What I Did (am doing?!) On My Summer "Vacation"

In the course of my rabbinical studies I have already been gifted with amazing opportunities and experiences. This summer as I study in Jerusalem at the Steinsaltz Yeshiva, however, one of the most intense of these experiences has arisen -- I was invited to sing with the choir at the Great Synagogue of Jerusalem for Selichot and the High Holy Days.

Well, streaming vids are worth several terabytes worth of words, so I am posting a link to a video here -- sorry, I cannot imbed it and the site is all Hebrew -- that might help shed a little light on the nature of the experience.

Several groups filmed Selichot this year at the Great Synagogue -- the sound is not great but certainly gives a little idea as to the nature of the music. For those of you that are not Jewish, and maybe even for some that are, this might be a bit of an alien experience. This video is 25 edited minutes from a 3 hour service that lasted until 1 in the morning (and unfortunately does not contain the early part of the service with the best choir music.) The music is about 50% improvised, with the truly brilliant choir director (and composer and/or arranger of much of the music) Elli Jaffe listening to the prayer improvisations on the Cantor and then giving pitch cues to the choir as to how to accompany him. From the vantage of this video, you can easily hear some of the more simple cues that were given. As a choir member, this means that the level of focus that must be maintained is quite high -- even within the written pieces there is a huge amount of improvisation.

Hopefully I'll write more about the choir as the High Holy Days progress. In the meantime, enjoy. For those looking, you can find me to the right of the tall balding bass in the foreground to the right of the conductor -- my black kippah contrasts something fierce with my gray hair -- and yes I am one of those men singing the very low notes.

Shana Tova to all.

Getting High Holy Day Tickets in Berlin

I arrived in Berlin on October 16, 2008 and all of my stuff (including our ketubah) several months later. I think it was as late as February -- I have blocked such unpleasantries from memory -- leading to some speculation among friends as to whether or not it had been taken by pirates off the Somali coast. Anyhow, Paul and I waited diligently for our ketubah before making our way to the Oranienburger Strasse offices of the Jewish Community of Berlin on May 26, 2009 to try and become members. Clutching our conversion certificates, passports, letters from Beth Am in Seattle and, of course, our ketubah, we waited in a lonely east Berlin corridor to see the membership gatekeeper (no names will me mentioned here to spare the innocent).

Despite rumors to the contrary, we found her quite pleasant and willing to help us get our coveted blue membership cards. We had only forgotten our birth certificates, and the ketubah wasn't even necessary. Wonderful. We faxed in the documents on May 27 and waited with baited breath.

After several months passed I was wondering whether Somali pirates might have our membership cards somewhere.

Then we got an email explaining that our conversion certificates from the US Reform Movement (no problem naming names here!) didn't mention our mikveh or Paul's circumcision. We were furious but moved beyond that, thanks to the grace of the presiding rabbi.

Soon it was August and I still was not in possession of the cards. After a great deal of emailing, they arrived at the end of the month - just in time!

Then I called a secretary of Paul's school to find out if I could get student discount tickets. She referred me to another administrator who isn't Jewish and actually didn't know. Someone eventually told me to go to the Fasanenstrasse offices of the Jewish community. This was last week. I walked past the obligatory security here in Berlin to a couple of lovely women who told me that since I was a new member and hadn't ordered tickets in advance I couldn't get them until today (September 9).

At that point I became quite nervous because I felt faced with the prospect that the tickets in my price range might sell out before I could get them - like a rock concert! I told one of the women that I was concerned about affordability and she suggested that I go back to the Oranienburger Strasse and talk with a woman at social services, which I did yesterday.

She was the most relaxed person I have ever seen in any administrative position in the community in Berlin. She listened to me, got on the phone and called the Fasanenstrasse and had them hold me the best 30 Euro tickets available (ok, so not as expensive as a rock concert...). I breathed a sigh of relief, and am, after breakfast, going there to pick up the frackin hardest pair of High Holy Day tickets to get in the frackin world.

Musings from the Yeshiva

I have been thinking a lot recently about the old New Age maxim that we create our own reality. This is a thought form that has existed in many guises throughout history, but hit the global collective conscious in the 60s. The only problem is that we didn’t really create are own reality – all the wonderful energy that went into this seems to have been somehow either misplaced or re-directed into the desire to create the reality of acquisition. Either way, the concept has been nagging at me recently and demanded my consideration.

As one who has struggled my entire life with at times paralyzing amounts of self criticism, I have to lay my own challenge to the maxim. On the one hand, the idea of creating one’s own reality is freeing. It means that once we begin the process of challenging and questioning with the hope of living a conscious life-- as opposed to the birth-default mode of living life purely through the will and pattern of tribe/family/faith into which “chance” brought us—we may have the possibility of willing or imaging ourselves out of the various bondages we find ourselves in. On the other hand, when – as is the usual case – we wake up and find that the bondage has been shifted and renamed rather than obliterated, the temptation to give up on the imaginings is high.

These thoughts are of course nothing more than a horrifyingly simplistic jab at a huge topic. Acknowledging that, let me try bringing in some thoughts from Jewish mystical perspectives and see what happens . . .

One of the great revelations of Lurianic Kabbalah was to describe a two-way affective relationship between the unknowable eternal aspect of G-d (Ayn Sof) and man. The system, admittedly simplified, says that creation is a continual process that manifests more clearly (from humankind’s perspective) as it moves through the archetypal manifestations of G-d – the Sefirot – until at last the full emet (truth) of G-d is hidden behind the physical constructs and shapes of this world that make this world accessible. In essence, if we were able to see the truth of G-d – that is, G-d not hidden on the other side of created physical reality – there could be no free will. Free will is predicated on not existing on the same level as G-d. To put it another way, if we define G-d as pure truth and we were undifferentiated from this pure truth we would not be able to do anything other than that which was defined by pure truth. Once we separate – create a boundary – put something into a shape -- it can act outside of pure truth since it is no longer a part of nothing-more-than-pure-truth.

In the Lurianic cosmology, a result of this process of creation was that an aspect of G-d, the Shekhina – G-d’s presence and the archetypal sacred feminine – was forced into exile. Put another way, in the same way that humankind cannot fully “know” G-d and still be a unique creation, in order for an aspect of G-d to be accessible to creation (present within the boundaries of creation) G-d had to separate an aspect of G-d’s self from G-d’s self. This way of imagining G-d, then, is also key to understanding the answers to Theodicy within mystical Judaism—the distance and separation from G-d that allows for creation also then allows creation to be corruptible—things wear out, break down, become diseased, and through the necessary agency of free will move either closer to or further away from the unknowable Ayn Sof.

A core principle then of Lurianic Kabbalah is that prayer and sacred duties (the mitzvoth) with the proper focus and intention (kavanah) act to re-unify G-d with G-d’s self. An imperfect light from the eternal perfection of the unknowable reaches humankind fractured.

Luria’s revelation, put simply, is that as G-d influences us, we as well influence G-d. This should not necessarily be understood as the equivalent of casting a spell or praying for a new bike, but rather as performing sacred acts – in Jewish tradition epitomized as Torah, Avodah (prayer and sacred effort), and Gemilut Chassidim (acts of loving kindness – ethical behavior – works.) This can be seen very abstractly, for example, as focusing within specific prayers upon the unification of G-d (the details of which deserve a different post.) It could also be understood psychology—daily attempting to reconcile the parts of ourselves that we hide from ourselves and others (Jung’s shadow) in order to create a unified (individuated) whole. It can also, however, be understood very practically. Think simply of the emotional difference of the experience of someone letting you merge in bad traffic and someone making a great show of not letting you merge, although it gains them little more than 5 seconds of drive time. What happens in your body and thoughts and emotions in each experience or any other analogous experience? What are you more likely to do or how are you more likely to behave in each incident and in the moments that follow? And then the people that you affect – what are they more likely to do and pass on to the next with whom they physically or energetically interact? Now take that to the realm of what we pass on in yet more resonant events – raising of children, mourning with the bereaved, celebrating with bride and groom, making sure that in wealthy nations people with no health insurance have access to the healing resources of that wealthy society . . . pass it on, pay it forward – which tangible life activities and focuses and intentions within that activity “unify” society – ourselves – G-d? There really doesn’t have to be anything mystical about this.

So back to the original thought. . . .

Although I may be ultimately limiting myself, and I certainly leave room to change my mind on this, let me try this formulation: We are able to create our own reality within the larger framework of a world that needs healing and unifying. Or—we create our own reality within the limitations—seen and unseen—known and unknown—that we place upon ourselves through not forgiving, through blaming others, through not living in the present, by acting destructively, by not being self-aware, by not acknowledging that the other is as important in divine reality as we are, by creating the “other” in the first place . . .

I think I am trying to say that within the contemplation of my own continuous and numerous failures, the waving of the magic wand and the thought in the morning that I “create my own reality” is not an answer. The answer is, creating my own reality means more clearly seeing the larger reality without illusions – without myself getting in the way. In Jewish tradition, this means working through Torah, Avodah, and Gemilut Chassadim to break down the barriers between me and G-d (that is to say between me and those around me as well as me and the unknowable source.) In practical life that means I create my own reality be everyday participating in the unending act of creation—living each day consciously and deliberately within rational ethical acts that pay forward the constructive rather than the destructive.

Backyard Terror

I haven't known what to write about the latest incident of "tractor terror" in Jerusalem this past week. The first one took place near the open-air market that both Sandra and I frequented, and the violation of one of my "homes" affected me. But the latest one took place one block from HUC in one direction and ended one block from where Sandra and I lived in the other direction. So rather than try to address it, I want to share the words of the Dean of the HUC Jerusalem campus (and one of the finest gentlemen I have ever had the pleasure of learning from) that were posted in the Jerusalem post.

Reform Reflections: Life and death on King David street

Posted by Rabbi Michael Marmur

For much of my adult life I have studied, taught and worked on King David Street in Jerusalem. It is certainly no ordinary work address. World leaders stay there - in recent months we have played host to Bush, Blair, then Bush again, Blair, Rice, Blair Carter, Sarkozy, Blair (I'm beginning to think that man has nothing better to do), Brown, Mc Cain, Obama - and that doesn't do justice to the tens of less famous officials - Fishing Ministers from Ruritania and Tax Inspectors from Uzbekhistan.

Then there are the Life Cycle Events. Families compete with each other to hold the most opulent and often gaudy events: barmy Bar Mitzvahs, wild weddings, and far from circumspect circumcisions. And let's not forget the welcome crush of tourists, staying in comfort and often returning home with some expensive artifacts purchased at one of our street's many upscale emporia. More hotels are on the way, along with a plethora of swanky apartment buildings aimed at visionaries and speculators.

It is perhaps a surprise that one of the street's most famous and significant landmarks is the YMCA, an oasis of dialogue and culture and encounter and health. If you've never been, you owe it to yourself to drink in the architectural attractions, climb to the top of the tower, and stop off for a Pilates class at the same time. Jews and Arabs (both Muslim and Christian) feel at home at the YMCA.

Over the last years King David Street has also played host to the Annual Gay Pride parade. Visitors to similar events might mistake the throng of men dressed in police uniform walking by the YMCA as some kind of hommage to the Village People, but in our city's parade they are actually policemen, on hand in order to protect the crowd from the taunts of those who combine theological certainty with personal insecurity.

A variety of Jewish institutions grace the street: on avenues nearby some of the most important foundations and philanthropic agencies are to be found. AIPAC is across the street. The Gesher Institute is opposite my own institution, the Hebrew Union College, and our campus plays host to Merkaz Shimshon and Bet Shmuel - the world headquarters of the Reform Movement. In recent years an Ultra-Orthodox Yeshiva has opened up in close proximity. With the international center of Conservative Judaism a couple of blocks away, we are arguably situated in the most denominationally diverse address in the Jewish world. It is truly the High Street of the Jewish People.

The street is no stranger to acts of violence. The most spectacular and deadly event took place back in 1946, with the notorious attack on the street's most famous eponymous hotel. 45 years later, a planned suicide bombing succeeded in killing the man with the explosive jacket, but no innocent victims. And now, earlier this week, King David Street saw the second example in as many weeks of Tractor Terror. A man driving a construction vehicle started ramming and squashing vehicles, although he was killed before he managed to kill anyone else.

Five of my students were in close proximity to the attack this week. Four of the College's Israeli students were enjoying a break at a local café, and were afforded a grandstand view of the grim and swift proceedings. More directly still, one woman recently arrived from the US on our Year in Israel Program found herself directly behind the tractor. As soon as the gunshots began to ring out she took cover behind a tree. Once the emergency was over, she dusted herself off and went to her apartment. When I saw her soon after she was shaken but not stirred, and we spent some time talking about her road to the Rabbinate. For her and hundreds of others, the first Road to the Rabbinate is King David Street.

When I passed the scene of the attack a couple of hours later, an assortment of characters had shown up - a Government Minister in search of a photo opportunity, and some Kahanist crazies in search of a hatred opportunity. Chabad were also there for some reason, with a large banner promising Messianic days. Somehow the bizarre nature of the scene seemed natural in a road in which the incongruous is inevitable.

Those who try to bring death to this place of life will not succeed, even if (Heaven forbid) a future attack yields casualties. Somehow the untidy yet intense drama being played out in the street - Jews and Arabs, locals and tourists, Liberals and Traditionalists, wealthy and modest - must not be curtailed. It may have its tractors and its detractors, but the spirit of King David Street cannot be bulldozed.

A Neat Piece of News

(Picture note: One of my favorite of the Chagall Windows at Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. The inspiration for the windows, other than Chagall's purely amazing creativity, was the section of Torah dealing with Israel/Jacob's blessings to his sons. The blessing that inspires this window starts, "Joseph is a fruitful bough, a fruitful bough by a spring; his branches run over the wall." Why is בן פרת, literally "descendant that bears fruit" repeated? I think because Torah, above else, has power by forcing us to ask questions and always examine and move forward in our lives, rather than leaving status quo alone. There is always work to do. As descendants of Israel we continue to ask the questions prompted by a repeated word here, and extra pronoun there. And in those Kleinigkeiten we find G-d because G-d is in the process of making connections much more than any temporary answer that we would wish to stand on and claim to be the only truth. At least that is what I think it means . . . sorry didn't mean to turn a picture note into a word of Torah. I just finished my last final, is all, and am a bit excited.)

I just wanted to share with you all an exciting and complete-surprise piece of news from my last week studying in Jerusalem.

It has been an honor to study at an American rabbinical seminary as an international student. The Michael Klein Prize mentioned in the link above was a humbling exclamation point on what has been year beyond anything I could have imagined it to be. Although I still think that half the people that find out that Sandra and I are emigrating to Germany to be a part of the ongoing re-building and strengthening of Judaism there think we are a little crazy, I also believe that after this year our plans and commitment have begun to be taken very seriously. I may have studied at HUC this year, but I am a student at Abraham Geiger Kolleg -- and very proud to be one.

So much has happened this year, especially the last two months that needs to be written about, but first I have two papers to finish. After that, I promise several long posts in the next two weeks full of details (and maybe even a sound file or two of the most interesting happenings.) My best to you all and thank you for the many ongoing notes of support that you all have sent me this year.

Paul

It's Complicated

(Picture Note -- Sandra and I at the beach in Tel Aviv -- I am really going to miss this place.)

During our first weeks in rabbinical school, we were told that our program was a combination professional school, graduate school, and seminary. Although I believe that there is truth in this analysis (after all, our hours spent in class seem to reflect three programs rather than one) I think that there is also an indefinable fourth school at play—let’s call it the discard-all-preconceived-notions-school— perhaps we might even call it the “pay close attention and you might learn something really valuable” school. HUC chooses to call it the “Israel Seminar,” and for anyone who decided this year to allow for the possibility that someone in Israel might know something more than they about this region, the Israel Seminar provided an education that money simply cannot buy.

I had my own share of preconceptions about Israel. As a self-proclaimed moderate I believed that I possessed an objective and studied position of moral superiority that allowed me to act as critic and apologeticist—that my deep reading of both Dershowitz and Chomsky gave me balance, that my mistrust of main stream media to report on Israel accurately demonstrated my wisdom and that my passion for the subject of Israel gave me legitimacy.

But it is complicated.

This year in the Israel seminar we have been immersed in thoughts and perspectives, readings and voices that crossed every possible spectrum of the debates and challenged any possible preconceived notion. We have run the gauntlet of intellectual challenge through Orthodox, Reform and Secular religious voices, through Arab and Jewish voices, through government and civilian voices, and through voices for and opposed to any subject of the Israel-Palestine continuum of debate that could be dreamed up. We have walked through Haredi neighborhoods and sat in Mosques. We have crossed the green-line and walked through military bases. We have heard the voices of bereaved on both sides of the conflict. We have been challenged with prevarication and uncomfortable directness—with naïve wand-waving solutions and casual non-PC and unselfconscious racism. At the end of the day, we have all learned that it is complicated.

In the past I have debated friends and strangers regarding Israel. My openly-worn kippah in America makes me a target on the street for direct questions or proxy condemnations and my decision to become a rabbi makes me a target for acquaintances to vent in-vogue anti-Israel sentiment. After a year of immersion in the subject I have one answer to offer—it is complicated.

My most strongly held convictions, drawn from both right and left-leaning political, social and religious stances can no longer be offered to counteract the “assurances” of others. What about my own assurance, for example, that ultra-Orthodox Jews represent a monolithic “wrong” in the religious debate? Walk a day in Haredi clothing—long enough to be shoved into the street with non-Shalom based enthusiasm by a non-Heredi, then study in-depth their political motivations and support those beliefs in a political exercise and see how easy it is to continue to arbitrarily other them and deny their own place the larger narrative of Eretz Israel and Am Israel. I may disagree profoundly with the Haradiim regarding many and most subjects, but the blanket condemnation I once held? It is complicated.

How about settlers? When I came here I knew that the settler movement was the root of all evil. As I sit here today I am still against the settlements on principle and for the dismantling of the remaining settlements—at least to Clinton proposed levels from 2000—yet that is a principle that is in many ways nothing more than a counterpoint in a debate. I will argue against settlers and settlements, but my life has still been transformed by meeting settlers and visiting settlements. Demonizing a movement is easy—demonizing real people that are no more or less fully human than the rest of us is much harder. There is simply no monolithic reason that can be given to account for every soul and family that chooses or has chosen to live in these politically, religiously, ethically and sociologically problematic locations. The headline stories of human rights abuses may be real, but they are only a part of a larger story. Blaming one side in an arbitrary fury of self righteousness requires willful ignorance of the larger picture. So is it with the settlements—so is it with the security fence—so is it with any part of the conflict you choose to examine. It is complicated.

Even the one item that I knew could never be overturned—the fact that the majority of the world media is anti-Israel (and on occasion anti-Semitic) on principle cannot stand up to deeper learning. Yes, there is a general and pervasive anti-Israel bias to world reporting, but according to a journalist inside this region such as Matthew Kalman, this is as much due to the willful arrogance of an Israeli government that does nothing to balance the very activist five (to Israel’s zero) Palestinian news agencies. How can Israel’s message be heard—how can the world know anything at all about the “other side” of the most damning issues (and yes I assure you that there is a compelling other side) when the other side has chosen to not even show up at the party?

The final assessment of all these challenges and experiences, if indeed such an assessment is even remotely reasonable, is that I must profoundly distrust anyone that presents a simple answer or a sound-byte sized condemnation of Israel. Out of all the things that I feel I no longer can answer with confidence, I feel that I can stand with great confidence with the statement that anyone offering blanket adulation or condemnation has chosen a path of ignorance. There are no easy answers. This region and the national and religious narratives of all people that exist here and claim this place as their place all have legitimacy and all have a share of responsibility for the very real problems. The us-good/them-bad mentality on any side is much more a part of the problem then it is any useful step towards a solution. Learning about this region takes work, and it takes significant learning to get past any of the dominating us/them understandings of the life and the conflict here. As I prepare to wrap up my studies here, I am still a moderate-leaning progressive religious Zionist, if that statement means anything at all— but I also believe that that identity, thanks to a truly unique and profound educational experience, is tempered with perspective that is the beginning of wisdom—a wisdom that suggests that if I again find myself believing in simple descriptions or easy answers that I have lost that perspective and either need to shut up or come back here and relearn about the beautiful complexities of the land and people. It is complicated, but it is also amazing.

Multi-Religious Statement - Condemning Violence Targeting a Jerusalem Yeshiva

In conjunction with His Royal Highness Prince el Hassan bin Talal of Jordan (recent winner of the Abraham Geiger Award) and Dr. Hans Küng, President of the Global Ethic Foundation, Switzerland, the Director of my school in Germany, Dr. Rabbi Walter Homolka (hier auf Deutsch), issued the following statement that I wished to pass on to all.

We—Muslim, Jewish, and Christian—decry the violent attack targeting the Mercaz Harav Yeshiva in Jerusalem this week. The murder of eight students is a tragedy for all people of faith.

We strongly condemn this act of violence at a Jewish religious seminary.

Such aggression contributes to the vicious cycle of violence that has tormented Israel-Palestine and the region. Gaza has been under Israeli military attack for a week. Dozens of Palestinians have died on Israel’s southern border with the territory, where militants have launched Qassam rocket attacks into Israeli southern towns for more than a month. Just this week, international human rights groups announced that the desperate humanitarian conditions in Gaza are the worst they have been since 1967.

Holy places must not be abused to incite violence or express hatred.Attacking holy spaces is one way that extremists violently abuse religion. Moderate voices are increasingly unheard. All who oppose violence must not remain silent or be indifferent toward human suffering.

The way to advance peace in the region is for religious communities to cooperate, forging an alliance grounded in the moral principles shared by every faith tradition. As Muslim, Jew, and Christian, we are all bound by a common heritage of spiritual struggle under one God. Our collective voice and moral authority is greater than each of us standing alone. Together, we can help calm the rising hostilities and soothe the wounded and the grieving. Each of us is responsible for the well-being and safety of the other. This is a notion of “shared security” that Religions for Peace has helped advance in the international community.

Together, we can work to build the peace that each of us finds so sacred—and so desired.

Signed,

HRH Prince el Hassan bin Talal

President Emeritus, Religions for Peace, Jordan

Rabbi Dr. Walter Homolka

Principal of Abraham Geiger College at the University of Potsdam,

Germany

Dr. Hans Küng

President, Global Ethic Foundation, Switzerland

I'm OK Post #2

Sandra and I just got back from walking around downtown when we got the first notes from HUC that a major incident had happened here. We are fine and were not in the area, but the streets on what is usually the busiest night in Jerusalem are Shabbat-like silent.

Anyway, we are ok, and I will continue updating if and when other incidents happen, as it looks like a genuine escalation is now in process.

My best to you all.

Paul

A Quick Post . . .

. . . with a sincere promise of a longer one later.

First of all, yes, Sandra and I are safe here in Eretz Israel. Quite safe, as a matter of fact. Even more as a matter of fact, 5 hours ago I sat in a Mosque in Umm al-Fahm outside where these protests took place yesterday, and then walked through the same streets and was greeted by school children with "Shalom" when they saw my kippa.

My advice and thoughts as CNN and friends blare the news: everything here is much more complicated and nuanced than CNN and friends could ever deliver. Everything is complicated. I'll see your argument and raise you one devil's-advocate for any pro or against thought you have about any issue in Israel (ok -- not ANY -- I am still a Progressive Jew -- my practice may be traditional, my kitchen may be kosher, but equality of women in all aspects of Judaism isn't really something I am willing step away from, among a few other such things.) Yes, the situation is not good. But it is also so complicated that absolute pronouncements of fault at any level of the argument on any side probably mean that the information has not been looked into. I am willing to sit down and explain and debate and talk to anyone about the issues, but it is doubtful you will hear a claim from me about clear solutions, demons, or otherwise.

But we are safe. We are heeding security warnings and avoiding the Old City for the moment. We are paying attention as we would anyway. But more importantly we do what seems to be the most important and noble thing to do -- continue to live and study and participate in this path without running when CNN and friends suggest with carefully chosen videos that we do so.

Best to you all . . . .

What It's Really About . . . .

(Picture note: In a discussion of G-d, one might as well show a picture of the sunrise over the Sea of Galilee. There must be a connection there somewhere.)

It is not particularly easy to give up a comfortable image of "God." The bearded-one in the sky may to some extent be a straw-man used by some to denigrate those that are perceived to have a less sophisticated spirituality. I am pretty sure that I may have even done that a few times, but I am not sure any more of my own wisdom enough to mock anyone else's definition. I cannot personally agree with a personal father/savior anthropomorphism, but I also can no longer throw quite the same stones.

This is all merely a long and drawn out introduction to say that the struggle to re-allow spirituality into your life when years ago the concept and trappings both were given up for dead is in many ways a semantic struggle. Since most of us think in words we formulate most of our spirituality in words and are therefor forced to limit G-d to the words that we can think of to describe such a concept. If G-d is something infinite and universal, I think that we can all agree that there is a problem here, as language may be pretty nifty, but it is neither infinite nor universal.

As a, for lack of a better term, panentheist,(not to be confused with pantheist) my "short-answer-that-can-never-do-justice" is that I believe G-d to be beyond the realm of description of human words, yet the embodiment and the infinite sum of an expanding universe matched with an unknowable something (called Ayn Sof -- without end-- in Judaism) behind all the laws and processes and manifestations of the universe that makes these laws and processes positive and forward moving with "purpose," if still unknowable.

As a future member of the clergy, however, I recognize that at the same time it is a little hard to bring comfort to the sick or morning with a philosophical treatise on the nature of a panentheistic G-d. One concept that I have used in the past to address this semantic divide became a reality this evening that I wish to share . . .

I have written before about the community here at Hebrew Union College, Jerusalem. Sure, we are all stressed with intense studies and know each other well enough now to sometimes be a little less polite than we were to each other at the beginning. We get frustrated, but in some ways that is simply the result of becoming even more close-- we are acting more family-like.

This morning we were all informed that the grandfather of one of our fellow students passed, and this student sent out an email that he was planning a memorial minyan for his grandfather this evening. Now to fully appreciate the context, we are all studying for finals and the average stress and time commitment level is, well, you can guess. Yet as the first communal singing began tonight in the student's tiny living room, the floor was packed with over half the students of the program here. There was no question, there was no burden -- it was simple: If you were able, you came.

I listened to the voices join together in singing simple songs of an evening prayer service, and then the poignant words of memory, and the universal love and support given and offered. One can be cynical about a lot of things but please hear me when I say that this was not show-- this was true community offered, despite what some philosophies might challenge, freely and without guile.

I thought of when I was still living in Philadelphia and two grandparents passed in little over a year how my community consisted of an empty apartment, two cats, a tea light, and a glass of wine to toast a memory. I felt alone yet more I felt how profoundly lonely life without interconnectivity is. Tonight I witnessed interconnectivity in its beautiful reality and choose to call that an attribute of G-d.

This G-d as Universal Concept is not a comforting G-d for me to offer the world. But the manifestation of seeking to find meaning within tradition, any tradition, and being honest enough to know that the seeking never ends and a final answer is unattainable may just find themselves experiencing aspects of G-d that are comforting-- the G-d that dwells among open hearts and the places where the very human hands connected with those hearts do the very real work of healing the world through such actions as consoling the bereaved. None of this is meant to be an answer-- I have none. But I came closer to G-d tonight in the gathering of community that I ever experienced when I thought I had all the answers.

Thoughts Leading To Thoughts on Tikkun Olam

(Picture note: 17th century Italian Ark from the Istanbuli Syanagogue in Old City, Jerusalem.)

I suppose that for a future rabbi the fact that Synagogues are such a comforting place is a good thing. After all, if everything works out I’ll be spending a bit of time in them for the remainder of my life. So this wonderful opportunity to continue exploring all shapes and sizes and traditions of Synagogues is as much an exploration of what exactly about synagogues gives this comfort as it is expanding that comfort zone. As the prayerbook daily becomes more familiar, thanks to that melding of activities called “liturgy class” and “improving my Hebrew,” some of the last things that were not comfortable have given away and allowed me to finally face things that are truly uncomfortable.

Before anyone comments that this makes no sense, let me try and clarify. When I attended Hebrew University last summer and spent the majority of my prayer time between the two orthodox synagogues (one Sephardic, one Ashkenazi) on top of French Hill, my comfort factor rested evenly between “very” and “not at all”—“very” in that 4 hours of prayer is one of the most amazing places that I can exist, in that time often entering into a meditative state where the sounds of prayer and Torah wash over and through me until I find myself on the other side refreshed, renewed, and radically amazed. The “not at all part” came almost exclusively from the reality that I could not keep pace in an orthodox prayer book with a teleprompter and a bouncing ball. As a result of the average—the state of “not really” being comfortable, I generally hid in far corners and snuck away as quickly as possible to avoid having to face my perceived inadequacies through another’s eyes. Then I went back to Seattle and one day opened up a Siddur Ha-Tefillot, the prayer book of the German Progressive Movement. For a lark I opened my mouth and, “Hinei!” chanted top to bottom the weekly morning prayers using some of the Sephardic chants I had apparently passively acquired atop of Jerusalem. Since then I have not looked back. . .

. . . All of which leads me back to my original thoughts. Now as I explore new synagogues, I have stopped hiding in corners, stopped feeling inadequate, and starting having the amazing conversations that one has when one acts as a member of a community rather than just sitting on hard chairs merely as the theoretical member of one.

It was within this context that I visited the Spanish and Portuguese Minyan in the Old City last month with international colleagues and significant others from Leo Baeck and Abraham Geiger Kolleg. This Minyan meets monthly in the Istanbuli Synagogue, one of the Four Sephardic Synagogues in the Old City whose history goes back 460 years and who survived desecration and being used as stables from 1948 to 1967. The stunning ark in this, the largest of the four synagogues, harkens back to 17^th Century Italy and to complete the wow-factor, one of the four central pillars still contains the hole of a Jordanian shell that rested unexploded after the 1948 war.

Davening in such environs was for me no less inspiring than the building. The congregation here ensured that the mehitzah stood much less intrusive than the average Yerushalmi religious barrier, and so with my usual concern and accompanying pangs of guilt about praying in a place that is antithetical to my stance on gender equality set aside, I prayed.

The crux of the story, however, is not the prayer. Certainly the time of prayer, although not solely Spanish/Portuguese nusach, lived up to its billing as a unique and enjoyable prayer experience. The congregation honored another Abraham Geiger student with the carrying the Torah and honored me with an aliya-ha-torah. Three different schliachey-tzibur offered different strengths of beauty and kavanah within the near perfect acoustics. All and all, simply said, it was a positive experience.

Except . . .

I have begun developing my presentation style and content when it comes to defending my decision to serve in Germany. I know that for many Jews this is a highly problematic choice. The answers that seem so simple for me simply are not heard by some others from out of the maelstrom surrounding the word “Germany” and its connotations. “All Jews,” I tell any ‘them’ that challenge my path, “have as much right to and need for spiritual leadership as Jews living in any other location. Between 100,000 and 200,000 Jews have chosen, for reasons that are completely their own, to make their permanent home in Germany. In Germany currently there are less than 30 rabbi’s to serve this community, and that makes the need real and dire. I speak German. My wife is a German citizen. We both have a burden for the rebirth, regrowth, reestablishment and reflourishing of Judaism in a land that has known continuous Jewish settlement and contribution for at least 1600 years. Most importantly, with the core of our beings, we believe this to be an act of tikkun olam, the greatest act of such healing that we can imagine taking part of in our lifetimes.”

Yet for all the sincerity and impact of the words, the reality is that for many the Holocaust is much more than a movie or a few pages in a history book. For many the Shoah still unsheathes righteous and visceral anger, and one such as I that would choose—choose­­—to go to Germany as a Jew is as bad in their minds as those that perpetuated the horrors to begin with.

I have other words that I speak just as sincerely—that Germany is unique in all of history in its acts of tikkun olam—that unlike most other nations, and there have been many, that have perpetuated horrors on its own or other populations, Germany has admitted to responsibility, worked at reparations, created a national consciousness around the issue, and whose citizens as a whole acknowledge to very deep levels a collective guilt and shame. Certainly as I speak these words I have no expectations that one within righteous anger could and should accept these words as a prompt for transformation. They are simply words that can do little against the very real hurt and loss of those whose family trees mingled with the other ashes of the Nazi horror.

Yet I am nonetheless on this path and remain firmly on this path, and when an elderly gentleman visiting this congregation asked me about my life path, his reaction served as a potent reminder for the stakes that any Jew has in this path. I will not repeat the words said, but they were neither gentle nor forgiving. They were, however, real and valid and a part of the greater reality that always needs to be faced while participating in tikkun olam—the reality that to heal something that is broken, it first must be broken in order to be healed.

Minor Holiday, Shminor Holiday

(Photo -- The House Channukia of Chez Andrews-Strasko working really hard to give some light in that darkness, 8th Day of Hanukkah, 5766. Taken from my mobile phone, I think the effects are kinda trippy.)

First of all, let's all clear up a misconception. You may have heard that Hanukkah is a "minor" holiday. Aha! The power of language! I am not sure what "minor" is translated from in other languages, but I do know that when most of us hear the word "minor" we tend to translate that as "insignificant" or "only really important in the US because we have to give gifts to our kids so that we don't hear complaints like 'Johnny and Suzi are Episcopalian and they get gifts -- why can't we be Episcopalian?'"

Not meaning to be pedantic (ok, maybe I am but I'll try to keep it 'minor') but the reason this connotively incorrect lable is applied is not because Hanukkah lacks significance, but simply because it does not carry the no-work-like-Shabbat prohibitions as do other holidays (non-minor) like Rosh Hashanah and Shavuot.

So what of it? Why does it matter?

Because I know that many of my readers are non-Jewish, and that not everyone is aware of what Hanukkah is to begin with, let me just give a brief (really, I do plan on being brief -- what, you don't believe me?) history.

Hanukkah celebrates two related events in Jewish history, one, well, historical, and one more on the miraculous side. On the historical side, in what should not be looked over as an incredible military victory, a group of guerrilla rebels in the Judean wilderness took on Antiochus IV and Seleucid Greeks, eventually liberating the temple in Jerusalem. As recorded in 1 Maccabees, "For eight days they celebrated the rededication of the altar. Then Judah and his brothers and the entire congregation of Israel decreed that the days of the rededication...should be observed...every year...for eight days. (1 Mac.4:56-59)" The rebels founded the Hasmonean Dynasty and, as seems to be the way of dynasties, became corrupt, encouraging a rethinking of the meaning of Hanukkah. Which leads to . . .

On the miraculous side, the Talmud records (in Shabbat 21b), "What is 'Hanukkah? The rabbis taught: "On the twenty-fifth day of Kislev 'Hanukkah commences and lasts eight days, on which lamenting (in commemoration of the dead) and fasting are prohibited. When the Hellenists entered the sanctuary, they defiled all the oil that was found there. When the government of the House of Asmoneans prevailed and conquered them, oil was sought (to feed the holy lamp in the sanctuary) and only one vial was found with the seal of the high priest intact. The vial contained sufficient oil for one day only, but a miracle occurred, and it fed the holy lamp eight days in succession. These eight days were the following year established as days of good cheer, on which psalms of praise and acknowledgment (of God's wonders) were to be recited." Hence the lighting of the Chanukkia (the 8-pronged candelabra most folks refer to as a "menorah" -- the channukia is specific to Hanukkah and is the preferred term -- sorry -- I know I promised to limit the pedantry,) and the eating of (yum) oily foods like latkes and donuts.

Still, why bother? I am outside the states now, and the "December Dilemma" of how to deal with the ubiquitous Christmas-ness of American culture (regardless of what Bill O'Reilly would have you believe) will have much less impact on me in the future. So again-- why bother?

Like all things Jewish, the answer can and perhaps should change every time we face the question. Up until this year, the answer for me has always been that Hanukkah is about overcoming-- that Hanukkah is a key symbol to understanding how it was that Jews faced ridiculous odds and yet survived all throughout history-- that Hanukkah represents the Maccabees and the Rabbis that resurrected Judaism after the destruction of the 2nd temple and the preservation of Judaism in the light of pogroms and the inquisition-- that Hanukkah is the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and the Righteous Persons Among Nations and the Foundation of the State of Israel and the return of Jews to Germany . . .

It is still that but so much more. Thanks to the advice of Rabbi Ted Falcon, Sandra and I not only light the Channukia but as well assign an intention-- a kavanah-- to each candle and in addition to the blessing name the intention out loud as we light each candle. We have kept each of our lists of intentions and each year this list represents its own reflection of journey and change and hope and overcoming. Tonight, the 7th night of lighting candles in Israel, Sandra and I lit a candle for tikkun olam, the healing of the world through the very real actions of our collective human hands. Hanukkah is then at this time about the very real act of seeing the world as a place that can be redeemed rather than giving it up for lost.

Chag Hanukkah Semeyach.

A Short Reflection on the Evolution of My Prayer Life in Jerusalem

(Picture note: I like to walk along this face of the city walls towards Mt. Zion and enter the Old City through the Zion Gate. This is the view. I am having a good year.)

Something rather magical has been happening during my time here Israel, and it happens every time I open a siddur and every time I open my lips that I might declare G-d’s glory, as it were— I understand the language.

Now maybe this is a silly statement. I mean, after all, our sages warn us of the dangers of praying words that have no meaning to us. Some of the most pious among us meditate seven seconds on every word in the Amidah—so my statement bears a little concern.

Up until this time, I have escaped most concern by understanding that I was in a process of learning the language. Certainly none of us pop out of Mother’s womb fully intact as fluent comprehenders of the Holy Language. Surely I must be allotted some time to catch up for the thirty-some years I spent reading King James English as the “Holy Language.”

The moment of enlightenment came at home, laying Tefillin in personal devotion (this is not an evolution—there are simply some days that I need to pray by myself instead of in a minyan) and I came to the Elohai Neshama. Now I know what this prayer means – I have prayed it now hundreds of times, and at my synagogue in Seattle we used the Gates of Prayer English translation every Shabbat morning. “G-d the soul that you have given me is pure.” I know it by heart – almost the entire English prayer. It is a part of me. It means something to me. This prayer and the Yotzer Or, in many ways, represent for me the profound difference between this religion of my soul and my choices as opposed to the religion of my birth where my soul was not pure and where there was no partnership with G-d in the act of creation.

So I say the prayer with kavanah, but always with a mehitza stuck between the words I chant in Hebrew and the translation that the good folks of the Gates of Prayer gave to me.

So I started chanting . . . “Elohai . . .”

But wait. That is not “G-d,” that is “my G-d.” I recognize that ending—that yud. It makes this personal. It makes this statement an acknowledgement of a direct relationship.

Neshama. I know this too. But as I have broken down the mehitza and as I am looking at the words for the first time with sound and meaning joined, I am actually thinking of this-- neshama and not nefesh or ruach. The prayer is about breath-- the beginning-- the essential truth that at the first moment when life claims life by being born it is or becomes that thing which is pure.

And pure!

It is a little embarrassing, but tehora sounds like Torah and so from the other side of the mehitza I never let myself think of the actually meaning. But I just studied this! This is a priestly word that hardly appears until Leviticus. Tet – Hey – Resh, not Tav for Torah – Pure – A ritual state that exists as a combination of choice and work and luck and circumstance. This is what I am gifted and breath as prayer every morning? Not that I am filthy and unworthy but rather that by the gift of Ribon Ha’Olam I get to start life with the assumption that I have value in this continuous act of creation called life? And my tradition suggests that I pray this every morning? Who is this prayer for? Who is prayer for? Doesn’t this force me to challenge my base assumptions of spirituality?

Even if I take this thought purely metaphorical, I must wonder how universal teaching of the profound worth of each of us from the breath of birth could transform the world.

Now the mehitza is torn. I don’t have it all yet—not even close. But now every day in prayer on more word steps up. Pay attention to me! Pay attention to this shoresh that you learned and how the potential infinity of meanings is so much more enlivening than a translation engraved onto plates that sets our daily thoughts into a box.

I mean, we need the box. We all have to start someplace. But to experience reading a word that can change your day or even your life—one word—and how many do we have in Torah? The bigger Torah? This is a magnificent path.

May it be so that this simple evolution of my personal prayer life so far in Jerusalem may allow me to help even one other feel the same sense of awe and transformation

A Revolution I Can Get Behind - Or, Novemeber 9, 1989 Celebrated

The reality on the ground is always more complicated than the emotion of the moment or of nostalgia of the moment can promise. Yes, in Germany unemployment is still very high, in some places in the East obscenely high. Yes, there is a burgeoning neo-Nazi movement in the East that comes from a people who, due to Soviet techniques and propaganda never confronted the Holocaust and therefor look nostalgically at Hitler. Yes, Germany is a real country with real problems and is by no means a paradise.

What it is, however, is a country where it is more safe than only a handful of other countries for Jews to live. What it is is a country that has tried to make Teshuva (Jewish concept of "returning" or even repentance) for its holocaust, unlike pretty much any nation that I can find in history has ever done. It seems most prefer to cover up or forget to mention their crimes in history.

What it is, is a country whose most recent revolution began with floods of people fleeing to Hungary and the Czech Republic to wind their way to the West, then peaceful demonstrations in Dresden and Leipzig, to finally an order from the DDR government easing travel restrictions to the West.

At 1:27 on the video above something special is captured -- the moment of the shift -- the tipping point -- the explosion of revolution in the cheers of Germans walking past the checkpoints that had been the last resting place of hundreds of unsuccessful attempts at flight. Guards had not been given orders on the new travel restriction changes, and simply did not know what to do with the masses lined up to cross over. . . revolution because of bureaucratic error and an unstoppable flood-- perhaps even a purity of nature that does exist in humanity. (Elohai Neshama shenatati bi tehora -- mein G-tt, die Seele, die du mir geschenkt has, ist rein -- My G-d, the soul that you have given me is pure.)

For whom does she speak?

I was going to post this with commentary. I think for now I will just let it speak for itself.

Reflections on My High Holy Days Experiences in Israel

(Picture note: A view from the Blaustein Hall where HUC's High Holy Days services take place. Post note: The post below comes from a journal entry for my Liturgy class, but I felt the concepts important enough to share with a wider audience.)

For all the possible directions this reflection could go, I am forced after these holidays to return over and over to the principle of not being a burden to the community.

I assume that the memory that will live the longest with most of us that attended HUC’s Yom Kippur Day services will be that of the congregant that required medical care during the service. Certainly the sight of her face growing taut and corpselike and her eyes rolling back in her head remain in my waking memories as well as my nightmares. Those of us in the choir that had the most direct view thought that her second incident was a sure precursor to death. I don’t say this to be dramatic. I have worked in the medical industry for over a decade including a dialysis ward. This experience was terrifying and nightmarish.

Surely we should have compassion for such events. From the objective observation of the actions of those in the congregation, most especially HUC students, not only did we have compassion but as well a pragmatic wit. But within that compassion, after the first incident of the day this congregant was urged to seek medical treatment, to leave the premises, to end her fast . . .

She did none of these other than drinking a small amount of the water offered. The first incident was one worthy of compassion and all the positive energy given by the community. Of course the second incident also brought compassion and positive energy, as is just in the face of illness. Yet an additional line, one which is much more difficult and controversial to mention, was also crossed. This congregant was not of sound mind and body to fast. She should not have fasted, even by the most strict halachic standards, and in choosing to do so she made herself a burden to the community.

So much amazing and beautiful happened during the Chaggim. My wife and I said many a Shehechiyanu as we experienced the holidays together in Eretz Israel for the first time. The High Holiday’s choir transformed from a nerve-wracking group, most of whom in the tenor section had never read music or sang in a choir, to one that sounded quite good and blessed the community. I heard one of the world’s great cantors and pedagogues share his brilliance with us—a pleasure that with the specter of retirement may not be offered to many at Abraham Geiger that follow me.

Yet I am haunted by the hardest lessons learned. I hope that my fellow students are able to as well learn the lesson that this business of Jewish leadership is as much a Project Manager position and a spiritual leadership position. My reflection of these High Holy Days remind me that water needs to be nearby and available in seconds rather than in minutes. My lessons learned in the many Drashot seem to be overwhelmed by the questions of “Where is the nearest defibrillator,” and “should I have a medic on staff?”

I will pass on the lessons through my own Drashot. The desire to observe is commendable, but not at the expense of your body mind or spirit. Being a part of a community of observance, such as the observance of fasting, is a mitzvah. But sanity and ethical behavior is also a mitzvah, including turning the self-reflection that our tradition demands into an honest enough reflection to know when we are not capable of—even more, under no circumstances should—participate in certain traditions.

My First "Official" Sermon

(I get to deliver my first drasha as a rabbinical student tomorrow, and thought just for the heck of it I would post the sermon as well. Please forgive the lack of literary polish as I tend to speak with only bullet points and the written version of this was really just meant to put my thoughts together. As for the picture, it really doesn't have much to do with this post, except it is a pretty fine view from atop the Austrian Hospice in the Old City.)

Parasha V'zot Habrachah

I met G-d face to face a few weeks before I came to Jerusalem.

At least that’s what I think happened—I have no other way to describe it. I was driving along an arterial in South Seattle right as it began to rain. Normally this would not be much of a problem, except my vehicle had two wheels and a motor instead of four wheels and a seatbelt, and when I started breaking at a four-way stop, the fresh oil on the road transformed the pleasant ride into a most unpleasant one—my helmet hitting the pavement at around 30 miles and hour.

So I am not really sure if that constitutes meeting G-d face to face—Panim el Panim—but it sure felt like it.

You see, the timing just didn’t make sense. I had been working for over a decade in various corporate jobs that emptied me a little more each day. The knowledge that I would soon be at a transition point of leaving that wandering wasteland and entering something that seemed filled with purpose and promise kept a light at the end of the tunnel – and now here I was a few feet from the end of that tunnel, except I am lying on the pavement unable to move without the help of kind strangers. And then came the hospital and x-rays and fear and hope and . . .

And then the worst part: Usually I can figure stuff out. Usually I can pin down some lesson or truth to make sense of an experience. But not this time. Baruch HaShem that in the end what could have been very serious turned out to be a broken shoulder, a lot of drugs, some lost time and a deepened sense of mortality. Except there is also the other stuff – the recurring images when I close my eyes – the clenching in my gut when I watch the antics of some of the cycle riders in this town— the reoccurring thoughts of “What does this mean? Why did this happen?”

I am not sure if I met G-d face to face, but I do know that I came face to face with something and now nothing is quite the same—and as Rosh Hashanah came and went and now Yom Kippur and the sealing of the Book of Life looms so near in our future, I simply know that I cannot take these thoughts and images with me into the New Year.

I can only imagine that people of Israel, as they faced the death of their leader of 40 years and the looming reality of their own step into a new unknown, also thought of transitions. As Moshe Rebinu is the human hero of the majority of the Torah narrative, we often look at this last portion of Torah with Moses as the focus. Midrash says that before his death, Moses pleaded with G-d to allow him to let his final act as the leader of Israel to be a blessing. Yet as we have already seen from the Torah reading this morning, this blessing is incredibly opaque. As a member of Klal Yisroel listening to such words I cannot imagine feeling much comfort—or quite frankly much blessing. What I can imagine is feeling the deepest anxiety that the only leader I have ever known, for good or for ill, is not coming with us. I think that it must be from the perspective of this anxious voice in the community that before the moment of Moses’ death we find some of the most interesting words in all of Torah:

“And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moshe, who Adonai knew face to face.”

So what in the world is this? In the Torah the words can only be shocking. In Sh’mot we are told:

“You cannot see my face, for no one can see me and live.”

And to thicken the plot, we have Jacob, after the night or wrestling with whomever or whatever he wrestles with, naming the place Paniel, or literally “the Face of G-d . . ." because he too has seen G-d "face to face."

So what exactly is going on here? Why does Moses get this powerful designation as the one who has seen G-d face to face, and even though there seems to be other traditions in Torah that relate similar statements, why does it seem like Moses’ designation is meant to be unparalleled?

Rashi looks at the verse in V’zot HaBrachah matter of factly and comments that the designation is due to the fact that Moses had an easy familiarity with G-d that no one else possessed. Heschel in his work The Prophets sees this as a mystical statement where the relationship between G-d and the Prophets is a relationship of Devakut – the boundary of G-d and man is broken down through mystical experience. Seeing G-d “face to face” is the best way that the writers of Torah could express this mystical “Oneness.”

Normally I would gravitate to the mystical interpretation, but I think there is something practical behind all this. If we can all agree in principle that G-d is not a human and that terms like face and hands and voice are anthropomorphisms designed to comment on a truth other than the literal meaning of the human body part, and taken in context with these verses of Torah, then the search for G-d’s face can be understood as some sort of process.

In these terms, it is also interesting that Jacob’s face to face meeting with G-d and Moses’ designation as the one that has seen G-d face to face occur at endings and points of transition. Jacob didn’t see G-d face to face when he fled from his brother and had a mystical experience where he recognized G-d’s presence, Jacob saw G-d face to face when he was in the process of doing the most difficult and terrifying thing that he had ever had to do—face his brother. Likewise earlier in Moses’ life, before the wandering in the wilderness, Torah comments that Moses was only able to see G-d’s glory by seeing G-d’s back after the Eternal had passed by. Only at the end of Moses’ life, after his last acts of assuring leadership and then blessing the tribes did Moses get the designation as one that has seen G-d face to face. It is almost like the writer, some one from the people Israel writing at some unknown point of time recognized the uniqueness of Moses’ relationship with G-d—enough to understand some truth of the process behind this relationship with G-d—and said, “We don’t have that. He did. How do I get me some of that?”

A spiritual healer by the name of Caroline Myss wrote a book called “Energy Anatomy” where she researches and comments on the similarities between the Jewish Tree of Life, the Christian Sacraments, and Eastern Religions’ concept of the Chakras. But one of the most critical points that she makes in the book deals with what I believe to hold a key to the meaning of meeting G-d face to face. She writes that the human physical and spiritual system has a finite amount of energy to work with at any given time. I think the logical positivists and mystics both among us can find some truth in that statement to hold onto. She uses the image of a hundred energy rods passing through the top of your head to describe that finite energy, and then says, “Think of someone who wronged you in your life and that you have not forgiven. Now take five of the energy rods and place them against that memory—that need for retribution.” Now think of the next person that has wronged you, and then the one that you have wronged and are avoiding, and then the mother or father that should have raised you better or understood you better and then the grandmother that was never mourned and is burning in your soul and then your best friend that died one day after you cancelled an evening with him where he had really wanted to talk with you. Pretty soon and pretty easily, all one hundred of the rods of energy are attached to and feeding these memories and pains that we cannot let go of, and at that point we start feeding on our own cells to finance these our pain.

Ms. Myss describes how we look at the model of the Chakras or the Sacraments or the Tree of Life as a pathway to finding each of those pains to which we are giving our energy, and then releasing them through forgiveness or asking forgiveness or acknowledging a specific need for mourning—

Or even simply letting go.

As each of these burdens is found it must be named, acknowledged, and faced, sometimes with very real and very painful work which when complete allows the individual to reclaim their energy.

There is nothing easy about this. Sometimes we have built our entire identity around our pain – past or present. I am the one who was hurt or abused or wronged—or in the motorcycle accident– my identity is in that pain.

But we are financing our pain with our life, and meeting G-d face to face means facing the hardest things to face—and then doing something about it.

My wife always jokes that in 12-step programs this is called the forth step.

In Judaism it is called Elul, and interestingly enough, every day during Elul we recite the 27th Psalm.

“My heart tells me to seek your face—Oh Lord I do seek your face.”

We talk about the need to make Teshuva at this time of year, but Teshuva is not the thing itself. Teshuva is the practical application of what we are called to do when we seek after G-d’s face—make this searching inventory—look into the parts of ourselves we least want to look into.

There is nothing romantic about this process—much like Jacob at the threshold of his brother’s household or Israel at the threshold of the complete unknown of the promised land—it is terrifying but necessary to any sort of growth. Only after seeing G-d face to face did Jacob become Israel and only after the recognition of this other thing that Moses had did Israel enter the promised land.

I still don’t have good answers for why my most recent meeting had to be so dramatic, except that I have had to in this time do the most uncomfortable thing I could – peer into my hopes and expectations of my own promised land and look unflinching at my motivations and weaknesses. I have had to do the very real work of forgiving myself for being flawed and mortal and face squarely all the work I have yet to do. The Book of Life is written but yet not sealed. Our tradition contains a well defined guide that helps us all recreate the pathway that Moses took to being labeled “one that saw G-d face to face.”

It is not an easy path—merely a necessary one.

Shana Tovah.

(update -- on my way to HUC that morning to deliver the Drasha, in good Paul fashion, I rewrote in my mind the ending. Instead of what is written above, what I actually said is as follows:)

So it seems like this business of meeting G-d face to face is an actual process. Moses, whether the stories are physically historically "true" or exist only to metaphorically, Moses meeting G-d face to face means that Moses had something instrinsic that allowed him to bring us Torah. The pattern that we follow in our holidays and life cycle is a reenactment of these metaphorical truths, and call us to search ourselves in such away that our own barriers do not prevent us from hearing Torah.

How can anyone expect to hear G-d's "voice" if we spend all of our time wrapped in our own unhealed pain and memories.

How can we expect to hear G-d's voice if we do not first seek after G-d's face?

How Not to Wear Your Headscarf to the Kotel by Sandra

(Left photo: "Palestinian Style" Right photo: "Jewish Style")

In anticipation of my first visit to Israel I spent several months fretting pretty audibly about what I would be expected to wear and not wear in one of the holiest cities in the world. I prepared by purchasing a long-sleeve sun proof shirt and white wrap around head scarf by Sun Precautions, in order to have the option of wrapping up in the most efficient way possible. When I came home and showed Paul my head wrap, he mentioned that the way I was wearing it was more Palestinian style than Jewish. I replied that I would be interested to see how hung up on headscarf style the Jerusalemites would be.

Fast forward to my visit to the Kotel. Paul entered through the metal detector easily, especially since he was visibly a religious Jew (wearing a kippuh as well as tsitsit). I didn’t get so far before the guard growled at me “where are you from?’ and then “why are you wearing your head scarf like that?”. “Washington, US” I stuttered, adding “because it’s designed this way”. He continued to ask me “why do you wear it like that?” and I pulled out my star of David necklace and said “I’m a Jew”. He said “I know, but why do you wear it like that?” again. I’m not sure what happened next, but somehow I got through. I was naturally pretty steamed and Paul pointed out that some pro-Palestinan Americans have a habit of wearing their scarf in that way. I took of the wrap and tied it “Jewish-style” and we went off to the Kotel.

I would be lying if I said that this was unexpected, but I did need to see for myself. Jerusalem is a great place and this one incident hasn’t colored my love for this city or the enjoyment of it. It has, however, highlighted how, at least here, “you are what you wear”.

Slichot Shock

(Photo note: This was the view fom where he had a Shacharit prayer service which took place directly after the stroy recounted below.)

I had one of the most profound Jewish experiences of my life last week. Last Tuesday the Jewish month of Elul passed from expectation to reality, and in celebration of this milestone, the Cantorial, Educational, and Rabbinical students participating in HUCs Year in Jerusalem program met at 4 am (yes, really, we did) to hop in buses to travel to a Sephardic Synagogue on French Hill and attend a Slichot service.

Now I do realize that a few things need to be defined for my non-Jewish friends reading this. First of all, the month of Elul is the month directly preceding the Jewish High Holy Days and takes on special significance for anyone observing even a baseline of Jewish tradition. Elul is a month of introspection. Sandra likes to say that Elul is the Jewish version of the forth step (we made a searching inventory of ourselves) of the “12 steps” of AA and other like organizations. In the month of Elul, we are encouraged to make such an inventory and then, here’s the key, do something about it. In Jewish tradition, for example, we are taught that “G-d cannot forgive us for a sin we have committed against another human – only that human can.” I have always found the human practicality of this tradition to be a beautiful guide towards Tikkun Olam – the healing of the world. We have responsibility for our own transgressions against others. Amen.

So in some Jewish traditions, folks gather at early hours to pray special prayers that focus the prayerful towards this ideal of Elul. The 13 attributes of G-d are recited interspersed with various prayers of penitence and introspection.

In Sephardic tradition, one of the things I have always enjoyed is the jazz-like quality of the service. Certain prayers that do not require a Chazzan (cantor) are passed around the community – those chanting the prayers embellish and improvise and then pass the prayers back to the Chazzan or to whomever had taken lead on a particular prayer. With the Iraqi melodies which dominated this gathering, not to mention the delicious sweet tea passed out to the weary-eyed, many of us forgot the early hour and immersed ourselves in the prayer.

Of course there is a catch. The Siddur (prayerbook) was of course unfamiliar to most of us and many of the prayers went by at breakneck speed which meant that on any given prayer we would mostly be lucky to be on the right page let alone follow along at the right word. Which was why when the Chazzan, during one of these prayers, turned around and pointed at me to sing, my limbs turned to hummus. With the exception of (the brilliant) Cantor Schleifer from HUC, only members of this synagogue participated in the Jazz. I am not sure why the Chazzan turned to me. I had been, truth be told, lost more than 50% of the service, frenetically turning pages to try to do my usual “Aha – there is the word ‘Israel’ on this page – when I hear ‘Israel’ then I will know we are here . . .”

All of my music teachers, especially in this case Jazz professors—thank you. I am sure that what emerged from my mouth was not exactly a thing of great cantorial beauty, but in one of the more terrifying and exhilarating moments of my religious life I chanted for a while in an Iraqi mode and then passed the tune back to the Chazzan.

I’d like to make some sort of amazing metaphor out of the experience—perhaps that as a convert, Am Israel welcomed me with a universal welcome—perhaps that some universal reality gave me an opportunity to represent my school and my peers in a positive way when Reform Judaism is, to say the least, not usually accepted—perhaps my love of the music and prayer that I was hearing so exploded from my spirit that the Chazzan sensed something that needed release and allowed the opportunity. Perhaps it was truly random and had no meaning other than “one of our guests should be heard.” I do know, however, that something in me is different since then. In choir and in voice lessons I sing with more confidence than ever in my life and I have started making strides I would have never imagined. I know as well that there has been something new in my prayer life since then – more than once I have found myself overwhelmed by words that days before seemed only commonplace and have wrapped myself some moments in my Tallis and wept for that which words cannot describe.

I have for years said that the power of Jewish prayer is three-fold (all of which I will explore in much more detail at some other time): To connect the community with and through a common expression, to connect those praying to a literal and historic tradition, and to allow a, dare I say, Zen-like focus to bring the confusion of living in every direction (except the present) into the present and allow the I-healing and I-focus that must exist before the “I” can ever hope to be of use to the other half of divine self, the “Thou.” But I think I must rethink. Here I am a mystic at heart that seems to have discounted a fourth truth – the mystical “reality” that the prayer is the beginning (or at least the outward expression) of a movement from one holy vessel of creation and partnership with G-d into the greater community of creation and partnership with G-d. Maybe prayer . . . works.

A meaningful Elul to you all.

Old City Shooting

I promised family and friends that whenever there was an incident in Jerusalem that I would immediately post that I was ok and not a part of the incident. Ha-aretz is currently reporting the following . . . http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/892131.html .

I am safe and sound preparing for Shabbat and seldom go to the Old City from 10 am to 2 pm on Friday when the warnings and terror alerts are usually the highest. In the interest of keeping perspective, this is the first such incident since I have been here -- making the town continually safer than the average US city of the same population.

My best to you all and a heartfelt Shabbat Shalom.

The Day(s) I Fell In Love With Rabbinical School – Part I – “I’m a Musician Again!”

(Photo Note: I just wanted to help everyone imagine a little bit what it is like to watch a concert at BYU's -Jerusalem campus [thank you Mindy for the head's up].)

Several years after I graduated from the University of Montana with degrees in Clarinet Performance and Composition I returned during a trip to Montana and stopped by at the U for a visit. At the time, about 10 years ago, I wore my new career as a (at that time) systems analyst proudly. After all, a job offer while I was still in Graduate School with a starting salary of $37,000 sounded like paradise. I was a musician, for Petrov’s sake. I was accustomed to earning in a one-night gig $20 plus tips plus free alcohol—and being happy with that. Plus I had already began a cycle of financial woes that lasted far longer than I care to admit, and I really needed the $37,000 a year. So I dropped out of graduate school and started a karmic cycle that would last, well, until now. That particular visit to my alma mater, however, provided the first whisper of doubt that my suburban yuppie-wannabe path might not be so right.

There was a gentleman (a term I use seldom without sarcasm but should be applied quite sincerely in this case) at the University named Bob Williams. The fact that he broke most stereotypes makes his centrality in this story even better. You see, Bob was the head custodial engineer for Residence Life (the dorms) at the University of Montana. Bob also possessed the Proletariat Philosopher archetype that occurs more often in stories than in real life yet manifested continuously and obviously in Bob’s neshama and the long conversations that he would engage in with as many as would take the time to do so. Oh yes-- Bob loved music.

My senior thesis was a Requiem mass—not a traditional one but rather a large format piece where “Requiem” provided more of an energetic focus than a true musical form to follow. I had spent around 11 months composing the 47 minute piece, and at age 21 was determined to get as many folks to hear the piece, of which I was quite proud, as possible. Bob, like everyone else at Residence Life got an invite. He took his entire family. As objectively and humbly as I can say, the piece was a . . . unique . . . experience for all involved. Bob loved it.

I chanced upon Bob on this return trip. I was at the main Residence Life office trying to make everyone proud of me for getting such a primo job in Corporate America. Everyone listened with the polite restraint that I am sure many more have gifted me with in my life than I realize—except Bob. Bob cried.

As I finished my tale of impending success, white picket fences, puppy dogs and Volvos, Bob looked at me, tears flowing, and said, “But what are you doing with your music?”

No one likes to be reminded of failure. Moreover, said “no one” likes it even less when our accustomed position as the hero of our own life story is called to question. I spent a lot of time in those days telling a lot of people how awesome my jobs were so that I wouldn’t have to think about how deeply I had failed my self. After that, I didn’t play piano again really until I moved to Seattle (thank you Sandra), have played very little clarinet, and have composed almost nothing (the Broadway Musical that Sandra and I are working on is the exception, and will be the subject of some future post.)

All of which is a very long way to try to make everyone understand why the next statement is so poignant—“I am a musician again.”

Identity is so important, and the ability to say, “My name is Paul Strasko-- I am a Rabbinical Student from Abraham Geiger Kolleg in Berlin-- I am a musician,” may seem like such a small thing. But for years now I have said “I am a systems analyst” or “I am a Project Manager” or “I am a consultant” and each time, regardless of how wonderful the people and experiences in these jobs were—as important as these skills and roles were and will be to me the rest of my life—each “I” identity statement that didn’t include my clarinet or piano or singing or compositions or saxophone or whatever represented a little death and another step towards the numbness that we all come to when we follow a path for expediency rather that because it is our path. In the less-than-three-weeks since I have been here I have played Klezmer clarinet at an Oneg Shabbat, begun singing in the High Holy Days choir, begun composing a setting of the Hashkiveynu, planned a Jazz duo, chanted from the Torah scroll, set up voice lessons, and have been invited to participate in classes with the cantorial students. I am a Rabbinical Student—at last—finally. But as well, I am a musician again. Baruch HaShem.

An Excellent Idea

(Picture Note: Progressive Rabbinical, Cantorial and Education students from around the world join with HUC alumni to celebrate Havdalah, the celebration at the end of the Sabbath to highlight the transition to the new week.)

Something special is happening this year at the Hebrew Union College, Jewish Institute of Religion in Jerusalem. My ego doesn’t exactly demand that I be part of that something special, but the fact that I am does add certain sweetness and should not take away from the fact that the idea about which I shall shortly speak is indeed excellent.

This year, for the first time in the institution’s history, HUC-JIR will host all first year students at the three major accredited “Progressive” Jewish rabbinical seminaries. That means that students from Leo Baeck College in London, Abraham Geiger Kolleg in Berlin and Hebrew Union College in LA, New York and Cincinnati have already joined together in Israel and are embarking on a unique experiment—the acknowledgement through definitive action of the importance of strengthening Progressive Judaism around the world.

It is indeed an experiment, and in a world where fractious religion reigns this represents a unique commitment. It is also good to be clear from the start that this is not an attempt to subject non-American Progressive Jews to some sort of predefined our-way-is-the-only-way. Had that been the case it would have been apparent from the first day. Rather, this has been presented to all as an opening up of the table for more seats that allow all to learn from all. Every new gathering that takes place with new guests the Leo Baeck and AGK students are introduced. Every time we are applauded. Every time folks want to know more—ask questions—express their excitement—express their support. Already the mere existence of this joining of programs has built amazing good will. Other students have already specifically said to me such things as, “I never wanted to have anything to do with Germany, but now I know I want to visit and see what this is about.” Another American student said to me last night, “It is hard to see the details of an event when you are at the beginning of it, but this seems like something that we’ll all look back on in 20 years and say ‘we were all there when it started.’” This is construction rather than destruction. This is a commitment to diversity rather than a commitment to provincialism. Is this not a definition of Tikkun Olam? Is this not one way that the world is little-by-little repaired? Yasher Koach to the leadership of these three organizations that took this amazing step.

It's Real . . .

. . .which seems like a bit of a strange thing to say. After all my friends and coworkers threw for me, in total, three going-away parties. I got my last paycheck (gut check on that one) and whittled what little material goods I had left to begin with down to two suitcases and one backpack for Israel and seven boxes to be shipped later to Germany. I even flew half-way around the world. It still didn’t seem real. Then I registered for school and signed student insurance forms, participated in ice-breakers with the other students and got my mailbox. Nope—still felt like I’d be flying out any day to deliver another two-day onsite training for a new client.

And then this morning all 52 students representing the (for the first time ever) cohort of 1^st year cantorial, education, and rabbinical students from Hebrew Union College, Leo Baeck (in London) and Abraham Geiger Kolleg gathered together for Shacharit (morning prayers.) The cantor began singing a niggun (song without words) and then, finally, it was real.

I don’t know—maybe it is a little corny. Predictable even. But as I looked around it was obvious that I was not the only one going through this. My tears fell in harmony with what seemed the majority of student in the room. Afterwards one after another said the same thing—“Now I know that this is real.”

We spent a lot of time reflecting on the reality of what it meant to be rabbinical and cantorial students, but I think most of us stepped as well into a new realization of what it meant to be on the path to become clergy—even more to clergy that is a voice of Progressive spirituality—spiritual leaders that embrace inclusivity as a primary definition of spirituality.

As the prayer service went on I think something more happened. We collectively realized not only that this was real, but that the group of 52 might just have something else going on. The kavanah, or the intention behind the prayer, was not of rote recitation or the product of required attendance, but rather what one might argue to be the ideal of kavanah—to use song and prayer to join more closely with an indefinable universal reality so that we can then shine the light of that reality brighter and more intensely.

So it is indeed now real – but it’s also just beginning . . .

(Picture note: View of one of the courtyards at HUC-JIR in Jerusalem-- a bit of an oasis.)

Ch - ch - ch - changes (Oder -- Die Grosse Plaenewandlung)

Hi all! Alright -- I am a bad blogger. At least I am a bad blogger when I am in my J-O-B, which, although the best job that I have ever had, nonetheless leaves me with a tiny fraction of the energy that I had while studying in Israel -- which kinda sorta seems to be a fact in and of itself worthy of notice -- which kinda sorta leads me in to the news of the day. . . . . .

. . . I am NOT moving to Germany (immediately, that is.) My rabbinical school changed its program this year as of May 15, and now I will be studying at Hebrew Union College, Jewish Institute of Religion in Jerusalem with the other first year students from HUC and Leo Baeck. At first when I heard the news I had the panic and anxiety one would expect --- all of which were quickly washed away when my wonderful partner said, "That's great -- only two international moves instead of three." Ah, perspective! Of course the other issue is that I have not posted since January, and even the above two paragraphs were written when I first heard the news in late April. So the other part of this post is to say "I'm Back!" I had fantasized after I left Israel last summer of posting weekly and filling pages with my thoughts on Reform Judaism in the states and various happenings leading up to my international move(s.) This obviously did not happen. It is amazing how divided energy can be when you are looking toward the future and the work you feel you were born to do, while actually spending everyday working in a job that, although an amazing job with some of the finest folks I have ever met, is not what I was meant to do with my life. So here I am on my first work day not at my J-O-B and I am posting -- this I think is a good sign. But at the same time the above mentioned ch-ch-ch-changes are now immanent. Like tomorrow.

. . . So then now for a little time warp . . .

Here I am at HUC-JIR, sitting in a very nicely cooled library, waiting for the campus tour, and REALLY wondering how it is I actually got here. It is tempting to rewrite this post (now written in tiny chunks over 2 months) but I think the unsettling feeling of movement in the post reflects what it has been like for the past months. I have a ton of thoughts that need to be written, but I also need to settle this whirlwind a bit, collect myself and, oh-by-the-way, begin school tomorrow. Sooooooooooo – here it goes . . . .

Blog Name Change

Hi all:

(Photo: The rebuilt Synagogue on Oranienburger Strasse in Berlin.)

Sorry about the infrequent posts recently-- I am about at the 75% travel level right now, and my overall energy level to post has been limited.

That all said, I am posting simply to highlight the fact that the blog name has changed from "Paul Strasko," a lovely yet boringly egotistical name for a blog to "Jewish in Germany," which although will not be literally accurate for another 7 months (7 months-- egad!!) it does at least more accurately reflect why this blog was started -- to highlight the particular journey that my wife and I are taking.

That, of course, and the fact that the title is a little provocative.

I think that folks are starting to actually believe that we are going to do this. It was always a bit funny to read people and understand that somewhere deep inside they were saying, "Yeah, right. I'll believe it when I see it." I think, however, that between the JTNews article, the calender flip over to 2007, and the one-way tickets that we have in hand that most everyone has finally realized that not only are we serious, but we have been and continue to make all the necessary arrangements to make this happen.

So, here is to what this is really all about -- being a part (even if it is only a small part) of the rebuilding of something that for centuries was such an integral part of Central Europe, and in doing so to help support to progressive view of what I believe to be a beautiful spiritual path, family, and way of life.

Here's to "Jewish in Germany."

L'Chaim!

Seattle Jewish Transcript Article

Dear Friends and Supporters,

We were blessed to receive a call from Diana Brement of the Jewish Transcript News for an interview in her M.O.T. (Members of the Tribe) Column. She wanted to talk with us about our move to Germany and plans to rebuild Judaism there. The December 15 edition came to our house today, and we even have a little picture on the bottom left hand corner of the front page!

For those of you who do not subscribe to this paper, here is a link to the article (we are the second part of the article): http://www.jtnews.net/mot.php

After December 22nd, the article will be archived, so I am attaching the text of our part of the article below.

Happy Chanukah! Merry Christmas! Froehliche Weihnachten! Chag Chanukat Sameach!

Article text:

Ironically, Germany today has the fastest growing Jewish population of any European country, and possibly any country outside of Israel, mostly due to immigration from the former Soviet Union, encouraged by the German government.

It was widely reported earlier this year that three rabbis were ordained in Germany, the first since World War II.

“There are 120,000 to 200,000 Jews in Germany, and only 20 to 30 rabbis for the whole country,” Paul Strasko tells me. That is why he and his wife, Sandra Andrews-Strasko have one-way tickets to Germany this summer. They are planning to emigrate from Seattle to Germany, where Paul will study for the rabbinate at the Abraham Geiger College, the first liberal rabbinic seminary in continental Europe since 1942.

In the meantime, they are working hard and trying to raise funds to help pay for Paul’s education. Sandra is part-owner of an organizing business, Empty Your Nest, and Paul is a project manager for a small software company, which, he says, “makes me an average Seattleite.”

“I’m probably the only person in the country who’s given two year’s notice,” he adds, saying that his boss, who is Jewish, has been wonderfully supportive, even writing a recommendation.

Paul studied music composition and wants to put that to good liturgical use. He’s already started composing pieces he hopes will be used by the Reform movement in Germany, which has its own prayer book.

“Those congregations are trying to figure out what music to use,” explains Paul. “German music from 100 years ago? Israeli music? American music? If I can add even a little bit to that, I’ll be happy.”

Paul, who converted to Judaism a few years ago, has been active at Temple Beth Am. He considered the rabbinate from the time of his conversion, thinking he would wait five or 10 years, but Sandra encouraged him to start sooner.

Sandra has a strong connection with Germany, too. Her mother was German and she was raised bilingual. She has a lot of family in Germany, whom she and Paul have visited, and she has studied there twice, first in 1997 and then in 1998 when she returned as a Fulbright scholar.

Sandra is also a convert and says those years in Germany were “part of that whole journey that brought me to being a Jew.”

Her German family, she explains, is very accepting of her religion.

“Germans are hungry to learn about Judaism; they’re excited about it.…Judaism was such an important part of Germany for over 1000 years.

“They want people to come back,” she continues, “to grow and heal.”

Read more at Paul’s Web site,

www.paulstrasko.com.

Yasher Koach . . .

. . . means in Hebrew, "Let it be strengthened," or, "Let it be increased." In my synagogue in Seattle, Temple Beth Am, we (as do most synagogues) discourage clapping. Instead, we shout out "Yasher Koach" when that thing is said or done that deserves an exclamation point. (Kinda sorta the Amen of Judaism, although we say that too.)

So let me say, loudly and with as much emphasis as I can muster in type, "Yasher Koach" to the leadership of Conservative Judaism for the historical decision to allow gay ordination and gay commitment ceremonies, a decision that the Reform Movement made back in 1991. (please read the articles from Time, PittChron, and the statement from the Reconstructionist Movement.) Without getting into the incredible complexity of how decisions are made in this body, a minority position on the vote allows that Rabbis in this, the world's 3rd largest "denomination" of Jews, can ordain and marry gays.

Yes, I know those reading this blog are of many different opinions on this, whether you are Jewish or not. I have read the polls and understand that the issue of Gay Marriage and Ordination is among the most divisive out there. Certain verses in our various holy texts give us excuses, in my humble opinion, to make decisions and express opinions that were already so firmly implanted into our psyche way before we could search holy texts for excuses. Yet in truth all of our holy texts reflect an inevitable evolution that belies literalism. The image of G-d represented in Genesis is very different than the one reflected in Exodus, Leviticus and Numbers, and certainly quite different than in Deuteronomy. Then we have a "voice" of G-d through the voices of the prophets that change the earlier voice from a call to obedience to a call of social justice.

Not wanting to rehash millions of pages of online arguments, let me just say that in the Hebrew Bible, the verses in Leviticus that seem to speak against homosexuality (18:22 and 20:13) sit right next to proscriptions in the same section (20:9) like "If anyone curses his father and mother he must be put to death" and I certainly do not see the marches in the streets and the vilification of those out there that have at one tome or another cursed out parents (which, by the way, is most of us.) Likewise in the Christian Bible, the primary verse used for virulent condemnation is Romans 1:27 which says: ". . .and likewise the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed in their passions for one another. Men committed shameless acts with men and received in themselves the due penalty for their error." So out come the signs and Karl Rove and "Reverend" Phelps and why does everyone ignore the part that comes right after in verses 28-32 which says: "And just as they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what should not be done. They are filled with every kind of unrighteousness, wickedness, covetousness, malice. They are rife with envy, murder, strife, deceit, hostility. They are gossips, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, arrogant, boastful, contrivers of all sorts of evil, disobedient to parents, senseless, covenant-breakers, heartless, ruthless. Although they fully know God’s righteous decree that those who practice such things deserve to die, they not only do them but also approve of those who practice them." (Thanks to the NET-Bible, an excellent and honest translation that I highly recommend.)


Where are the protesters against Slanderers? How about the "God hates Gossips" signs at controversial funerals. Why have so many of us chosen the pick and choose methodology to single out homosexuality from a Jewish text and Christian text litany of many items. Why doesn't Karl Rove put out a constitutional amendment against those who would choose a "disobedient to parents" lifestyle?


I think you can all see where I am going here. Good people can agree to disagree on many issues. But those who are so offended by my words right now, let me ask, why are you truly offended? And if the honest answer, which may only come in the stillest moments of the night, is that you are just very uncomfortable about homosexuality, then ask yourself if that gives one the right to prohibit two people that love each other from designating of their own free will who the beneficiary of their will is. If your mind is already made up I probably cannot change it, but in the meantime, a huge step has been made today towards the ideal of "respecting the stranger in our midst." To those brave souls that voted for this minority decision that will help us continue to move forward on the path of ethical behavior towards all, Yasher Koach, and Amen.


B'Shalom,
Paul

My Little Moment of Zen, A Shameless Plug, and a "Small" Crisis

Moment of Zen. Please, my German speaking friends, enjoy the oh-so-many things wrong with this KFC-Frankfurt a.M. poster. If I need to get Sandra to laugh, all I need is to whisper in her ear "Donnerstag ist Chickentag."

As for the shameless plug, anyone that has not seen my dear friend Lyam White act (and who lives in the greater Seattle area) you all have an amazing opportunity. Lyam just got cast as the title role in Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus (read his blog comments here), a production by the new company in town, Balagan Theater. Although not for the faint of heart (one famous stage direction from Willy himself says "Enter the empress' sons with Lavinia, her hands cut off, and her tongue cut out, and ravished." (Act II, scene IV)), the challenge of such horror in great theater is sometimes worth the effort in and of itself. Add to that the fact the Lyam is someone that should be seen onstage, and you have a party (best taken, admittedly, with stiff chasers afterwards.)

In other quick personal news on the Projekt Berlin front, Sandra and I had a bit of a financial crisis last week. It is critical for us to enter our new life in Germany debt free, and as we performed an exhausting (sic) review of finances, we had to look at each other and say, "I don't think we have enough money to actually do this in '07." There was no panic, just thoughtful consideration-- a fact that by itself I find quite extraordinary. We calculated at that time that we would have enough to pay off all debts, top to bottom, but that that would be about it.

One day later, however, we realized that it actually didn't matter. I mean, it matters, but (thanks again Carolyn Myss) if there was ever a time to understand how we manifest our own future, it was this time. If one gives oneself an "out," your subconscious will work really hard to manifest that reality which holds the less resistance. I know many of you out there still don't actually buy the fact that we are doing this. Maybe this is one of those gut checks where we not only review how serious we are to ourselves, but can look everyone else square and say, without tremour or waiver, we are serious.

We admitted with new words and new intention that we needed to be in Berlin-- we needed to continue without compromise on the path that we have chosen (and which has chosen us.) If we both truly do believe in what we are doing (which we do without measure) then the answer is always right there -- we continue to work, save, apply for scholarship, solicit donations . . . whatever it takes within ethical and sane bounds. When I moved to Seattle 3 1/2 years ago, I drove across country with no job, a nebulous future, few friends, and unhealed relationships with relatives-- All I had was a cat, a clarinet, a car I'd bought off of E-bay for $400, and the generosity of a close friend with an offered futon and apartment to share until I found my legs. Look at what has happened since: the most amazing partner in the world, discovery of an amazing path, a great job to move me from "then" to "now," many new friendships and deepening of old ones, healing of family bonds . . .

Could I actually allow for anything less then this on this next path?

Happy Hanukkah, Quanza, Christmas, Solstice, and (of course) Festivus for all of you out there.

Paul

Seattle . . . Jeruslalem . . . Seattle . . .Jerusalem . . . (Berlin)

So this is the view out my window at work. That down there -- that line of grey cars in the middle of the grey is I-5, the world’s second largest parking lot. Candle lighting time this week is 4:22 PM. I think I must be missing Jerusalem, or something.

In other news, Sandra and I have purchased our one-way plane tickets to Germany -- August 15, 2007. One way. What an interesting thing. When moving was an intellectual exercise -- real certainly, but still not viscerally felt -- the concept of a one way move didn't loom quite as ominously.

Hey, there are no second thoughts here. On the contrary. Sandra and I are both having a series of experiences (that shall not be disclosed in this space) that are making it clearer than ever that this is the right path for us. But I am also just smart enough to understand that moving to Germany, permanently even, rates a different level of stress than when I moved to Philly or Sandra moved to L.A.

There has been some wonderful news on this front in the past few weeks. It seems that there is a least a chance that we may move in with one Sandra's relatives when that time rolls around. I realize that for all of us this is a exercise of "possibility," but this particular relative just happens to be among my favorite people in the world, and this prospect certainly eases the stress.

Speaking of relatives in Germany, I do want to send a "shout out" to our friends and relatives around Germany. (Ich kann es mir vorstellen dass "shout out" in keinem Wörterbuch ist. Hmmm -- Ich bin nicht sicher ob es Übersetzbar ist. Vielleicht "SuperGruess" aber "Shout Out" ist ziemlich cool. Mindestens habe ich es gedacht als ich junger war . . . ) This particular "shout out" actually has resonance in the story of our longer journey . . .

Sandra and I went to Germany together for the first time in March of 2005 -- sort of a late honeymoon. The trip had two primary purposes -- meet as many German friends/relatives as we could and interview for the first time at Abraham Geiger. On the relative front, Sandra had always worked to maintain ties with her family, and of course felt it important to introduce me -- but even more than that, already then we knew that an international move was likely, and we wanted to make sure that we had begun as a family building the kind of community that we would need in the event of such a life change. Quite frankly, when you say to anyone the magic sentence "Hi, we converted to Judaism, now we are going to move to Germany to go to rabbinical school and, oh yes, serve as a Rabbi in Germany," it sounds a little . . . well . . . crazy. So how did everyone react?

In 10 days we met and stayed with folks in Hamburg, Oldenberg, Aachen, Saarstedt/Giften, Babelsberg and Berlin. We met folks on both sides of Sandra's maternal family and were . . . universally welcomed. Not a little welcome, either. Anyone of my Jewish brethren need to understand that these wonderful people embraced me as family, took us into their homes, showed us unparallelled hospitality, asked about our plans with frank supportive curiosity, and almost to a person said some variation of, "We are so happy you are coming to Germany. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help." If there had been any questions about our choice, our reception dashed them all.

So to all my new friends and relatives in Germany, thank you all for your kindness and hospitality that you showed to me. I'll see you all in 9 and a half months.

To my larger community, I think that this is simply another symbol on how one of the processes of the Universe -- that which I choose to call "G-d," is that of healing and reconciliation. A German/American woman raised without religion marries a Christian-born American -- both convert to Judaism and move to Germany to play what ever part we can in that process of healing. Crazy? I don't think so.

B'Shalom und bis bald,
Paul

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Just kidding. Seriously, if any of my High School English teachers are reading my blog, the title up above is meant to be a joke. Really.

But then again, not really.

More than one person, perhaps even several scores of people, have commented that since I returned from Israel I am a different person. While in Jerusalem, as I described with giddy excitement my daily experiences, my wife commented more than once during our daily phone calls that I, at 34, finally had my "summer camp" experience. (I did attend Band Camp twice, at ages 13 and 14, but to even discuss this in a post American Pie world is simply too fraught with danger.)

So what are the changes, why are they there, and why should anyone care enough about this to read further? Is the simple answer that at 20 pounds lighter and one lived/relived childhood experience later I merely seem different due to looks and relaxation?

My dear friends Amy and DJ (in conjunction with my dear wife) have given me a few doses of tough love over the past few years. I have had a series of truly bizarre experiences in my life that involved disproportionate violence in situations that wouldn't usually call for such a reaction. Let me throw two examples out there:

In Houston this past April, my last night in a Houston Marriott after a several day on site training, a man threatened me in the hall leading to my room. The offense? In the concierge lounge (a place not usually known for threats in my experience) the gentleman had been pontificating about how all "Arabs" should be deported from the country and then let the mess sort itself out later. I had actually begun packing to leave, as a few minutes earlier he had begun praising Ann Coulter in a volume that made it impossible to not be a part of his comments-- I knew that even as a non-confrontational person I would end up saying something and frankly preferred to simply remove myself. As the blatant racism flew from his mouth, however, I knew that not saying anything would be the same as countenancing the opinion. I stood up and said something like, "I realize you have a right to your opinion, but you are in a public place and there may be those around that are offended by such an extreme opinion. You need to know that as a Jew, another minority group in this country, opinions like this are frightening. If one group is told to leave then where does it stop? This has happened before in history, and it usually does not turn out well." And I left.

Was this wise? I really don't know. I remember noting in my brain that the public place factor provided some protection. I don't like confrontation, certainly, but how could I let racism drip unchecked?

I left the lounge to return to my room (on the same floor) and the gentleman and his female companion decided to follow me out, making several comments, not particularly loving, about Jews as I rounded the corner. Here my mistake was most likely to not call it good and head straight to my room. Instead I peaked back around the corner and said, "I can still hear you, The comments are not appreciated." His reply I don't have to guess at. The words hit memorize-central on the spot. "If you want trouble, you've found it. I'll hurt you worse than you have ever been hurt in your life." Somewhere in this he had physically moved into my personal space. I dropped my bag, but kept my hands at my side while consciously preparing to move FAST if the need arose. Then I just repeated the phrase "You need to step away from me," until the fact that the server in the lounge was in the process of phoning the police got through to the gentleman and he stepped into an opening door at the elevator bank.

Proportionate? I am not the best in the world at confrontations. I am sure that my voice quavers and the mammal in those around me smell prey in my scent. But such vehemence in such a location still surprises me.

All right -- one more to help make the point.

This one rests a bit more hazy in my brain, mainly due to the surreal nature of the incident-- About two years ago in Seattle, during the holiday shopping season that turns downtown Seattle into something that resembles a much larger city's downtown, I left my office around 5:30 in the evening to head two blocks down Pike St. to deposit a check at the bank. As I crossed the second street, something small but hard struck my head. I turned around in (truly) dismay, and saw two gentlemen with guilty facial expressions and smirks (I know-- sounds like a bad movie -- I told you that this was surreal.) I turned back around, quickened my pace, and then felt several more objects, enough to smart more than I care to admit. This time I turned around with a "what the hell?" look and possibly even the same words to match. You have to realize that the streets were packed with people, and this was just, well, odd. And a bit disturbing. I turned back around and moved to a much faster walk to make it to the bank. The two behind me celebrated the moment by taking a small handful of pennies (the apparent small objects in question) and fast-balled the lot at the back of my head. Now my memory gets hazy. I remember stopping dead mere paces from the bank, and I remember the two coming up to me and greeting me with words that promised violence after I had done nothing more than think "What the hell?" to a situation that deserved such thoughts. What is clear is that the threat was real, and I simply without another word stepped into the bank and out of the situation. All would have ended here, but two people on the street that had witnessed the incident and heard the threat (which I found out later went something like "we'll take you out, you @#$%") and believed there to be sufficient cause called 911. When I left the bank, uniformed officers had corralled the two and were waiting for me to find out if I wanted to pursue legal action. (I did not -- I wanted to go home and clear my head and feel sorry for myself.) I mean truly -- what a bizarre, random, disproportionate incident. The first incident I related I can at least say, yeah, it stinks, but it makes (sick) sense that a dogmatic bigot, when challenged, would react as such. The second? No way. Moreover, the retelling of the incident that night to Sandra brought to mind a series of similar bizarre, strangely violent episodes dating back to first grade.

Getting to the point here finally . . .

Alright, not looking for an "aww Paul" here. I am just trying to detail two of many stories that seem consistent enough and unique enough to me (compared to most of those around me) that I would have been an idiot to not identify a pattern and ask to the Universe and my closest friends, "What the hell?"

After the Pennies from Hell incident I did actually seek some "aww Paul" from my friends, and instead got some difficult food for thought. My dear friend Amy told me that I had (and had had as long as she had know me) a "third Chakra leak." Ok logical positivist or not-to-high-on-Eastern-Spirituality friends and family -- relax a second. The language of body energy is simply one of many ways to describe the very real reality that we are complex systems of chemical processes, emotional complexities, and pattern discernment that fall into simple and consistent shapes. Through and within this infinite complexity we nonetheless deal with universal themes and react in similar ways to stimulus-- hence the fact that human existence can be broken down into archetypes numbering in the dozens instead of the billions. It even makes sense, if you let it. One basic example: As mammals we are born and relate to a tiny subset of possibilities usually falling into the "parents" category, and not many will argue that there are consistent patterns of behavior in Mothers and Fathers. Yes, I know, infinite variations, yada yada yada, but these are variations on a theme, not variations on ex nihilo constructs. We all, in all of our cultural diversity still have to deal with the same things to one degree or another, so is it any wonder that although we would love to think that there is just no one in the world out there like little old me the reality is that we always find similarities between ourselves and others. Anyone know what their Myers-Briggs type is? If not, go here and take a great version of the test then go here and/or here to read about your personality type. Anything sound accurate in there? Why does astrology resonate with so many people? Because we're all at the core more similar than most of us like to admit and the "that sounds just like me" responses to astrology can be easily understood my acknowledging that we all simply follow similar patterns and have similar hopes/fears/needs/desires. So when I talk about Chakras I talk about those commonalities of experience in our own body. Depending on how far toward or away from mysticism you want to go, the chakras (mystical) represent seven power centers that reflect the health or sickness (on many levels) of the consistent and definable attributes of bodies and the effect capital-R Relationships have on our bodies -or- (logical positivist) provide an abstract spiritual language to help us describe what makes our bodies tick. According to Amy, I had a problem around the solar plexus, and folks wanted to beat me up because of it. (Alright, her words were different, but this is my story.) DJ, a truth teller on par with my wife told me even more of what I did not want to hear-- that I was "manifesting these problems myself." Why? Two reasons -- from a high spiritual sense I (or my higher self, or the Universe, or G-d, or chance, or whatever, as I am being a broad sense commentator here) knew that this needed to be worked out in this life, and I'd keep on seeing this pattern until I could figure out how to deal with it. What, classically, does the third Chakra govern? According to one of the more interesting spiritual healers out there, Carolyn Myss, number three governs health problems which include arthritis (check), colon/intestinal problems (check), chronic or acute indigestion (check), and a few others I've missed out on but fall into the same general categories. How about Issue issues? "Trust, fear, intimidation, self-esteem, self-confidence, self-respect, ambition, courage, ability to handle crisis, care of yourself and others, sensitivity to criticism, personal honor, fear of rejection and looking foolish, physical appearance anxieties, strength of character." Anyone who knows me more than passing over the last several decades can add your own checks in this list as there are quite a few that apply but shall not be admitted to in this space. Does this seem to relate to anything I might be talking about?

Alright, time to bring the rationalists back into the fold . . .

Have you ever seen a litter of dogs or cats turn on the one that is different? An ex girlfriend of mine had a hermaphroditic cat that other cats without even seeing this cat would work themselves into a killing frenzy to wipe the blight from the neighborhood. For us, such blind obedience to a mammalian imperative to protect the bloodline from the other would be among humans unacceptable. Or would it? Homophobia is one of the most powerful and consistent political galvanizing forces this country has ever seen. Worried about an election? Make it about queer fear and the election is yours. Are those who hold such (dare I say) disproportionate and even irrational views regarding what someone else does in their bedroom and their desire to have the rights of other partnered humans within commitment really that far away from the cats? Cats simply don't have the higher functions that help us humans pretend that we are not mammals. When we try to go after that perceived other we justify it with sophistry from any palate we can pull it from, only one if which is religion. I have yet to hear a rational argument (yes I have looked) as to how gay marriage will destroy the "sanctity" of non-gay marriage. I do see a lot of folks placing non-gay marriage (the one that fits in the the perceived mammalian ideal) on an undeserved pedestal. Traditional marriage? What exactly is that? The women should be barefoot and pregnant one, the arranged one, the for money one, the for lust one, the for convenience one, the "beard" one because someone is closeted and in justifiable fear, or the all-the-above-one that ends more than 50% of the time in divorce? This is what gay-marriage will destroy? Have at it! Maybe after we break down the one we pretend exists but doesn't we might actually come up with something that doesn't manifest itself so problematically. Anyone still think that the vehemence of the anti-gay-marriage crowd has nothing to do with things working on us at an unconscious-cum-mammalian level?

That wasn't really as much a digression as a rant in the neighborhood of my theme. Here's how it ties together: I don't really fit the good old mammalian ideal. I can be a bit flamboyant. (Hey, I heard that.) I don't always play into other folks stereotypes on what a man is or should be. And here's the dirty little secret-- I have always kinda believed that I didn't belong to the tribe because of these things, at times to the point of despising myself. In walks Mammal, smelling the other and all of a sudden we have strange disproportionate events. DJ's unspoken point that I didn't want to but-oh-so-needed-to hear? "You need to figure this out before you enter the rabbinate." Man I hate it when the stuff that is the hardest to hear is the most right!

So I show up on Amy and DJs doorstep this past weekend (DJ makes probably the most tasty spicy veggie enchiladas I have ever had in my life) and the first thing Amy says is "Your 3rd chakra leak is gone."

Using my primer above you can translate that in any way that you want. One of the most human sensitive people I know recognized a problem before and then expressed its disappearance later.

Why? What's the deal here? Why the change (which I do believe has actually occurred)? Is it just Israel? Is it getting away from work stress for long enough to rejuvenate in a way that vacation cannot promote?

It is partially those things. I write this post, however, because I think that there is something valuable to pass on from this journey. My-- how shall we call it-- change? strengthening? -- came after and as a part of a series of key components to spiritual transformation, most of which are so pop-psychology basic that you can find them in puppy ads and apple pie. I left on a trip that was part of a life journey that I am choosing based on what is the right path for me instead of the safe or easy path. The journey took place in a location and time where I had to overcome fear just to make the journey. Parts of my ego had to be (and were) broken down over the course of the trip -- the experience shattered self illusions around intelligence and learning ability, two of my quasi-idols, and left room for more realistic perceptions of those abilities to form. And perhaps most important, by moving me so dramatically from my familiar, I (and G-d in any anthropomorphic or metaphorical way you wish to define) could sweep away the hubris of 34 years spent holding onto an identity that was partially based in being other. Sure, maybe it is true and I am that-- but that doesn't make it a uniform to be worn, just an integrated part of whole.

I don't perceive the world in the same way that Amy does, so my self-description of the changes that I feel may not have her poetry. To be boring, I just feel comfortable in my own skin, maybe for the first time in my life.

B'Shalom,
Pavel