmation of what has been already true. A confirmation. When did I become the rabbi? When the Torah was passed down? When the officers read the covenant and I responded? When the priestly benediction was proclaimed? Each of these had deeply spiritual overtones.

The words my friends and colleagues spoke, drove many, including myself to tears. David Ferner spoke about the need to ask questions and to search for answers and to realize that not everyone has the same ones–and that is OK. That is OK as long as the focus of the spokes is on the hub–that hub is G-d. Neil spoke about allowing the image of the divine to shine through in all that we do so that we can see the divine in everything. Linda Shriner Cahn spoke about my quest for tikkun olam and making the world a better place. Maralee Gordon spoke about returning to my roots and welcoming me back to the neighborhood. Keith Frye talked about how I have already been a friend and a pastor to him and how we are already collaborating together. There was much humor, much laughter, much joy. i felt loved and appreciated. This is a good fit. It is comfortable.

Like many liminal moments that mark a change in status, I am not sure it is any one of these moments. Rather, like believing in G-d, it happens slowly over time. It is each of these moments taken together. Today I can say I am very proud and very humble to be the rabbi of Congregation Kneseth Israel. It was an amazing weekend.

When Sarah was in kindergarten, my father gave her a present. It was a beautifully wrapped box. Inside the box was another beautifully wrapped box. Inside that box was another box and inside that box was a Ziploc bag, full of refrigerator magnets, all the abcs and the aleph bets and a note. “Herein lies all the wisdom of Judaism and the American and British literature. Your job is to recombine them, to find meaning and find joy.”

We still have that bag of magnets and we talk frequently about how to combine them to find meaning. My refrigerator might say, “Do the right thing” or “Be a mensch.” It might say, “Find Joy.”

I stand before you tonight with a full heart. It was a long dream of mine, as you heard, to become a rabbi, a pulpit rabbi. It is this congregation that has welcomed me with open arms.

Joy is something that is important to me. It is, after all, my middle name, both in English and Hebrew. Sometimes, however, it feels elusive. Tonight is one of those nights. We mark with sadness the recent death of Don Lesser. Every simcha has its sadness. That is part of why we smash a glass during a wedding.

How does one find joy, especially in the midst of sadness? Like the refrigerator magnets, this is a puzzle. Sometimes the Bible helps solve the puzzle. Or zarua latzadik ulyishrei lev simcha. Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart. This verse itself is a puzzle. Once we crack it, we have a clue to finding joy. The Chassidic rabbis taught that simcha, joy, carries with it a sense of passion. That a straightened heart, an upright heart is one filled with joy and passion. Davenning in Israel, alone in my hotel room in Tel Aviv, a light bulb went off. Joy follows light, after we act righteously. It comes when we find our passion, share it unstintingly and use it to make the world a better place. Then light is sown and we experience joy.

For me, joy comes from being a rabbi. There is a deep sense of calling, as Frederick Buechner said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” After years in international business, walking out of IBM’s corporate headquarters having made a big sale, I thought there must be something more. I felt I could make the biggest difference in the rabbinate. That is how I could make the world a better place. What I discovered is that while social action is important, being a rabbi is also about meeting people where they are.

What does it mean to be a rabbi? It is a covenantal relationship, based on trust and mutual understanding. It is a partnership between the rabbi and the congregation to define a vision, to build community and to find meaning in our ancient tradition and thus enrich our lives.

Way back in August, my first week in Elgin, I talked about this relationship. “A covenant is like a contract, legally binding. If you do X then I will do Y. The nitty gritty of that is in the formal contract, but there is more to a rabbi’s contract than the financial terms and job descriptions.
So here is my proposed covenant with Congregation Kneseth Israel.

If
I promise:

To be patient and compassionate.
To be slow to anger.

To approach the task of being a rabbi with joy and enthusiasm.

To laugh at my mistakes and have a sense of humor

To be present.
To listen attentively

To guide you and meet people where they are

I promise to make halachic decisions carefully and thoughtfully with the knowledge and understanding of 5000 years of tradition

I promise to continue to learn

I promise to create, together with you a place where people feel welcomed, a safe non-judgmental space where people can explore their Judaism in all of its myriad facets

I promise to be visible to the Elgin community and to promote Congregation Kneseth Israel, to be a good role model for our kids

I promise to teach and to learn, to preach and lead discussions that are meaningful and enable us all to grown.

I promise to do Tikkun Olam, gathering the sparks together, in myself, with our community and the wider world so that the world will be a better place.

What I want from you is similar

To listen openly, attentively and honestly

To laugh at my mistakes and help me correct them
To be patient, especially as I and my family settle in, again!
To create community where people feel welcomed, cared for and loved in a safe, non-judgmental space.

To become life long learners

To create meaningful observance, rituals and celebrations

To be willing to share deeply from yourselves to enrich all of us emotionally, spiritually and physically.

Nine months later, this is still what I think the terms of the covenant to be. And I would add, to be kind to one another. Being Jewish is hard work. The word Israel means G-dwrestler. For some of these deep questions there are no right or wrong answers. As we wrestle together, be kind. That is how we create holy space.

Then we will have created a partnership, a covenant, like G-d and the people of Israel. Then together we will find joy. When I was here for the demo weekend a little over a year ago, I did something I didn’t do anywhere else. We were coached not to get too attached anywhere we went, after all, we might not get the job. I know. I was a bridesmaid six times, never the bride. But here I felt comfortable. So I broke my own rules. I bought something from the Sisterhood gift shop. There were these kippot from Guatemala. How often do you see Judaica from Guatemala? You see I have a son-in-law from Guatemala and in my last congregation an entire family from Guatemala converted to Judaism because it was meaningful to them. I knew from that kippah that you were living out your vision that I share with you of embracing diversity. I bought three kippot and a necklace from Wanda. They are a comfortable fit and I wear them proudly tonight.

When I went back to Boston recently, I managed to sneak up to Ogunquit, a little town on the coast that I love. In Ogunquit there is a certain flat rock, right on the waters edge. It seems each of the major life decisions have been made on that rock—whether to get married, have a child, to go to rabbinical school, which rabbinical school, how to finish school, which job to take, even whether to move to Elgin. This time there were no major decisions to make. But sitting on that rock.

I know that it was the right decision to come to Elgin, for me, for my rabbinate, for my family. Last night I had a quiet moment to myself. In a parking lot of a restaurant I went back to my car. There, between the raindrops was a rainbow. Glorious in the late afternoon sun. For me, it was an affirmation of what I already knew from sitting on the rock in Oqunquit. This is the right place.

People’s lives are complex. Everyone experiences joy and pain. That is part of what makes us human. How we respond to that suffering is what makes us G-dlike. If despite the obstacles we can live our lives with passion, play out our dreams, then we find joy, at the break of day as light is sown. But not in a vacuum. Only if we act justly and righteously.

So my message to you is simple. Take your own refrigerator magnets. Recombine them. Find your passion, follow your dreams and make the world a better place. In doing so, find joy.

“By the waters, the waters of Babylon, we sat down and wept, and wept for thee Zion….”

Or this one….

“Anatevka, Anatevka.
Underfed, overworked Anatevka.
Where else could Sabbath be so sweet?
Anatevka, Anatevka.
Intimate, obstinate Anatevka,
Where I know everyone I meet.

Soon I’ll be a stranger in a strange new place,
Searching for an old familiar face
From Anatevka.

I belong in Anatevka,
Tumble-down, work-a-day Anatevka.
Dear little village, little town of mine”

Or this one:

“I want to go back to Michigan,
To dear Ann Arbor town,
Back to Joe’s and the Orient,
And back to some of the money I spent,
I want to go back to Michigan,
To dear Ann Arbor town,
I want to go back; I got to go back,
To Michigan.”

What is it that makes people nostalgic? Is nostalgia good? What about when we see it in Fiddler on the Roof? Does any one of us really want to go back to the shtetl lifestyle?

And yet, and yet, that is exactly what happens in this week’s parsha. Maybe even more so. The Israelites start complaining bitterly. Quite frankly they k’vetch and they keep right on k’vetching. It is a long k’vetch. From the moment they left Egypt. They didn’t want to walk through the Sea of Reeds when it parted. Didn’t want to get their feet muddy. They didn’t have enough water. Even after Moses struck the rock twice.
They didn’t want to hear G-d’s voice at Mount Sinai—Moses should go up for them. They didn’t want to wait for Moses to come back down. Aaron should build for them a golden calf. They were called a stiffnecked and stubborn people.

How many of us have started days with this phrase, “I don’t want to?” go to work, go to school, exercise, whatever.

That’s what this week’s portion is about. Let’s look at it. Chapter 11. The people took to complaining bitterly before the Lord. Then the Lord gets angry. The people cry out to Moses.
The riffraff in their midst felt a gluttnous craving. And then the Israelites wept and said, “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt. The cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic.

Really? They want to go back to Egypt, where they were slaves for the garlic? Don’t get me wrong, I love garlic, but back to slavery so I can eat it? Not sure. This is the problem with nostalgia. We remember the good and forget the bad. And let’s remember, being a slave was not good. Slavery came with reduced food supplies, beatings, working seven days a week, not being able to reproduce. The Egyptians, as the Haggadah says, embittered our lives.

Let’s look carefully at this language for today. Back to where the fish was free? How is it that the fish was free? Isn’t there a cost to slavery? Did the Egyptians really give the Israelites free food or did they have to work for it? The midrash teaches that it was free of moral obligations, like an infant who is fed without expecting anything in return. (Sifrei)

And that seems to be the real issue. The Israelites are acting like children. They cried, They missed the food they ate in Egypt, not because it was good but, , because it’s what they were used to, Moses uses the language of parenting to describe the issues to G-d. He didn’t give birth to them, he can’t nurse them. They are crying and he can’t feed them. He wants to die. In fact, like many worn out mothers he is tied of the question, “What’s for dinner.” Calgon take me away!

This is not really about the Israelites need for food. They have plenty of manna. And according to the midrash, manna could taste like anything you could imagine, whether that is the melons, garlic, onions and fish of Egypt or anything we can dream up. It seems like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory bubble gum. But like Violet, who imagines the taste of blueberries and then becomes one, the Israelites need to be juiced. They have regressed so far and want to go back to the foods they remember from their youth. They want to go back to Egypt where someone else will take care of them

All too often prisioners commit crimes so they can go back to jail where someone will take care of them. The Bureau of Justice Statistics reports that approximately 67% (or two-thirds) of offenders who were released in the year 1994 were arrested again within three years. Why? Is it just that they are bad apples? For some, yes, but for others, they don’t know how to survive on the outside. They, like the slaves in Egypt, were used to being spoon fed, literally. No matter how difficult prison was they want three square meals a day and a roof over their heads. They are willing to sacrifice their freedom for that sense of security.

The Israelites discovered that freedom wasn’t necessarily easy. It comes with responsibilities. It comes with the need to work for themselves and without a task mastter to keep them in line. They would have to collect the manna—in that sense even though it fell from the heavens, it wasn’t free. They would have to work for it. They would have to live by a system of laws that they hadn’t tottlay bought into yet. And yes, they were nostalgic. They missed the flavorful food of Egypt, the food of their youth. Onions, leeks, garlic. Cucumbers and melons. Food that was just given to them, for free.

Let’s think about those vegetables. What do you notice? What do they have in common? How do they contrast with the seven species of Israel? Pommegranites, olives, dates, grapes, figs?

David Arnow, in his book Creating Lively Passover Seders, points out one of the differences between the foods they long for from Egypt, cucumbers, leeks, garlic, onions and melons are all annuals. They have to be replanted each year. They require constant labor and are only a short-term solution to people’s hunger. It is a band-aid approach. Grapes, figs and pomegranates are perennials—plant them once and they produce for many, many years. They also take several years before they mature and bear fruit. They are a longer-term, more dependable solution to people’s hunger. Carob, another of those Israeli fruits takes 70 years to mature. Honi the Circle Drawer was planting carob and was asked why since he would not be around to harvest any for his own use. He answered, as my ancestors planted for me, I am planting for my children and grandchildren.

American Jewish World Service goes on to make this point: This distinction between the characteristics of foods of slavery and foods of freedom can shed light on the contemporary debate around foreign food aid. While most of the food aid that the United States currently donates to countries facing famine and natural disaster is produced in the United States and shipped abroad, President Obama’s recently proposed budget advocates a more flexible approach in which food would be purchased locally, in the region where the need exists. It seems like organizations such as Heifer International that provides microfinancing so that people can be self-sustaining really do make sense.

To me this becomes an interesting concept. Maimonidies teaches the eight levels of tzedakah the highest level of which is to help someone become self-sufficient. Sometimes we say, give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.

Our community garden project that this synagogue has committed itself to, does several things. It teaches us to fish. It calls attention to this problem of global hunger and puts a face to it locally. There are 19,000 food inecure people in Elgin. There is a higher percentage of students on subsidized lunch and breakfast programs in U46 than any other district in Illinois. The two schools closest in proximiety to us have over 90% on subsidized meals. The needs are staggering. Our planting and harvesting, G-d willing will help. But since we are planting annuals, even onions and leeks, cucumbers, tomatoes and peppers, it will still be a band-aid approach.

We at Congregation Kneseth Israel spent a week working at Food for Greater Elgin. For those of you who were not there, the warehouse is set up like a grocery store. Families and individuals receive a numbe based on the size of their famiy, then a grocery cart, which they push up and down the aisles, chosing exactly what they want to eat. I worked in the bread aisle. People were grateful, smiling, sharing recipes with one another. Young children ate snacks, read pre-school books. There did not seem to be much kvetching.

Was this manna? Quail? Should we be angry that people need assistance? That some maybe taking advantage of the opportunity?
Are there some people who stay on food assistance too long because it is easier? Because like the Israelites who missed Egypt, they want the free fish? Perhaps.

What is our obligation as Jews? We are commanded to feed the hungry. Our Passover seder says “Let all who are hungry come in and eat.” We are commanded to leave the corners of our field for the widow, the orphan, the stanger, the most vulnerable among us. We are doing precisely that as we expand our community garden program. When we give money to Mazon, the Jewish response to hunger, when we tax ourselves for our simchas, like Simon and I will do for installation next week, we are living out this vision.

But we have to do more than that. Whatever crop we are able to harvest from our garden, it will do little to feed the 19000 food insecure people in Elgin. We need to also work for systemic change. We need to understand why people are hungry. What are the root causes? Why are there people, even in our own community, who need to choose between heat, medicine and feeding themselves or their children. Is it about unemployment, underemployment, disability, age, education? It isn’t usually about people just wanting to kvetch or to take the easy road.

This week I will go to a training for a new organization, the Fox Valley Initiative. I was a founding member of a similar organization in Lowell. In fact, I am proud it was incorporated on my dining room table. This new organization is beginning to identify those problems, like hunger, that we can make a real difference about, rather than whining about them. It aims to empower people so that they can feel an ownership and begin to have some control over their own lives and destinies. If anyone would like to join me, there are flyers in the back.

The Israelites whined, they kvetched. We all know how to do it. We all do it too often. G-d didn’t like their kvetching. G-d got really angry about it. We do it here too in the synagogue. I think we forget what our mothers taught us, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” Or its collolary, “Think before you speak.” There have been a number of people this year whose feelings have been hurt, intentionally or unintentionally because people whined or kvetched.They wanted to go back to the way things were. They didn’t want any change in the synagogue. They remembered nostalgically the Judaism of their youth or maybe of stories that their zayde used to tell. They didn’t have an understanding of where the synagogue leadership was going. They muttered behind peoples’ backs or sent emails or called and yelled on the phone. They kvetched. They are no different than the Israelites wandering in the desert.

Aaron and Miriam also kvetched in this parsha. What’s more, in this portion, they tattled. They ran to G-d to tell on their brother. As the text says, “They spoke against Moses.” They bore a tale to G-d about Moses because he married a Cushite woman. Horrors! Even Moses, our greatest prophet was in an interfaith marriage?! They thought that maybe G-d didn’t already know this? But that was not the real issue in the text. They wanted to be recognized for their own leadership as well. They were jealous of Moses and the relationship he had with G-d, face to face. They wondered aloud, “Has the Lord spoken only through Moses? Has G-d not spoken through us as well?”

The Hebrew is interesting, it is va-t’tadabber, feminine singular. It would appear as though Miriam is the only one speaking, and therefore it is Miriam alone who gets punished. Is this a case of the original Mean Girls? Is it just that as we know from watching toddlers and middle school girls play that a threesome is hard? Is this another case where they should have thought before they spoke? G-d brought all three together to announce the punishment. G-d came down at the entrance of the tent of meeting and spoke to all three together.

Miriam is punished. She winds up with a disease that might be like leprosy. Some skin disease or rash. But an amazing thing happens. The text tells us that Moses is a humble man, the humblest man on earth and he did not defend himself automatically. Instead, Moses prays for his sister Miriam, El Na Rafana La. It is a very simple prayer, G-d please heal her. He uses his power of speech for good.

This congregation needs some healing still. We need to be more like Moses, using our power of speech for good rather than incure the rath of G-d by kvetching. We can do this, use our speech to heal instead of hurt.

I want my garlic, my onions, my leeks. They add flavor to my life. There are days when I want to return to Boston. I need the perennials in my life too. Figs, dates, pommegranties, things that will sustain me year after year after year. The people of Elgin need garlic, onions, leeks, cucumbers, melons, our lettuce, kale, snap peas. Things that will feed them today. And we need to work for systemic change so that they can benefit from the perrienials. I will probably whine and kvetch again, but more and more I want to use the power of speech for good. If you catch me whining, stop me and remind me what I said this morning. I’ll do the same with you. Then we will be able to enter the promised land together.

My sermon for Shabbat Naso:

Today we celebrate our teachers, and our students. We have just finished celebrating Shavuot, the giving of the Torah at Sinai, and there are some important midrashim about how we all stood at Sinai, even those yet unborn. So all of us, even our children, and their children-to-be and their children-to-be. We learn that G-d created different sounds, different voices, even one for young children so they would not be frightened. We learn that when G-d was looking for a nation to give the Torah the Divine went to all the nations first. Then G-d went to the Israelites and asked what they would offer as their guarantor. What is a guarantor? Something that guarentees the promise. If you do x I will do y, but if you don’t do x as you promise then you will guarantee it with something worthwhile. Let’s listen in on this conversation:

Rabbi Meir said: When the Jews stood before Sinai to receive the Torah, G‑d said to them: “I swear, I will not give you the Torah unless you provide worthy guarantors who will assure that you will observe its laws.”
The Jews responded, “Master of the world, our forefathers, our ancestors, will be our guarantors!” “Your guarantors themselves require guarantors!” answered G-d.
“Master of the world,” the Jews exclaimed, “our prophets will guarantee our observance of the Torah.” “I have grievances against them, too. ‘The shepherds have rebelled against Me’ (Jeremiah 2:8),” G‑d replied. “Bring proper guarantors and only then will I give you the Torah.”
As a last resort, the Jews declared, “our children will serve as our guarantors!””They truly are worthy guarantors,” G‑d replied. “Because of them I will give the Torah.” (Midrash Rabba, Song of Songs 1:4)
Since our children are our guarentors, we have an obligation to teach them, to teach them diligently as we just read in the V’havata. V’shinatam l’vanecha, literally to set our children’s teeth on edge.

That is what our teachers do here, day in and day out. They make Judaism interesting and fun. They take an ancient tradition and make it relevant. They set our children’s teach on edge so that they ask questions. Much of Judaism is set up so that we will ask questions. My father’s definition of a Jew, you’ve heard me say this before—even as recently as last night is someone who questions thinks and argues. There is the old joke about the Jewish kid who comes home from school and the question the mother asks is not “What did you learn in school today?” but “What good question did you ask.

Children do this naturally. Why is the sky blue? Why do I have to go to bed? Why is this night different from all other nights? Why? Why? Why? There is a child-like innocence to what they are asking. They are naturally curious and want to know more. They accept the answers they are given. We as teachers, therefore, need to be very careful to give them answers that they won’t later need to reject.

We want them to understand their tradition. To learn about the range of religious observance. How to light Shabbat candles and make Kiddush, for sure, but also why we set Shabbat aside and make it holy. Why in this 24×7 culture we need a day for rest. That G-d worked very hard to create the world and then G-d rested. Even G-d needed rest.

We want them to learn to be ethical people, to be mensches. To not be mean. To not bully. We want them to be kind. In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man (Pirke Avot). To welcome the widow, the orphan, the stranger because we were strangers in the land of Egypt. To feed the hungry, clothe the naked, rejoice with the bride and groom, to console the bereaved. To become lifelong learners.

Another story teaches us about the role of Moses as teacher:

Rav Yehuda quoted Rav: When Moses ascended to the heights [to receive the Torah] he found God sitting and drawing crowns upon the letters. Moses said to God, “Master of the Universe, what is staying Your hand [from giving me the Torah unadorned]?”

God replied, “There is a man who will arise many generations in the future, his name is Akiva ben Yosef. He will interpret mound upon mound of halachot (laws) from each and every marking.”

Moses requested, “Master of the Universe, show him to me.” God said, “Turn backwards [and you will see him].”

Moses [found himself in R. Akiva’s classroom where he] sat at the back of the eighth row. He didn’t understand what they were talking about and felt weak. Then, they came to a matter about which the students asked Akiva, “Rabbi, how do you know this?” He told them, “It is the [oral] law given to Moses at Sinai.” Moses felt relieved. (Talmud Menachot 29b)

The children aren’t the only guarantors of the Torah. The adult who dedicates himself or herself to teaching the Torah to our children, to figuring out the answers to their questions, complicated questions like, “Who was Noah’s wife?” “What happened to the fish on Noah’s ark?” “Why is G-d so mean?, in asking about why G-d was willing to flood the earth or destroy Sodom and Gemorah. “What is the meaning of life?” “Why did the Holocaust happen?”

Last week our students looked at Pirke Avot, the Wisdom or the Ethics of our Fathers. It is traditional to study this between Passover and Shavuot, on Shabbat afternoon during the Omer. For some it is the first peace of Talmud we learn. Each student picked a verse that resonated with them. One of our students picked, “Acquire for yourself a friend, make for yourself a teacher.” Each student had to explain why what they found was important to him. This student looked up and said, because that is what we do here. Mr. Sternfeld is my teacher and these are my friends and my mother passes down this legacy to me, l’dor vador. I had planned to teach this verse if no one else picked it. I couldn’t have said it better. It is a great example of another piece of Talmud that I quote often: Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students. (Ta’anit 7a)

In the service there is a special Kaddish d’Rabbanan, the Scholar’s Kaddish said after a rabbi, a teacher, teaches something new. Open your siddurim to page 74. It is right there, early in the service. Debbie Friedman set it to music. I offer it on behalf of all our teachers, and their students.

“For our teachers and their students
And the students of the students.
We ask for peace and lovingkindness.
And let us say: Amen.
And for those who study Torah,
Here and everywhere,
May they be blessed with all they need,
And let us say: Amen.
We ask for peace and lovingkindness,
And let us say: Amen.”

Today in congregations around the Jewish world, we read Birkat HaCohanim, the priestly benediction. We said it last night for Anthony our newest member of the tribe. We say it on Friday nights as we bless our children. We use it at weddings, at B’nei Mitzvah. Some congregations use it as part of the Shabbat amidah. Some congregations let the hazzan do it. Others have a tradition of allowing the cohanim present to duchen, to bless the congregation with these important words. Some congregations don’t do that because it can make for more stratified congregation. There are two competing teshuvot by the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards carrying equal weight. That leaves the decision up to the rabbi, the mara d’atra, the master of the place. As far as I can tell, this congregation has not had the cohanim duchen, but in the spirit of life-long learning, I call up all of our cohanim to offer this special prayer together. A blessing is a reward. Something we receive if we’ve done well. Our teachers have done well, very very well. It is also a hope, something we hope for in the future. There could be no better blessing for those who we entrust with teaching our children, our precious legacy.

Yivarechecha v’yishmarecha. May G-d bless you and keep you. Guard you and watch over you.
Ya’er Adonai panav elecha v’chunecha, May G0d cause divine light to shine upon you and be gracious to you.
Yisa Adoani panav elecha v’yasem l’cha shalom. May G-d turn towards you and grant you peace. Now and forever, amen.

Today I am in New York. I flew in early this morning to attend the alumni professional development day and ordination of the newest group of rabbis from the Academy for Jewish Religion. Two of my dear friends, Rabbi Eliana Falk and Rabbi Julius Rabinowitz became rabbis today. Yesterday I wrote about the process of becoming. For Eliana, it was a journey. She started at the campus on 86th Street in Manhattan. She is the last of the 86th Street students and I have now passed the torch handed to me by Rabbi Alan Kay z’l of the student who took the longest to be ordained. In truth, the amount of time it takes does not matter. Life intervenes. This is, as I said yesterday, the public affirmation of what is already true. Each of the five rabbis ordained today was already a rabbi. Now we can officially call them rabbis and as Eliana said last absolutely glowing, was “This is amazing, totally awesome, beyond words,” as we hugged a cried.

Rabbi Julius Rabinowitz and I are both marathoners. We too hugged. We also found ourselves unable to speak in the moment except to compare the process to running a marathon and it is not clear to either of us which is harder. I have always wanted to run one more. My daughter and I had been talking about it the Friday before the Boston Marathon. We were actually looking at the Disney Princess Half Marathon. Then again we were talking about it the morning of the Boston Marathon. After the bombing there was no doubt where I would be next year. Julius said he is joining me. We could in fact field an entire AJR team with Rabbi Laurie Gold, Rabbi Julius Rabinowitz, Rabbi Doug Alpert and I am sure there are more. Training for a marathon is another example of a process. It begins with a single step, a great deal of persistence and dedication. Training to be a rabbi is a marathon. No question about it.

Being at ordination was terrific. I got to see old friends, see the new campus of the Academy in the Otis Elevator building in Yonkers, do some text study, buy a new kippah. From the moment I walked in with Simon in the middle of downpour, I felt welcome. “Welcome home,” Helene said. Later Rabbi Jeff Hoffman said the same thing, “Welcome home.”

The alumni meeting was interesting. Some students and alumni are still having a hard time finding jobs. I understand that. I am now one of the lucky ones. Others have become entrepreneurial rabbis. They are stringing things together and making it work but that can be much more stressful. Still others are wrestling with the high cost of health insurance, disability insurance and long term care. They wonder in the words of an old Peter Paul and Mary song, “Is the struggle worth the cost?” The song answers the question, “Don’t give up on the dream. Don’t you let it end. Carry on sweet survivor.”

The speaker, our Alumnus of the Year, Rabbi Chuck Lightner wonders about the long term health of liberal Judaism. He, himself, is consulting in Texas with a software company. The people there are very devout Christians and he thinks Christianity has a product, heaven and salvation, and we have a process. A process may not be very comforting. It requires work. Lots to think about. The discussion that followed was fascinating. We do have a product and that product may be the process, or it may be community or it may be G-d. It was very heartening.

Then came the centerpiece. Ordination itself. We processed in, ordinees, betei din, faculty, alumni and students. We looked resplendent in our black robes, kippot and tallitot.  The sign that hung over the bimah read “May your mouth speak wisdom and your tongue compose song.” Berachot 17a. That’s what we rabbis and cantors are, people who speak wisdom and sing. People who blend our traditions, rituals, laws with modernity and find the access ramps for others in the Jewish community. There were two lines (at least) that I turned to Rabbi Heidi Hoover sitting next to me and said…”I can use that. That would be good for installation.” But can I remember? No.

Later I went out for dinner with my chevruta parter, my very dear friend Rabbi Linda Shriner Cahn and her husband David. It was a free flowing, easy conversation about lots of topics. Our jobs, our kids, our perceptions of the Jewish community, our hopes for the future. We wound up sleeping at Linda and David’s home. I think Linda and I could have stayed up all night talking.

It was well worth taking the time and making the effort to be at ordination. A very, very special day. I leave New York more committed than ever to the kind of community we are trying to create in Elgin. I leave more committed than ever to being a rabbi, to being there rabbi.

If Day 42 was about counting, Day 43 for me was about becoming. I was proud to participate in a beit din, a Jewish court of law, to witness the becoming of seven new Jews. Three young children, four adults. Each one had a different story. Each one came to Judaism a different way.

When does someone become a Jew? For us, it is not a lighting bolt. For us it is a process, a slow process. There is study before hand. Some of these candidates studied with my colleague Rabbi Marc Rudolph for 20 sessions. My adult candidate had studied with me for nine months. Weekly. Others require a year or two.

Judaism requires a dip in a mikveh, the Jewish ritual bath, a circumcision and the appearance before the Beit Din. My candidate will be announcing his change in status at a very special service around Shavuot next week. He will stand in front of the open ark, hold the Torah, receive a blessing, his conversion certificate and proclaim the Sh’ma publicly as a Jew. He is, by his own choice and suggestion, adding the phrase, “Hayom ani yehudi. Today I am a Jew.”

At which moment does he become a Jew? When the circumcision is complete? When he dunks three times in the mikveh? When he proclaims the Sh’ma for the first time publicly as a Jew? When the certificates are signed? I am not sure there is a precise moment. It is a process.

Tomorrow I will go to ordination at the Academy for Jewish Religion. I am excited about this because three years out from my own, it marks a renewal of my becoming a rabbi. I return in a good place. I have a great job, one that I love, as a pulpit rabbi. Yes, I really am a pulpit rabbi despite some of the naysayers. Becoming a rabbi, like becoming a Jew is a process. At what point did I become a rabbi? When I entered rabbinical school? When I served as a student rabbi and people called me rabbi? When I completed the course work, passed all the comps and the ritual skills? When I dunked in the mikveh? When the smicha document was signed? When Rabbi Neil Kominsky blessed me on the bimah? Each of those moments were powerful experiences. No one moment made me a rabbi.

Marriage, like becoming a Jew or becoming a rabbi, is a change in status. It is a holy process where a couple is set apart, one for the other. It is also a process involving mikveh, a document, and the chuppah. In Hebrew the word for marriage is kiddushin, the same root as kadosh, holy. It is said that Shavuot, the anniversary of the Israelites standing at Sinai, is the wedding of the Jewish people and G-d. The Torah is the document. It too is a process. We all stood at Sinai, even those yet unborn.

Each of these public ceremonies is the public affirmation of what already is. Each of these ceremonies is poignant, meaningful, powerful. They each mark a change in status. I like what the three year old at the mikveh said. I asked her if she knew why she was there. She said, “Today I am getting a special bath.” I asked her if she knew why. She answered, “Today I am becoming more Jewish because I already am Jewish.” I think that is true for each of the new Jews we welcomed today, each of these new members of the tribe. It was a good day for Judaism. It was a good day for each of them. It was a good day for me. In the words of Rabbi Stephen Arnold, dean of the Boston rabbis, “May we not disappoint you. May we live up to your expectations so that as you continue the process of being Jewish you are proud to call yourself a Jew.” Ken yehi ratzon.

Yesterday was day 42. Some would say that 42 is the answer to everything. Others would quickly add something about Jackie Robinson. Today is about the sovereignty of bonding. The very foundation on which we stand.

It was also the night of the congregational election. Elections in any organization are a milestone, a chance to reflect on the past year and see how far we’ve come and where we want to go. There was a lot of discussion before the election about who is a member, who can vote. Does it mean someone who has met all their financial obligations? Someone who is Jewish? How is that defined? Do households get one vote for every adult or is it one vote per household? Are the bylaws clear? Why aren’t the bylaws clearer? Interpreting bylaws and their intention can be like interpreting Torah or the US Constitution. The discussions were healthy if heated and in the end the election was a non-issue, an almost nothing event.

For my d’var Torah, I talked about counting. This week’s Torah portion is the beginning of the book of Numbers because it starts with a census. We are to count each member of the tribe. Man, woman and children all count. We make our days count. We count the Omer. We count to make sure that we have a minyan, at least 10 righteous adults. We count. That is part of how we create a holy community.

Then I told the joke of my professor Rabbi Zlotowitz. One of his professors who was from Germany used to say to his class, “Boychiks, today we are going to study the basement of Judaism.” He had confused the words basement and foundation in Judaism. BUT, at some levels, word deliberately chosen, counting is the basement, the foundation. Without people who care about Judaism we should fold up our tents and go home. Without people who care about each other, then the synagogue will will cease to exist. Without people who work diligently, then the building will collapse literally into the basement. And we have people here who have spent lots of time in our basement lately, cleaning, sorting, rescuing, working on the pipes.

Before I came to Elgin, one of our members walked me around the block and with tears in his eyes talked about the need for his foundation to be firm. Paraphrasing, “I love Judaism and I am willing to bend, to blow in the breeze but I need to know that the rock I am standing on is firm. That it is not something else. That it is Judaism.”

This is the week where we study yesod, foundation, or bonding. Prke Aovt, the Wisdom of the Fathers,a part of the Talmud because it is seven chapters, many Jews study between Passover and Shavuot as part of the Omer period of seven weeks, Pirke Avot said it so well for this congregation (I used the quote yesterday in my blog.) Pirke Avot teaches, “Every assembly whose purpose is to serve G-d will, in the end be established. But every assembly whose purpose is not for G-d’s sake, will not in the end be established.
The word assembly, knesis, is the same root as kneseth, We are an assembly of Israel. We have stood up and been counted. We must keep our focus on the foundation of the assembly: On Torah, On Avodah, On Gemilut Chasidim. We must do this because as we serve each other and build community, a kneseth Israel, we are serving G-d. Then our foundation, our basement will remain firm.

Yesterday was day 41 of the counting of the omer. This whole period of the omer, the fifty days between the second night of Passover and Shavuot is a period of preparing, preparing to receive Torah. Yesterday I went to the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting. Rabbi Arthur Green who is the dean of the rabbinical school at Hebrew College was the speaker. He is excellent lecturer and teacher. He is a renown expert of Hasidim. He was teaching a Hasidic text about the receiving of the Torah. I, however, did not receive the handout so some of this is foggy.
And that was the point. The Torah was given to Moses and the people in a fog, a heavy cloud as the text says. The text we were studying (name of text at a latter date, remember I was in a fog) made the point that Moses could have received the Torah without the cloud, but because he would have to transmit it to the people it needed to be shrouded in stories and fables and parables. Some even think that the Torah was a blueprint for creation and existed before. Rabbi Larry Kushner in his book, The Book of Miracles, talks about this idea coming from Pirke de Rabbi Elizer 3. “I will use the Torah as a blueprint of creation and that way all the parts of the world will fit together and I and the Torah will be inside everything.”

People can only hear so much. Even the Israelites standing at the foot of Mount Sinai said to Moses, “You go up. You do this for us. It is too hard. It is too scary for us.” They even said “We will do and then we will hear.” How do you know what to do before you hear the commands, before you hear the instructions?” The midrash teaches that the voice of G-d was so powerful (see Psalm 29) that G-d created a voice for each person, even a special voice for young children. (Exodus Rabbah 5:9)

Some people are seekers. They want to draw close to G-d. They have a deep spiritual sense and a deep thirst. They want to understand. Some people are intellectual. They love to wrestle with text. To understand the nuance of every letter. To delve deeply into the halacha or the ritual. Some people are invested in the community. They like to gather. To have a glass of schnapps. To take care of one another. Any of these points can be entry points into the deeper meaning of life.

Some people just seem to drift a little. They are working very hard to stay ahead. There is little time to reflect, to meditate, to read, to join. They may draw comfort from the familiar, from the way we’ve always done things. They don’t want to be surprised or to have the Rock of their foundation rocked. They are happiest doing things they have always done without questioning. Recreating the Judaism of their youth or of their bubbe and zayde is what motivates them. They want us to be their Moses, doing Judaism for them.

Sometimes we are each all of these. Like the four children at Pesach. There is a place for each of them, for each of us.

Another interesting piece of the discussion with Rabbi Green was how we as rabbis teach this tradition. Do we set ourselves up as the only purveyors of truth? Is there only one truth? We have very knowledgeable congregants, highly educated and very aware. Do we “dumb down” the tradition? To what purpose? I know I try not to but I may be guilty with some.Do we prepare or use notes or do we make it look seamless. Do we risk being arrogant? Or like the Israelites do our congregants want us to be Moses, dealing directly with G-d. Do we risk carrying this metaphor too far? Do we take the veil off? Do our congregants want us to? What if some do and some don’t? How do we reach everyone’s needs?

Rabbi Green told a Hasidic story about a rebbe’s tisch, table, where he solicited a verse from each person and interpretted it. Each person felt heard and appreciated. It looked seamless. It looked like a continuation of the direct revelation of G-d.

Pirke Avot teaches, “Every assembly whose purpose is to serve G-d will, in the end be established. But every assembly whose purpose is not for G-d’s sake, will not in the end be established. This is the week in the counting of the omer is about bonding, about foundation. For all of us, even Moses, the Torah is veiled, but together we will receive it.

Yesterday was Day 40. It was a busy day, filled with the usual Sunday synagogue stuff. Bar Mitzvah student at 8:15AM, Hebrew School from 9-12. Then we had a shiva minyan/memorial service for the father of a young member. I’ve never done a shiva minyan with that many young children in attendance. We don’t teach life cycle at Congregation Kneseth Israel. We live life cycle. I hope that the service was of some comfort to this young mother of a 2 year old and a 5 year old who lost her father at age 54. Too young. Too young. The evening before when we were preparing this very special service, one person said to me, “I didn’t know a woman could say kaddish.”

In some places they can’t. Sometimes in Israel they can’t. Sometimes a woman can be arrested in Israel for wearing a talit or reading Torah. She can be beaten and kicked for wearing tefilin or sitting in the wrong part of some bus runs. Sometimes a woman can’t even receive an academic award. Shocking? I should say so. But unfortunately not news. Yesterday I presented about Women of the Wall, an organization I have supported since its inception in 1981, to the Central Great Lakes Region of the Women’s League of Conservative Judaism. I was excited to present late breaking news that a judge in Israel, an Orthodox Jew himself had ruled that women do have a right to worship at the Wall how they see fit. Today, unfortunately there is even later breaking news over turning his decision and putting the law of holy places back to 1981 which forbids citizens to pray in ways that are “contrary to the local custom”. The term “local custom” has failed to be defined in the 22 years since passing the addendum to the law, thus the need for legal clarity. To say I am disappointed is an understatement. You see for me, this is very, very personal. In 1981 when I lived in Israel I was attacked by Israeli soldiers. They told me I was worse than Hitler, sitting around my swimming pool in Brooklyn not doing anything to help the Jewish people survive. They, on the other hand, they screamed at me, were spilling Jewish blood to save Jewish lives. My rabbi in Israel at the Orthodox yeshiva I was studying in explained the attack as G-d’s punishment. You see, I am a woman who wanted to be a rabbi and women can’t.
I began to learn the halacha that goes with the usual injunctions. I thought I wouldn’t have to use this knowledge again. I thought we were past this. But apparently we are not. Even with some Orthodox groups now ordaining women (one is leaving Chicagoland for Montreal, her husband rabbi proudly announced at the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting this morning that he will be a rebbetzin in Montreal)
I keep going over and over these arguments. Am I torturing myself? Maybe. Am I trying to justify myself and prove that I am authentic? Maybe. Does it matter? Certainly. So for the record, here we go again.
Kol isha–the voice of a woman, In three separate places in the Talmud it says that a man cannot hear a woman sing because of the sexual nature of a woman’s voice. (Berakhot 24a, Kidushin 70a, and Sota 48a), Berakhot 24a likens a woman’s voice to nakedness based on a verse in Song of Songs, “For your voice is sweet and your countenance comely.” This gets very complicated but that is the root of the issue. Rabbis through the centuries have tried to interpret the exact meaning here and there are lots of essays and rulings about this topic. For me, I find it difficult to believe that a woman’s voice–my voice, spoken or sung, could be that alluring.

How can a woman read Torah? Won’t she pass any impurity to the Torah scroll if she is menstruating? My understanding is that the issue was not whether she would pass impurity to the scroll, but that even though a woman or a child could be called up to the Torah for an aliyah it was considered unsightly because it might offend the honor of the congregation. What does that mean? Rabbis explain this as saying that a woman actually had time to practice and was better at it then the men who worked all day so she could show up a male Torah reader. It is about not embarrassing someone in public. What I learned working at Mayyim Hayyim, the community mikveh and education center in Newton, is that a person cannot pass impurity to the water of the mikveh. And that impurity is not the best translation. I prefer their formulation of ritually ready. So as my high school students suggested last year, if everyone, male or female goes to the mikveh prior to services at the Kotel, then no one would be ritually impure. An interesting suggestion.

A woman is not obligated to the positive time-bound mitzvoth. There are several explanations of that–we are either spiritually superior to men so we don’t need the structure OR we are too busy running the household, nursing a baby etc that we don’t have time to preform the time bound mitzvot. Specifically there are seven commandments that fall in this category: listening to the shofar, sitting in the sukkah, waving the lulav, wearing tzitzit and hence talit, wearing tefilin, saying Sh’ma in the morning and evening and counting the omer. While we are exempt, it doesn’t mean we can’t. The Talmud teaches: Women, slaves, and minors are exempt from the obligation (to fulfill the mitzvot)of the recitation of the Sh’ma (keri’at Sh’ma) and of t’fillin, but they are obligated to fulfill (the mitzvot of) prayer,mezuzah, and the recitation of the grace after meals (birkat hamazon). (Berachot 3.3)

You may be saying to yourself, huh? Obligated to pray and to recite birkat hamazon but not to say Sh’ma? How does that work? Now you are experiencing the joys of Talmudic logic. It gets even more complicated when it wonders whether someone not obligated (a woman, a child or slave) can fulfill the mitzvah for someone who is obligated (a male).

“Women, slaves and minors are exempt from the recitation of Sh’ma and from tefilin but are obligated for the Amida prayer, mezuza and birkat hamazon.” (Berachot 3:3). This is familiar territory for me, part of the Talmud sugiya that was on my rabbinical school comprehensive exam. I had argued it, puzzled over it and ultimately passed a test about it–but despite the rabbis attempts to explain it in the Gemara and in the other commentaries it does not make sense on the surface. If you argue that Sh’ma and tefilin are time bound so that women don’t need to do them, then what about birkat hamazon and the amidah? Aren’t these also time bound? If you argue that women are obligated in mezuzah shouldn’t they be in tefilin since the commandment is in the same passage of Deuteronomy?

Maimonides writes that women are permitted to perform the mitzvah but should not say the blessing, since they are not obligated and the blessing contains the phrase, “who commanded us.” Rambam wrote: “Women, slaves, and minors are exempt from tzitzit from the Torah…Women and slaves who want to wrap themselves in tzitzit may do so without a berakha. And so too with other such mitzvot from which women are exempt: if they want to perform them without a berakha, one does not protest” (Hilkhot Tsitsit 3:9).However, both the Rashba and Rabbenu Tam hold that they should say the berachot because of Michal. TThe Rashba (1235-1310 Spain) specifically said in a teshuva (responsum): “I agree with those who say that if they desire they can do all such mitzvot and recite the blessings, on the basis of Mikhal bat Shaul who used to wear tefillin and they did not protest; indeed she did so with the approval of the sages (kirtzon hakhamim) and by the nature of the matter since she puts on tefillin she blesses” (Teshuva 123).

So fast forward, what do we do with this today? If you need even more details I encourage you to peruse the JOFA.org site. They have most of the halacha spelled out very clearly. Knowing the halacha helps refute some of the misinformation and misunderstandings that have been handed down from generation to generation and that I still hear today, like the woman who thought that a woman could not say Kaddish.

The Conservative Movement has championed the equality of men and women in our synagogues. We have mixed seating, we allow to be counted in the minyan, to have an aliyah, to read from the Torah, to even be ordained as rabbi. We teach boys about tefilin before their Bnei Mitzvah but not so much the girls. We require boys at Schecter schools and Camp Ramah to put on tefilin but not necessarily the girls. I agree with Rabbi Joshua Cohen writing on the USCJ website http://www.uscj.org/Women_and_Tefillin7649.html that until we require the girls to as well, the Conservative Movement will not achieve the equality of the sexes that has been a hallmark of its tradition.

So this is where I come out–a woman is obligated to pray because as the Talmud text says it brings us, all of us, comfort. Women have prayed out loud–Miriam sang at the shores of the sea, Hannah prayed in the temple, Ruth enjoined Naomi to join her (the very text we will read for Shavuot). Esther found her voice through fasting and prayer and the encouragement, cajoling and begging of Mordechai, Michal, daughter of the Cushite wore tefilin and the sages did not protest.” (Eruvin 96a) In another place it states that Michal, daughter of King Saul laid tefilin.” Rashi’s daughters wore tefilin, one blew shofar and one became a mohel. While some have argued that the evidence that Rashi’s daughters wore tefilin may be shaky, other women of the time period did. Other women in the time period did.  Fazonia, the first wife of Rabbi Haim ben Attar, wore tallit and tefillin, as did Rabbi Haim’s second wife. The Maid of Ludomir (Hanna Rachel Werbermacher) in the 19th century also wore tefillin. Jewish women have written prayers and spoken prayers for centuries. We have collections of tekhinot, women’s prayers on women’s issues.

As someone who has worked on the front lines of preventing domestic violence in the Jewish community, it is never OK to assault a woman, especially a woman who is trying to express her spirituality and draw close to G-d. Period. Women’s voices are not disturbing the peace. Women wearing a talit, a kippah or tefilin are not a violation of Jewish law. Period. Women should not be arrested for any of these seeming offenses.

I am proud that I was chosen to speak at the regional convention yesterday.  The women I spoke with yesterday were enthusiastic and knowledgeble. Some have even had the privilege of davenning with the Women of the Wall. Some have Rosh Hodesh Groups in their Conservative synagogues. Sometimes I feel like I am Esther. The plot of the Book of Esther changes when Mordechai says to Esther, “Who knows, perhaps you have attained your royal position for just this reason. Perhaps you are in this place for just this reason.” May each of us find our voice–as did Esther, Devora, Hannah, Ruth, and Miriam, all who found their voices.

My D’Var Torah and Discussion for Shabbat Bechukotei and New Member Shabbat

“Membership has its privileges” it is a phrase we all know from the iconic American Express ad. When I went to look for it online, a quick google search revealed lots of images for this phrase, from a newer ad campaign for the Boys and Girls Clubs, to various churches to other youth organizations, health, golf and country clubs.

What does it mean to belong?
To be accepted
To have privileges
To be able to use the pool
To be part of a group

Is membership a privilege? How?
Because you can do things you couldn’t do if you were not a member
Because you have rights as a member of the group
But you also have responsibilities and obligations

Last night was New Member Shabbat. We had 6 of our new families represented. Several had previous commitments. What do you think their expectations are in joining a shul? What are any of our expectations? Why join? Why did you join?
Community
A sense of home, belonging, being comfortable
A place to raise kids, teach kids Jewish tradition
A place to learn
Because I have friends here
Because I have to
Because my family has always belonged
A place to say Kaddish
Because I am a Jew
I don’t know

Anthony is about to become a “Member of the Tribe”. What does that mean? Why do we use that term? Why do people choose to become Jewish?
For marriage
Because it feels right
To give meaning to life
Because no other religion felt as comfortable or was what I believe
To be closer to G-d

I have probably said this before, but that is because words and their etymology fascinate me. The word religion comes from the Latin, “Religio”, to tie back up into. What does that mean? What are we trying to tie back up into?
Our families of origin
The feeling of being loved
Recreating the experience of Sinai
A sense of the Divine presence

Today we read the very last chapter of Leviticus. At the end of the reading we will all stand and say together, Chazak, Chazak v’nitchazek, Be strong, Be Strong and Be Strengthened.

But before we get to that, we will read this very last chapter. It is essentially the Biblical dues structure. Being a member of the tribe not only comes with privileges but also responsibilities. What are those responsibilities?
Paying dues
Giving 700% of your time
Not just dues, time, talent, skills
Pitching in when the shul needs help
Supporting one another as friends
Making sure there is a minyan

Have you ever been to a restaurant where the kids pay for their children’s meal based on what they weigh?

This chapter is like that. The chapter outlines the monetary commitment each member must make. It is costly to maintain the Sanctuary and each person, man, woman and child must pay their worth in silver. How do we measure the life of a person? The insurance industry has all kinds of ways to do that. Actuary tables. How much is your earning power? How much longer will you live? As Eitz Chayyim points out our society values rich people more than poor people, economically productive people more than less productive, fertile women more than childless women (it forgets to point out that is true in Torah too—think of all the barren women who felt in order to be worthy they needed a child!), clever and attractive people more than others. However, in G-d’s temple, people are evaluated “by the sanctuary weight, b’shekel ha-kodesh” Somehow giving silver to the Sanctuary is holy!

If you don’t have silver, kesef, for your sanctuary weight, you can give animals or land. If you can’t make the dues payment you can go before the high priest and an adjustment will be made. Even in the time of the Torah they had people who couldn’t pay their dues–but they still belonged!

We are in the middle of counting, counting the omer. We have been counting every day—well almost. We are at Day 39. Numbers, the next book we read teaches us to number our days. So does the Psalms. The musical Rent asks “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes…how do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?

How about love?

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

How do we measure a life? In holy gifts we bring to the synagogue. In being a member. In standing up and being counted. In coming together to make a holy community, in being Kneseth Israel, an Assembly of Israel.