Jewish In Geneva

First french sermon

2011-11-30T12:05:00.000-08:00

Hi all: I posted my first effort at a french sermon on my other blog HERE.

I will try to translate and post the english here in the next day or so.

B'shalom!

High Holy Day Sermon, Yom Kippur 2011/5772

2011-10-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

I would like to offer two stories today – one true and one that is merely filled with truth.

The first comes from one of my favorite chassidic tales and relates the story of a father with a rather simple son. During the High Holy Days, he would pray in the synagogue of the Baal Shem Tov, but never would bring his boy with him to pray. Finally when the boy reached the age of Bar Mitzvah, his father took him to the synagogue for the first time, but only out of fear that the boy would out of sheer ignorance eat on the holy fast day.

The boy had a flute that he would play while tending the flock. Without his father knowing, he took the flute to shul. All day long the boy sat in silence in the synagogue. During the musaf prayer, the boy whispered to his father, “Father, I want to play my flute.” Terrified, the father spoke sharply and quite harshly to his son and the boy relented. This happened again and again during the minchah service, and each time the father restrained his boy.

Finally, however, during the closing service, the n’ilah, the boy grabbed the flute out of his pocket and blew a blast so loud that all where taken aback. When the Baal Shem Tov, who was acting as the service leader, heard the sound, he shortened his prayer.

At the end, the Baal Shem Tov said: This child’s flute lifted up all our prayers. Through the strength of his yearning he played his heart’s note perfectly. This was very dear to G-d, and all our prayers where accepted for his sake.

The second tale was told to me by a dear friend.

He was at the time in his last year of University, and he had been paying for his lodging by working in the student dormitories. The semester had just started, and students had been arriving for days to check into the dorms. My friend looked up, and in walks Ben. Now, Ben had not only been voted “best looking” in our high school class, he had also been one of my friend’s worst tormentors during a sadly troubled time in high school. My friend’s heart fell.

Everything he had been trying to escape – painful memories, humiliation – came back instantly. Then Ben spoke:

“Hey! Aaron!”

“Ben.”

“Hey man, how are you doing?”

Aaron, very confused, replied flatly. “Um. Ok. How are you?”

“Oh man. You know. It’s been hard. I got a job out of high school and it didn’t work out. I am going to try starting over now – so I am starting school here.”

“Um. That’s nice.”

“Hey. So what’s up with you?”

Aaron reluctantly told him a little of what he had accomplished in the last few years.

Ben listened attentively. “Wow, man. That is awesome. You were always really smart. Hey, you know, we treated you really badly in High School. I just wanted to say that wasn’t right, you know? I’m really sorry.”

And now we return to the present. We have already read and we will continue reading challenging texts as part of our journey through and exploration of the High Holy Days. It can be frightening as we read imagery of judgment, reward and punishment. It can be threatening, as we read about complex theology that we may not be willing to or ready to wrestle with at this moment in our lives. But the beauty of these stories is the beauty of the practical nature that exists behind these prayers and rituals. We are part of a living tradition – an ever-evolving Judaism that is eternally relevant.

It is, however, especially difficult as our complex rituals— the Hebrew, the standing the sitting. . . . am I doing this right or wrong . . . will anyone notice—make our celebration of holidays into something that can be very stressful . . . at times, possibly to the point of getting in the way of our ability to simply be in the moment.

It is perhaps ironic, perhaps even shocking, to read in the Talmud, in Mesechet Taanit, the part of the Talmud that deals with fasting and fast days: “R. SIMEON B. GAMALIEL SAID: THERE NEVER WERE IN ISRAEL GREATER DAYS OF JOY THAN THE FIFTEENTH OF AB (Tu b’av or what we call today Jewish Valentines Day) AND THE DAY OF ATONEMENT.“

The Day of Atonement. Yom Kippur. Today! The day of greatest joy in Israel.

How can that possibly make sense when we fast, when we beat our chests when we read “On Rosh Hashanah it is written and On Yom Kippur it is sealed, who shall live and who shall die.” Have we lost something in the last 2000 years? Or is there a way that we can look at Yom Kippur today that can make that real for us? Can we reconcile the solemnity of the now with this vision from our past?

So if I may, I submit that the entire cycle of the High Holy Days, and the events leading up to them, is a perfect opportunity for psychological, emotional and spiritual health that in turn brings about joy.

Consider an example that I believe to be universal. If we all think hard enough, I am sure that we can think of someone that we have hurt or that has hurt us that we have not yet forgiven or that is waiting for words of apology from us. Most of the time we do not even have to think hard at all – these thoughts are a part of our every day reality.

So then it is tradition in some synagogues on the second day of Elul, the month before the High Holy Days, to hear in our liturgy for the first time the call of the shofar. It is no mere symbol. The sound calls us to engage in our tradition. The sound calls us to the process of teshuvah.

But teshuvah is not one sided. Whether we need to be forgiven or ask forgiveness, teshuvah is our tradition’s word for engaging in the sacred process of forgiveness within all of our relationships.

So picture how this works: We enter Elul with one, five, ten, chas v’shalom 100 people that we need to forgive or that we have never forgiven. It doesn’t even matter which side of this equation we are on – the one that needs to forgive or the one that needs forgiveness – both represent a true burden to the spirit. How much time every day do we spend thinking of these people and these injuries, some of them yesterday and some of them 10, 20 or 60 years in the past that feel as if they were yesterday?

How much of our daily energy do we spend thinking of these injuries?

How much of our energy do we spend walling these thoughts and memories away so that we do not have to think of them?

What does it cost us?

Now we hear the shofar and enter Elul and are required by our tradition to perform a chesbon nefesh – a searching inventory of all these injuries. But here is the trick – we have to do something about it.

Our tradition states that G-d will not forgive our pleas to be forgiven, no matter how sincere, for a transgression against our neighbor. We must engage in teshuvah ourselves with our neighbors.

So on one possible path, we listen to the call of the shofar and our tradition and make this searching inventory. Those that we have been avoiding apologizing to we finally approach and begin the process of healing. To those that have harmed us we say words so simple yet so potent, “I forgive you.”

Yes I know this is brutal. This is far easier said than done. Our pain often seems to be inseparable from our selves. When someone asks how we are doing we filter our answer through our pain and then make decisions based on unhealed memories.

But what price are we willing to pay? If we pray today “on Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed,” what are we writing and what are we sealing?

The gates of repentance being open is our symbol for that limited time when the main focus of our Judaism is to get our attention— to get us to think about and do something about these pains and injuries. And if we engage in this process and do this work we reach n’ilah today and our burdens are indeed lifted. That locked up energy is freed. We are inscribed into life. It is a day of joy for the children of Israel.

Yet if we do not . . . it is the most real and practical and terrible psychological reality for us and for our relationships. If when the doors are open we choose to do nothing, we have pressed the injuries deeper, harder to get at, harder to deal with, harder to even consider approaching next year when we once again hear the shofar. We have sealed them and we ourselves have closed the gates of repentance around us.

We have sealed our wounds but we have not healed them.

The reality is, our traditions – our poems and prayers and songs and sacred texts – our Judaism – do not belong in a museum.

They are relevant. But at the same time, all of those items can get in the way of the work that they are supposed to help us remember to do. In the tale of the Baal Shem Tov and the boy with the flute, the boy’s prayer was accepted and elevated everyone else’s prayer because it was the ideal – avodah sh’balev, the pure worship of the heart. It is a reminder of the simplicity underlying this amazing holiday.

The story of my friend on the other hand is the reality of the healing behind teshuva. Was my friend Aaron’s pain a great pain compared to the horrible injustices in world? Of course not, but it was his pain and his inability to move beyond his memories affected every day of his life. But when we say, “Please forgive me” or “I forgive you,” these are not mere words. Ben changed the entire narrative of my friend’s life with his words, with his teshuvah, and for the very first time my friend was able to stop living in the daily memories of a very real torment, and begin living in that moment with his relationships of that moment instead of the ghosts of his past pain.

Yom Kippur is the most joyful day in Israel?

Think of the true joy that is felt when that one burden we have carried for 20 years has at last been lifted. Now what if we work together to release these burdens, all of us, in all our relationships. What joy indeed!

These stories like our complex liturgy are part of a living breathing ever evolving collective fate. We renew our relationship with our Judaism every time we engage in a dialogue with our tradition, and then more importantly recapture the essence of Judaism – joy, relationship, forgiveness, freeing ourselves from bondage – the actions that our tradition calls us to perform.

We have a choice to write life and health and relation, and then to seal them as the reality under which that we choose to live.

May we be inscribed in – indeed may we cause through our actions and choices that we inscribe ourselves in – the book of life.

Parashat Masei - 5771

2011-07-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

I have spent a lot of time this week thinking about the tools of the streams of progressive Judaism—the tools of Wissenschaft des Judentums that have been passed down by our recent sages and handed to us to help redefine how we view our texts and our religious practice. The question I have is if the scientific tools that we have been given – textual and narrative criticism, scientific study of history, archeology, etc. are appropriate parts of the rabbinical tool chest to help elucidate our weekly readings and teachings. Do they have any place in the attempt to address the spiritual and existential needs of a congregation? Can they help at all in the process of tikkun olam – repairing the world?

And then I came to this passage in the current weekly reading from Bamidbar, Parashat Masei:

33:50 The Eternal spoke to Moses in the plains of Moab by the Jordan, across from Jericho. He said: 33:51 “Speak to the Israelites and tell them, ‘When you have crossed the Jordan into the land of Canaan, 33:52 you must drive out all the inhabitants of the land before you. Destroy all their carved images, all their molten images, and demolish their high places. 33:53 You must dispossess the inhabitants of the land and live in it, for I have given you the land to possess it. . . . 33:55 But if you do not drive out the inhabitants of the land before you, then those whom you allow to remain will be irritants in your eyes and thorns in your side, and will cause you trouble in the land where you will be living.”

This is not the first time we have heard this theme. The idea that the continuous downfall of the Israelites was the constant exposure to the gods and practices of their neighbors and their inability to resist the temptation of these practices plays as a continuous trope throughout the words of Torah and Prophets. The Israelites returned to the land promised to them by the Eternal, failed to utterly annihilate these tribes, and hence left for themselves an untenable and unsustainable reality. The narrative of the Tanakh seems to cry, “If only they had truly destroyed their temptation. If only they had truly conquered in the manner they had been commanded.” It is like the worst and most devastating story of addiction that you have ever heard – this one ending with the destruction of temples, the deaths of uncounted souls and the dispersion of peoples into the four-corners of the earth to live centuries of desperate uncertainty.

Here is where the progressive tools need to come into play—not as a tool to attack Torah chas v’shalom but rather to use knowledge to put the Torah narrative into new possibilities of perception—not to take away from the holiness of Torah but rather to experience the radical amazement of seeing our story in every possible manner.

The problem is, that although this narrative calling for the destruction of idols and high places presented in Torah may indeed reflect the theological truth of Am Yisrael, it possibly does not reflect the historical truth. Although there are many theories of what historically happened, from an academic standpoint I subscribe to the theory that the Hebrew peoples were native to the Canaanite highlands – indeed, were a part of this people and over the centuries differentiated themselves through ritual customs. After some influx of other peoples, possibly even a literal exodus of what would become the Leviim from Egypt, the synthesis became the group that would eventually become known as the Jews. This horrible over-simplification at least points to one travesty in the traditional narrative – that the internal problems of the Jews were projected on external elements – their neighbors and cousins – the Canaanite tribes.

Here then is the crux of the problem. Our “narrative” was partially an attempt to push Am Yisrael to give up their addiction to the gods of their neighbors, who were in all probability for millennia as well there own gods. “You shall utterly destroy their idols” begins to sound an awful lot like “if you just try hard enough you can give up your heroin addiction.” As far as a practical tool to help individuals or groups personally or collectively overcome their addictions, this narrative has utterly failed.

And then it becomes clear that we have indeed followed the example of the narrative of the Bible. We have indeed in various ways at various times projected all of our vices on society. We have attempted to blame the internal lack on an external cause.

If you are an alcohol addict then it is the fault of the alcohol so prohibit the sale of it and decry the evils of alcohol from the pulpit.

If you are a sex addict then arrest the pornographers and enact legislation against creation, distribution and private consumption of pornography.

If you are a drug addict then declare a grand War Against Drugs. And how has that worked out?

Although these items may even somehow sound reasonable they are only the first step, exactly as is reflected in Torah. If we cannot get rid of the object that causes us to sin then we need to get rid of the people behind it—first the liberals and reformers because they question the society that nostalgia tells us must have once been perfect. Then solve our political problems by dehumanizing and calling for the extermination of the ethnic and political groups that do not fit into our narrative. Finally we make it practical and we go after the individuals whose existence is a daily reminder that our nostalgic narrative simply does not exist and may never have existed. Let’s get rid of the gays, those with darker skin, the poor and oh yes if the entire world decides to think and act upon this type of narrative, then don’t forget the Jews that are behind all this to begin with.

But when it is all gone, if there is anyone left to care they will still find the same emptiness inside. The destruction of external symbols can never fulfill an internal emptiness.

I wish I could bow to the inevitable criticism and say that I am being, as we would say in German, übertrieben. Yet there are clear, tangible and provable examples for the drive to do exactly what I just described – our contemporary “destroy all the altars and high places and ashterot.” When someone says we need to return to traditional marriage I ask “which version do you mean? The one where women had no choices and existed in a type of life-indentured servitude and prayed that her completely autonomous man would not take too much advantage of that? Because that traditional marriage was the one that existed up until a few generations ago in western society.”

I am not presenting a grand solution here—I make no claim to such wisdom. I call instead for one of the central messages of Kabbalah and Chassidism – that we need to be aware, to be awakened and to awake. If our lives are full of the emptiness that causes us to lash out against external causes – if we look in the mirror, consider all that we would wish to be different, and lay the blame for all that is wrong at the feet of others – then we are not awake. Awakening means that our internal tikkun olam begins with awareness and then internal solutions. It means that our cherished narrative, personal and collective, needs to be challenged.

Parashat Terumah 5771 - English Version

2011-02-13T04:12:00.000-08:00

(Translated from the German -- original version here.)

It was our great teacher, Rav Indiana Jones, that first taught me and many other members of Beis Hollywood about the Ark of the Covenant. As a matter of fact, the film “Raiders of the Lost Ark” seems to offer a variety of insights into the nature of the Holy Ark. For example—we are taught that it is powerful, that it can destroy entire armies, that it is so mysterious and awesome that it gets a special moment of John Williams soundtrack when the Ark is discussed – and – that the Ark is today hidden away in some secret CIA warehouse.

OK – perhaps all of these points aren’t really to be found in Torah. But there nonetheless seems to be a spark of truth behind the Beis Hollywood drama. We read in Parashat Terumah about the construction of the Ark of the Covenant—its material, its size and so forth, and then we come upon:

(Exodus) 25:18 You are to make two cherubim of gold; you are to make them of hammered metal on the two ends of the atonement lid. 25:19 Make one cherub on one end and one cherub on the other end; from the atonement lid you are to make the cherubim on the two ends. 25:20 The cherubim are to be spreading their wings upward, overshadowing the atonement lid with their wings, and the cherubim are to face each other, looking toward the atonement lid. 25:21 You are to put the atonement lid on top of the ark, and in the ark you are to put the testimony I am giving you. 25:22 I will meet with you there, and from above the atonement lid, from between the two cherubim that are over the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you about all that I will command you for the Israelites.

Wait a minute . . . isn’t this just a bit problematic? Didn’t we just two weeks ago in Parashat Yitro read “You shall make not make for yourself a carved image or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above or that is on the earth beneath or that is in the water below” (Exodus 20:4)? And now it is suddenly OK to carve some angels? And even more bizarre, the voice of G-d is going to be coming out of the space in between the wings of the Cherubim—these special sorts of heavenly guardians?

I am not really sure if the Ark can destroy entire armies—and I doubt, at least for the most part, that the Ark is lying today in some secret CIA warehouse. But truly—one must admit it seems a little mysterious and awesome – perhaps even powerful. What is happening here?

The first thing I want to point out is the pretty clear “relationship” reference. There are two Cherubim that are set across from each other – facing each other. The wings form a sort of covering above the cover of the ark itself. Two beings—or representations of beings—that eternally exist across from and facing the other reaching towards each other and looking at each other– both an interesting metaphor and image.

Yet perhaps even more interesting in this picture is the other description of the Ark of the Covenant in the Tanakh from 2nd Chronicles 3:13. Depending on how you want to translate it, it says that “They stood upright, facing inward—“ or with their faces to the house – or facing the main hall of the Temple. Either way, this means not facing each other.

Naturally this drove our sages crazy—yet their attempt to explain this apparent contradiction acknowledges the “relationship” aspect of the Cherubim. We read in Baba Batra (99a) that when Israel fulfilled the mitzvot, that the Cherubim would face each other. When Israel rebelled against G-d, they would turn “towards the house.”

So what about this empty space? What should we make out of this nothingness between the wings out of which the voice of G-d is supposed to address the Israelites? Let me try two different pictures to try and explain this:

First – those that can read and play music understand that a “rest” has nothing to do with “nothing,” as it were. It looks like a “nothing,” certainly. Here we have notes and here we have none. But in truth, playing this “nothing” is every bit as important – sometimes even more so – than playing the notes. This rest – this pause – this absence of notes is a thing in and of itself. Not a nothing – rather a “something.” But what?

Second – how does one say Ex Nihilo – “out of nothing” – in Hebrew?

Yesh m’Ayin.

But Yesh m’Ayin has specifically intriguing implications in Hebrew and in Judaism. When I want to say, “Here is something” or “I have something” I say “yesh.” Yesh Shulkan? (Is there a table here?) Yesh! Yesh Siddurim? (Are there prayerbooks?) Yesh! Yesh maspik Siddurim? (Are there enough prayerbooks?) Lo! Ayn maspik! (No – there are not enough.) Ayin. It is rather interesting that the word for “there isn’t any” is also a part of a name of G-d. Eyn. Ayin. Eyn Sof. Without end. No possibility to see, hear, touch, understand. Nothing. Ayin. The G-d that exists on the other side of our consciousness—on the other side of our ability to imagine—the “nihilo” out of which everything that we can see and experience is an “ex.”

So . . . the Cherubim are perhaps a metaphor for relationship and the space in between then somehow represents and aspect of G-d. It is an interesting perspective that we can perhaps take further.

Risking utter absurdity and irony for the sake of analogy, let’s imagine for a second that “Eyn Sof” can be represented as something or someone that is observable. From our perspective, Eyn Sof is “Ayin” and we are “Yesh.” But from the perspective of Eyn Sof, Eyn Sof is “Yesh” and we are “Ayin.”

Ok, that is intensely complicated and perhaps too philosophical. Let’s try to formulate this differently . . .

Is there anyone in this congregation that believes that they know the deepest inner thoughts of all the others present here? No? What about just a single person – remember – all the innermost thoughts . . . once again “no?” What about my own thoughts and self – do I have the fantasy that I actually understand all of my own deepest thoughts and motivations? Truly? Also . . . no.

Yet despite this clear answer, we stand almost always directly in the middle point of our own personal perspectives and fight almost always that our perspectives are the ones that are correct—that our yesh is in fact the yesh. In a relationship it is always easier to shout loudly when the other cannot or refuses to acknowledge our yesh. My yesh is yesh and yours is ayin – eyn – nothing.

Why two Cherubim?

Even when the creation of an image is not allowed, Torah nonetheless understands – our tradition nonetheless understands—that we can never begin with “nothing.” We need guidelines and Wikipedia and mentoring and sometimes even wings and cherubs to point us to where we actually need to look—to point us to what is really “yesh.”

Is this really so abstract? We all know – or believe we know – what a relationship is. Yet we cannot see or touch or taste or hear a relationship, only the manifestations of it. The manifestations – how we treat each other – ideally serve to point us to come ever closer to understanding that abstraction called “relationship,” when in fact we almost always become fixated on the details of the manifestations rather that the truth of the relationship – the intangible core that is the reality.

G-d speaks from the emptiness between the wings because this nothingness represents nothing less than reality in its highest and purest form. Our challenge is to unfailingly remember that the opinions and thoughts and struggles with the divine of the “other” in any relationship are just as valid as ours, and to act upon that reality rather than the usual reality – that ours is the only. My yesh is truly not yesh and I need to respect yours—I need to try to hear the voice from the place between the wings that I cannot see—or else we very quickly see the wings turning away from each other until the cherubim can no longer face each other at all.

A relationship – love, friendship, that between teacher and student or even stranger and stranger in a moment of mystical meeting is powerful and mysterious and awesome – and therefore there is so much in Torah that shows us and challenges us to pay attention to the yesh of the other – that is to say, the voice of G-d.

Why no Posting? (or . . . bad BAD Paul)

2010-08-08T10:10:00.000-07:00

So -- I finally posted something, just not here. For my German speaking friends, family and colleagues I have set up a sister-blog to post the Drashot that I actually write down. (Oy -- I know -- once again bad BAD Paul.) The fact is, Geiger has a policy that all Drashot are written minimum 8 - days before a pulpit visit, that our Director of Student Placement can review and make suggestions/changes to a sermon. I actually believe this to be a positive idea, I am just not always successful in complying as it takes me ten times as long to formulate my thoughts in written German and I am still much more comfortable with five bullet points and free speaking. That being said, complying with my school's wishes is important, and in an effort to push myself, I will publish any Drashot that I successfully get on paper before a deadline. I have to give here also a huge shout-out to my German coach that has been helping me more than I can say getting this stuff done, and that made the following Drasha readable in my adopted language.

First one HERE

Now -- why no other posting?

I had a chilling experience a while back. I googled myself (yes -- don't look so shocked -- you google yourself too) and saw that on google.de one of the results was not shown and was censored by google. I went to chillingeffects.org to try and figure out the cause -- as -- needless to say -- I had an unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The site described the censoring as "German regulatory body reported illegal material." Cue unpleasant feeling getting worse. I did the same search on google.com, which unless the issue was an interpol issue would show the site, and found that an article about me had been posted to a neo-Nazi website. No comments, simply an article about funding for Abraham Geiger Kolleg that was posted to a neo-Nazi website to let like-minded folks know, I guess, that the government of Brandenburg was involved in funding Jews. Chilling effect indeed. Needless to say, although I truly choose to not live a life of fear-- I felt a significant decline since that time of any desire whatsoever to post thoughts on my blog. I hope I do overcome this, as I still think I have a bit to say-- but for now, I'll let everyone know when a new sermon is up, and continue trying to give my energy to a type of work that-- hopefully -- involves dafka the exact opposite energy of the folks that posted my name.

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

2009-09-15T13:28:00.000-07:00

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.

Musings from the Yeshiva

2009-08-24T11:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-24T12:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-22T06:23:00.000-07:00

(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

2008-04-10T01:34:00.000-07:00

(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

2008-03-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

What It's Really About . . . .

2007-12-31T11:24:00.000-08:00

(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

2007-12-22T06:43:00.001-08:00

(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

2007-12-10T10:39:00.000-08:00

(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

2007-11-13T07:44:00.000-08:00

(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

2007-11-08T23:17:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-10-12T00:20:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-07T12:47:00.000-07:00

(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

2007-09-16T13:30:00.001-07:00

(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?

Slichot Shock

2007-08-24T04:09:00.000-07:00

(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.

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

2007-08-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

(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

2007-07-15T05:54:00.000-07:00

(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 . . .

2007-07-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

. . .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)

2007-03-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2007-01-11T06:41:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-18T20:51:00.000-08:00

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.”

Yasher Koach . . .

2006-12-07T16:53:00.000-08:00

. . . 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 passionsfor 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 filledwith 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 knowGod’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

2006-11-28T17:31:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-08T15:44:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-19T20:04:00.000-07:00

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

Don't Write Angry

2006-10-03T04:18:00.000-07:00

(Picture note: Not really trying to be poetic here, but the post below and the photo remind me of the beautiful song and appropriate message Wendy Marcus at Temple Beth Am taught me-- Kol Ha'olam kulo, Gesher Tsar Me'od. V'hayiker lo l'fached k'lal. All the world is a very narrow bridge. The most important part is not to be afraid. -- Rabbi Nachman of Breslau.)

I wasn't sure I even wanted to post this, but I think that the interests of honest discourse require that the ugly be posted with the pretty. I waited until my seething subsided before I wrote this in hopes of producing something worthwhile and thought-provoking. I guess you all will be the judge.

It is no secret that security is tight at Ben Gurion airport. It should be tight. Good heavens, if the US used even a small potion of the security used in Israel, 9-11 could have never happened. Quite belatedly, the TSA has finally decided to even learn a thing or two from Israel's airport security. (Will find my link to this story later.) The psychology of Israel's security is to weed out bad people instead of bad things -- you know, the dude or dudette that is acting mighty suspicious (see Mohamed Atta's behavior in Boston, for example) might just be a bigger threat then my Gatorade, in my humble opinion.

So as an American citizen, alone in Israel, having no Israeli relatives, I expect/expected to be given a little extra scrutiny. I arrived at Ben Gurion for my flight to Frankfurt almost 4 hours early, packed everything so that it could be easily searched, had all my paperwork handy including my Hebrew University ID, hotel bill in Jerusalem, various proofs of my HU study, plane tickets, extra IDs, patience and understanding, you name it, etc. I say all this to underline the fact that I expected that I would need to answer more than the usual questions, and that I have no objections whatsoever to this.

So what left me seething? In order to establish my bona fides as a Jew visiting Israel, the second security person to interview me (after a 10 minute-ish first interview as to "why" I was in Israel) asked if I was a member of a congregation in the US. "Certainly," I replied and named the congregation. Have I been a member of this congregation my entire life? "No," I replied honestly, as is appropriate. Why not? "I am a convert." Orthodox? "No," I replied, "Reform."

Oops.

Again, please remember that the idea of all this is to check out for suspicious behavior. My "suspiciousness," as it turned out, was that I was a Reform convert to Judaism. The second interview stretched to close to 90 minutes, with a total of 6 supervisors brought over to check my story, go back and talk to others while I waited, return and ask more questions. During this time, one after another group of Israeli and non-Israeli citizens passed by with no more than 5 or 10 minutes questioning. I went from third arriving for the flight to well towards the back by the time I finally got to the ticket counter. In the end, and here is the fun part, the security personnel (who collectively objectively knew about 99% less about Judaism than I do) acted as an ad hoc Bet Din and examined my worthiness to call myself a Jew. "Tell me about your conversion." "Do you observe the Sabbath." "Which specific holidays do you observe." "Why did you want to convert in the first place?" "Do you keep kosher?" And on and on and on.

All this I still could have put down to standard albeit slightly disturbing concerns as to if I were a real security risk, until the person who had conducted the majority of the interview said (in the context of a question about my relationship to the state of Israel), and I quote "Well I am Orthodox and do not approve of what you are doing."

Was this an objective security interview? In my view, no. It was a disproportionate attention that started in earnest after the revelation of my Reform conversion came out and ended with a statement of more truth than I am sure was meant to be expressed.

I am sorry folks, including my Orthodox friends that are reading this, but this is sick. The arrogance of a few people that object to my path without understanding even the smallest detail of my path dripped one of the few stains on a trip that had been nearly earth-shattering in its positive impact, including my interactions with those in Orthodox communities.

In the end, this does nothing to change my opinion of the trip, my choices, my experiences, my love of Torah or even my love and support of the state of Israel. But I am saddened and a little angry. The Hegelian in me will probably talk later on about the necessity of this experience in the overall picture of my journey, and certainly (especially with my previous post as a starting point) this experience highlights the specific work that is and will be a part of my rabbinical journey-- don't get mad, just get serious about educating the world about Reform Judaism and supporting Reform communities as best I am able.

But for a little while I'll still choose to be a bit sad.

B'Shalom v'Tikveh (In Peace and Hope,)

Moshe ben Avraham Avienu v'Sarah Imeinu, proud convert to Judaism and proud supporter of Judaism and the ideals of Reform Judaism.

Final Post from Jerusalem (for this trip, anyway.)

2006-10-01T06:03:00.000-07:00

(Photo note: Perspective is always good—this was one of our “guides” on my first tour of the Old City with HU students. This would be the last trip I went on in a group—not because I objected to the guard—on the contrary! The majority of students at Ulpan are in the 19-21 year old range, a war was going on, and HU’s liability must be very high. This was my last group trip simply because I like my little feet to take me where they want to go, wherever that may be.)

And actually, it won’t be my final post from this trip. I have been working on about five other longer posts over the course of my time here, and will continue posting until all has been said that I can say this time without wearing out my fingers or boring you to tears.

It is about two hours before I head back down to HUC for Kol Nidre and the beginning of the 25 hours of Yom Kippur. For my last post while I am here, I am simply going to throw out a couple or so (mostly random) thoughts and observations, some of which may become expanded thoughts in the future.

. . . I love the fact that in Jerusalem Hillel and Shamai streets run parallel.

. . . The only thing more amazing than the near complete stillness of the streets of Jerusalem during the Sabbath is the speed at which stores open after Havdalah. We said Havdalah at 6:29 last night and by 7:00 every pub, store, and restaurant in the pedestrian area of the New City welcomed us all for business. (Yes Virginia, there is a nightlife in Jerusalem.)

. . . Had my first Kosher Hamburger in Jerusalem. Some folks I met up with last night had a hankering, and, with apologies to my Vegetarian and Vegan friends -- YUM!

. . . Israelis love their T-Shirts and tourists love to buy them-- other than my Hebrew Language Philadelphia Eagles t-shirt that I am bringing home with me, my favorite that I have seen said, "My job is so secret I don't even know what I am doing." Anyone at ACS want this t-shirt? Going, going . . .

. . . The city has filled with more soldiers than usual for the holiday. Two suicide bombers were captured in the West Bank earlier this week that were plotting to carry out attacks during Yom Kippur. I am forced to consider the contrast between this news while here and the threats of terrorism in the US. While I have no doubts that folks would like and are planning to carry out more attacks in the US, there is a stark difference between the Homeland Security color changing from Puce to Fucia (wait, is that the correct color scheme?) and the IDF holding up two explosive belts and the last-will cassettes made by the terrorists. In the states the warnings go up the day after a scandal or bad news is released (I am guessing with Bob Woodward’s new book, the US is due a “credible threat” in the next week) and the majority seem to react in fear or apathy. In Israel, the bombs and soldiers are a fact of life, and, yes, I will be walking down through the Ben Yehuda pedestrian area as I always do, a place of several suicide bombings in the past, because, quite simply, life goes on. It is not apathy, it is simply that davening on Yom Kippur, fasting with a Minyan, and hearing the stunning sounds of the Kol Nidre are all much more important that quaking in my room and wondering “what if?”

. . . I am convinced that the majority of Israelis, secular and religious, do not have even the most basic understanding of Reform/Progressive Judaism. I want to give a big Yasher Koach to the work of WUPJ and all that is done by progressive communities worldwide – but we are possibly losing the battle. Read this article about a typical situation in Netanya, and you see what I mean. Warning—opinion ahead: We all, as a community and as individuals, must at the very least be able to communicate why we are Reform Jews and the value of that choice. We must be able to talk with Jews and non Jews, Secular Jews and Religious Jews. Although it (I believe) is hard to see in the states, there is a huge proportion of B’nai Israel around the world that consider “us” as best heretical. I do not believe the answer is to ignore this and go our own way, and I also do not think the challenge to engage folks is a naïve one. In the last century, the different perspectives of the Brit (as I am from now on going to call the various movements in Judaism) have only come together during times of trouble. Is this appropriate? Is this what we want to wait for? I reject the notion that our differences are irreconcilable. It is not about he-said-she-said or who is right and wrong, it is about perspectives. Again, I am not naïve. I am quite aware of the history of dialogue (or the lack of dialogue) between Jewish perspectives in the US and around the world. The answer is not to stop all attempts and retreat but to at the very least begin in our own communities with two questions: What are the issues of common ground that we really want to pursue, and how do we effectively communicate who we are to ourselves first and the greater diversity of Judaism second. I am not talking about a statement of faith, I am talking about active self-knowledge and principals of communication. If we are going to make the choices that we make and have our membership dollars and time support a specific community let’s all at least know what our community stands for, and if we do already know this, let's help the rest of our community understand as well. It’s a start, isn’t it? (Note – anyone that is curious for more detail, you can read the well written principals from my congregation in Seattle. The progressive movement in Germany has as well put some mental muscle into a document of 35 “Grundsaetze.” I have linked to them here—the document is German, but I’ll get a translation out to you all in the next few weeks. Finally, I understand that many folks will bristle at the act of even writing down principals. To some they are simply anathema to the uniqueness and, well, “reform” nature of the Reform movement. To this I say—yes, I understand, but it seems to me that it is a minority of Jews from any perspective that, when challenged, can help another perspective understand their own path. At the very least, these sorts of documents can provide a starting point for these challenges.)

. . . A long bearded, black coated man stopped me on the way to Shul on Friday to pass on the weekly Parasha from his community. Interesting stuff in the flier – certainly not my usual perspective, but there are always one or two things to learn. Anyway, as we parted and I wished him an “Easy Fast,” he in return wished me a “Meaningful” fast. I am sure it is not original, but it sure left an impression on me. For those of you that are celebrating Yom Kippur, may you all indeed have a meaningful fast.

Signing out from Jerusalem,

Wishing you Peace, Salaam, Shalom, and Frieden,

Paul

So Many Thoughts So Little Time . . .

2006-09-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

(Photo note – although not taken from the Synagogue at HUC, this is a small part of the view from the synagogue that I talk about later in this post.)

The folks at Abraham Geiger Kolleg asked specifically that I remain in Israel through the High Holy Days and immerse myself not only in the language via Ulpan, but as well Reform Judaism in Israel. Although the wisdom of the request was obvious, agreeing is one thing; the experience after actually doing is quite something else.

In the United States, the plurality of affiliated Jews claim Reform as their affiliation. Anyone familiar with American Jewry but that is less familiar with Israel might make the assumption that the same is true in Israel. The reality is quite the contrary. Without trying to delve into deep statistics and demographics of affiliation vs. non-affiliation, secular vs. religious let me just point out one stunning figure: There are roughly (very roughly, I know, relax) 5 million Jews in Israel and 5 million in the US, comprising around 5/6ths of the total world population of Jews. (For you conspiracy theorists out there, that means you are claiming that 0.23% of the world population control everything. I can tell you unequivocally that that after I converted I waited anxiously for months for my check from the vast Jewish/Zionist conspiracy, and it never came. *sigh*) Back to the point, my stunning figure: In the US there are around 900 Reform Synagogues. In Israel . . ., any guesses? About 25. Now this is partly the historical fault of the Reform Movement, who at the foundation of the modern state of Israel showed little interest in the in the fledgling state. I am not posting about or seeking to discuss that point here. I simply want to point out that right or wrong there were philosophical reasons that kept the Reform Movement as a movement from the type of participation that would have allowed the philosophies and ideologies of Reform Judaism to help shape the state. Although through organizations like ARZA, ARZENU, and others this is changing, the gap is still monumental. The statement in Hebrew “Ani Yehudi Reformi” is seldom met with glowing acceptance, and although I would be very curious to hear from others that have lived in Israel on this, my impression is that the majority of Israeli religious Jews are far more accepting of secular Jews (that just need a little act of Tshuva to get it right) than they are of Reform—which to some is an actual abomination. Perhaps in a future post I will write on “Why I am a Reform Jew,” but for now let me simply write the one sentence that embodies so much of what I believe: My wife has as much right to stand on the Bimah as I do.

So back to the original point of the post: Whether it was their intention or not, the end result of my involvement with the Reform community in Israel (and wonderful Shuls like Kol Haneshama, Har El, and the Synagogue at HUC) has indeed been inspiration. Yet more importantly this experience has given me a taste for what I can expect in Germany—out of the 120,000 Jews in Germany, 5000 are Reform. Liberal Jews in the US are blessed with an amazing abundance, and I mean this in no negative way. The unparalleled religious freedom in the US has allowed Reform Judaism to grow, flourish, and contribute amazing spiritual, ethical and philosophical writings and thought forms to those of all faiths around the world. Read books like Heschel’s God in Search of Man or Kushner’s God Was In This Place, and you’ll see what I mean. Yet my path has led me to a Wilderness instead of a fortified city, and I am so grateful for the opportunity to preview, even in this small way, the challenges coming.

Before I take off the supermarket (Mister Zoll – literally, Mister Cheap) I want to share two moments of beauty (and maybe a little transcendence) with you all. . .

Why bother come to Israel? What can I get here that I cannot get elsewhere? The room that HUC Jerusalem uses for its High Holy Days is set on the top floor overlooking the Valley of Hinnom and the Western outer wall of the Old City, including the David Citadel. The entire eastern half of the room, including the ceiling, is glass, and the panorama is the prototypical, even fairy-tale vision of the Holy City. As we sat there on the morning of Day 1 reading the Akeida, the binding of Isaac, I realized that while the cantor chanted the story I was looking at Mount Moriah, the site where tradition says the event occurred. Literal belief or metaphorical, that was an intense experience.

What else? The first night of services, Erev Rosh Hashana, several of my friends from Hebrew University had joined me to experience a High Holy Days service for the first time. That they enjoyed and appreciated the experience is important, but not the point – that I was worshipping on one of our most sacred days with a Catholic woman sitting on my left and a Muslim women sitting on my right puts me even in this moment to tears. Will there be peace in my lifetime on Mount Zion? I doubt it but will still work for it and I of course allow for the possibility. Can humble yet miraculous events happen that are symbols of that amazing goal in the meantime? You all be the judge from the last point that I made.

Oseh Shalom Bim’roav, Hu y’aseh Shalom aleinu v’al kol Yisrael, v’al kol ha’olam. V’imeru, Amen.

May the Eternal [presence or drive or imperative or ethical sense] that makes peace in the heights make peace upon us, upon Israel, and upon the entire world, and [in this holy time for a couple Abrahamic cousins] let us say Amen, Shana Tova, and a Happy and Blessed Ramadan.

Paul

Shana Tova!

2006-09-21T04:24:00.000-07:00

Happy New Year from Jerusalem!

(Photo -- Moishe blowing a little Shofar in Jerusalem, or, as we say where I come from, Sho-far, Sho-good. I am sorry. I apologize. Really.)

I am shocked that this time is nearly over. Only two weeks before I am back in Seattle, hardly more than one of my winter business trips where I get stuck in Chicago after O'Hare closes down. Beginning my preparations to leave is certainly bittersweet. On one side, I miss Sandra desperately and will call it a beautiful day when I am back with her. On the other side, however, there is not a whole lot to compare to living in Jerusalem. I feel that I have become a part of this place, and without a doubt this city is deep inside of me. As fast as this time has passed, I have lived a lifetime of experience, met a score of people that I love as brothers and sisters, and have discovered a deepening in my own Judaism -- not through some call to frommigkeit, but rather through connecting to the land that is its foundation and connecting to perspectives of Judaism that can only be experienced here. I never exactly buried my hands in the earth when the plane landed -- this is a little difficult at Ben Gurion Airport, but I feel as though the land has dug its hands into me. Life has somehow simultaneously become more joyful and more serious, and I am just grateful grateful grateful that I did not hesitate to come here.

Quick hits from around Jerusalem before the holiday:

I am spending the weekend with a host-family from HUC -- professor or student I will find out later today. I have already spent some quality time getting to know my future colleagues as Rabbis as well as some of the professors and leadership at HUC, where I will be studying in 2009 (2009??? Oi Vey!) I have met a multitude of high quality human beings and sincere future leaders of our communities. What a privilege! The only thing I cannot figure -- Tashlikh is apparently being celebrated in the Old City. Where is there open water in the Old City??? Or Jerusalem, for that matter? Stay tuned for this breaking story . . .

Almost at the end of the Ulpan, I now can see and feel just how far I/we have come. With 200 hours of instruction, we have solidly covered a full year of college Hebrew, and it shows. I wrote my first full length essay last night as part of a final project, and as I proofread the paper I was shocked at how far we had come. I have no illusions that I have suddenly turned into a fluent speaker or writer, but the foundation given through this Ulpan is tremendous. I'll be able to work on my own over the next year to solidify what I have learned and move forward with new studies. As I continue studying, in addition to Ulpan, Torah, Talmud, and more and more prayers in the Siddur, I realize as well the other benefits of this time -- what once took longer than I care to mention is now much more fluid -- yet even more important, the depth of understanding of the meaning of the words adds so much to the experience of, for example, chanting from Torah. As a little side note, the change in class has also been beneficial-- my retention and comprehension have doubled, my grades have solidified and my stress level is DOWN!

One of the highlights among highlights of my time here has been the weekly study with the Chassidic rabbi. We have spent 5 weeks now on two chapters of the Tania, and every time we conclude a session (and, ehem, finish one or more L'chaims) I can hardly sleep with all the inspiration coursing through me. This week we spent the time (in between L'chaim's) appropriately talking about how in Judaism, rather than discounting the flesh, there is a recognition of the holiness of the flesh. Although there is a book to be written on this subject, I think what this boils down to is that in a purely spiritual existence there can be no free will, as that spiritual existence is closer to the non-differentiated existence of HaShem. The fact that all the Mitzvot are a matter of choice to be performed in the flesh, make the flesh holy in a different way then a spiritual existence, as the mitzvot cannot be performed as spirit, but only as flesh. For you logical positivists that just yawned and are getting ready to move on, let me put it this way-- a dead or net-yet-born person (obviously) cannot perform any action of Tikkun Olam -- they cannot heal the world. Only in a human body -- only as an existing creature that can distinguish the ethical from the non-ethical -- can we choose to be ethical. This choice, and the ability to make this choice, is a rational definition of holy.

And while I am covering Jewish issues, let me add that one of the biggest challenges for me here has been to reconcile my emotions and opinions regarding the various Haredi communities that I have seen, met, and interacted with (at least to some extent.) My thoughts and emotions here are strong enough that I will probably dedicate a full post to working out my thoughts, but let me at least say this: I have heard the term "Ultra-Orthodox" used to describe the Haredi communities, and I now reject this term. I reject it not because it is a somewhat offensive term to these communities, although it is, but because I think it unconsciously affects (in a negative way) the way we perceive ourselves. By saying "Ultra-Orthodox" we solidify in our minds an imaginary line -- a continuum with Ultra-Orthodox on one side and Reform on the other. The result of this imagined line is a totally false final picture that Haredi Jews follow the Mitzvot and Reform do not. And worse, and don't tell me, my Reform friends, that you have not done this-- somewhere, deep down in the parts of your soul that you seldom admit are there, you say to yourself, "They are authentic Jews," which brings up the even worse corollary, "and I am not." So let me humbly offer an alternative visualization when we think of the of various communities of Jews around the world. Instead of a line, I want you to think of a starburst. At the point in the center is HaBrit, the literal/metaphorical/allagorical/mystical convenant made between Jews and the Universe as HaShem. Emanating out from the center, yet all equidistant, are all of our sincere attempts to struggle with the hereditary and spiritual reality of that covenant. Yes, most people in my Shul do not lay tefillin every day, but I'll see your tefillin and raise you an active Social Action community -- one that humbly and often times very quietly makes a tremendous difference to both Jews and Non-Jews in the Seattle area. Which is the "greater" Mitzvah? Do we even want to argue this? All of our communities offer various ways to challenge ourselves to relate to universal and infinite reality in ways both tangible and purely spiritual, and all are valid, supportable, powerful, and may one day even be recognized as such. As long as we as Jews are struggling with HaShem, we are by the definition of "Israel" children of Israel-- Jews. The day we stop struggling in any way, be it through study of the law, deep observance, social action, pastoral care, being a member of a burial society, etc, etc, etc is the day we need to question our own authenticity -- not because we choose to or choose not to wear a black hat.

Shana Tova to you all,

Moishe.

A Few Final Thoughts on the Ordination

2006-09-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

(For anyone that did not read my original post, please take a peak one below first!)

For me, the most immediate effect of Thursday’s historic ordination of Abraham Geiger Kolleg graduates is that I no longer have to explain myself or put parenthesis around my statements when people ask me which Rabbinical School I will be attending. As we say in the software world, “Do you really want to be in the bleeding edge?” Sandra and I always have received from most (but not all) folks a little bit of the, “Yeah, right,” look whenever we told/described/explained that we would be moving to Germany to go to rabbinical school. In all seriousness, I just want to say that the world coverage, the unanimous world recognition of the significance of this event, and the support that I have received from many of you via email has moved me. Thank you all for your ongoing support, and now that the world has peeked into this phenomenal thing that is happening, I just want to add one last item to ponder:

Rabbi Daniel Alter, the only native German born of the three newly ordained has been called to serve at the synagogue in Oldenburg, which just happens to be an Orthodox Shul. Now this is not the first time that someone educated in one tradition has chosen or been chosen to lead congregations in another, but there is something else going on here: Something, perhaps, monumental.

The more alike two things are, the more we notice the differences. Having now been immersed in more than one major religious tradition in my life, I can say with a great deal of confidence that the desire to dispute the details almost always overrides any attempt to agree on the major issues. Even within my own congregation, some of the most emotional issues that we have dealt with in recent years have revolved around specific issues of food. I am not saying that the discussions in and of themselves are bad. As the chairman of the Religious Practices committee at my Shul (and a loved and respected friend of mine) said during one of these emotional debates, working through these issues is a sacred obligation—a mitzvah. In the Jewish tradition, one only needs the most surface reading of the Talmud to see that the discussion itself carries every bit the wisdom and value as the decisions that come from the discussions. Even in Torah—are we not the Children of Israel because Israel/Jacob wrestled with G-d? Yet let me submit that there is a huge difference between the process of working out differences and the refusal to even come to the table to begin the conversation. I know that in the States the various traditions of Orthodox thru to Reform meet for social action goals, but attempts to cohesively and comprehensively come to the table as partners in the same faith tradition have failed. Why? Mitzvot and women on the Bimah and Kashrut and conversion and Torah and Talmud and tradition and choice and homosexuality and prayer and and and blah! Yes—these are all important! The essence of so much of that which makes this faith tradition special to specific followers of this faith tradition is wrapped up into the perspective one takes on the list above. And don’t think any other faith tradition is exempt. In mere moments I could easily create an analogous list for my Christian and Muslin and Hindu and Humanist and Non-Believing and any-other-tradition-or-non-tradition- you-can-imagine-friends as to why and upon what we choose to argue that keeps us from focusing on the business of healing this world. Again, I am not saying that for any tradition these things are unimportant. I am merely asking if any of these items are worth, in my tradition for example, folks not coming together to address the items that are universal to all? The duties whose worth cannot be measured? The honoring father and mother and the acts of loving kindness and the visiting the sick and the praying with sincerity and the making peace where there is strife and the celebrating with bride and groom and the consoling the bereaved and, yes the study of Torah which leads to them all. That we may disagree on the specifics of these—does that mean we cannot support each other in the very real struggle to approach each of these duties? If I don’t believe that G-d dictated Torah by rote to Moses, does that mean my study of Torah, my teachings, the inspiration and the bond in these words that take me back thousands of years and change my life have any less relevance or significance? Jews have always struggled with the items in these lists of details, as have sincere followers of other faiths and no faiths. The struggle is not the dangerous part—it is the not meeting at the table in the first place that will tear us apart.

So here we have Germany—the last place most Jews would look after the holocaust to find enlightenment. In the place where Reform Judaism was born and some of the greatest Jewish philosophers and scholars in all of history lived and wrote-- after years of struggling for recognition, a small band of 5000 or so “liberal” Jews, mostly from Russia, fought for recognition from the governing body of Jews in Germany, an Orthodox organization, and won the recognition. Through the efforts of people like Jan Muhlstein and Uri Regev and Walter Homolka and too many others to mention, the first congregations of the liberal congregations in Germany were accepted in February. I did not sit in any of the rooms where these great decisions were made, only saw as an outsider the rejection in previous years and finally the wonder of the change this year – and now a Rabbi educated at the daring little liberal Jewish island called Abraham Geiger Kolleg is serving at a congregation of a different sort. On a TV interview I heard Rabbi Alter say, roughly translated, that his primary two focuses in this experience now were to be a good father and to be a good rabbi for his new community. Not to change the minds about the kleinigkeiten, but rather serve in a country whose new/old Jewish pioneers have recognized, at least for the present in this small way, that they didn’t really have the luxury of not coming to the same table. I will have to do some research, but I am pretty sure that it is accurate to say, that since the founding of Reform Judaism in Germany in the 19^th century, this is a first. May we all learn this lesson from, of all places, Germany. Keyn Y’hi Ratzon.

Paul

Rabbinical Ordination in Germany

2006-09-13T04:05:00.000-07:00

(Photo note: I thought a photo of building in the New City would be an apt metaphore for the rest of the post.)

Folks, this is a monumental moment. The Abraham Geiger Kolleg at the University of Potsdam, the rabbinical school that I will be attending beginning October 2007, will be ordaining three rabbis at the newly rebuilt synagogue in Dresden on Thursday (September 14, 2006). This is the first rabbinical ordination in Germany since the Holocaust. I want everyone to take a minute (really, please do this) and think about this. Raise your hands if you would have predicted this 20 years ago. Right—me neither. Let there be no confusion about this – this is a testament both to Jews and to Germans. This is a pure and tangible example of healing through all the things that lead to healing—hard work, sweat, necessity, opportunity, and dare I say, a universal and spiritual imperative to heal.

I knew this was coming and knew it was a big deal, but the article that one of our friends in Germany sent us today points to it being understood as a big deal by a much larger community. I had the opportunity last April to meet the man featured in the article, and I believe him to truly be a mensch. Here is the link to the original article, for any that want to check my translation—for everyone else, I just really wanted to share this moment with you, and have you all share this very emotional moment with me:

From “Die Zeit” September 7, 2006.

The Miracle from Potsdam

For the first time in 60 years, since the end of the Holocaust, those trained and educated in Germany will once again be ordained as rabbis in Germany.

That which is happening this coming Thursday in Dresden is actually already exciting enough for Tomáš Kučera. When finally, after three years of study at Potsdam’s Abraham Geiger Kolleg, he is ceremonially ordained in the New Synagogue in Dresden, a lifelong dream will be fulfilled for the graceful 30-something with the gossamer Czech accent and an ever present ironic twinge to his lips. “For me, this was always to be a huge, yet still intimate moment,” says Tom Kučera, as everyone calls him. “In any case that’s what I thought.”

As for the intimacy—that just isn’t going to happen. On the contrary: The entire country will be intently observing Tom Kučera and his two study colleagues, Daniel Alter and Malcolm Matitiani. Travelers from afar—dignitaries and prominent figures and Prime Ministers—will gather in the Dresden Synagogue in a celebration only seen on the highest of holidays. There will be a live television broadcast. The German President, the German Chancellor, and the president of the Bundestag [Germany’s lower house in Parliament] have all sent stirring words to be included in the commemorative volume of the ceremony. All are in agreement, “This is an event of historical significance” (Norbert Lamert). And they are correct in their grand words: It is a caesura when Rabbinical Ordination of those trained and educated in Germany is once again celebrated in Germany six decades after the Holocaust. In 1942, the Gestapo closed the “Hochshule fuer die Wissenschaft von Judentum” (Institution for the Study of Judaism). The Instutition’s last Rector, the great Leo Baeck, would later be sent along with his family to Theresienstadt and then after the war go to London. Since the obliteration and forcible exile of Jewish scholarship caused by the Nazi’s, prospective Rabbis were forced to complete their education in Israel, America, or England. It is befitting that the Dresden ordination represents a “Gift for our country for which scarcely anyone dared hope” (Horst Koehler). Yet now the burden of this historical moment weighs on the narrow shoulders of Tom Kučera. He strives for understatement [of the situation] in order to evade inappropriate pomp. “When I began my studies in Potsdam I really didn’t know that I would be in the first round of graduates,” he asserts. It was a journey with major detours through which he ran into Rabbinical education. The Czech born Tom studied Biochemistry in Goettingen and received a PhD before he went to Vanderbilt in Nashville, Tennessee on a post-doctoral scholarship. Kučera says that as a scientist he was admittedly always one to search for “Meaning.” He never saw his spiritual interests and science as being in conflict. The rational nature of the Jewish religion, with its emphasis on Law its treasuring of scholarly arguments, made the transition [from science to religion] easy.

In light of today’s prevailing voice of celebration it is hard to comprehend that the founding of Abraham Geiger, with the lively Director of the school, Dr. Walter Homolka, at the fore, in the beginning struggled against a rather icy wind. When the educational site was established at the University of Potsdam in 1999, the Zentralrat [Jewish Central Committee] in Germany smelled a subversive attempt against its [unified voice in Germany] and their concept of a unified [Jewish] community in Germany. Unlike in America where Reform, Conservative, Modern Orthodox and Orthodox communities create their own governing organizations and vie for membership among American Jewry, the Zentralrat claims [the right] to speak for all Jewish communities in Germany

The vast majority of Jewish congregations in Germany since the war has been admittedly aligned with Modern Orthodox and Conservative. This implies a traditional liturgy, a lesser place for women in worship services, strict observance of rituals and the belief in the literal interpretation of the Torah.

In contrast, in Liberal congregations women take part equally in the worship service, a modernized liturgy text is used, and a critical historical reading of the holy texts is employed. After the obliteration of liberal Jewish scholarship in Germany during National Socialism, the Reform Judaism of not only Abraham Geiger and Leo Baeck, but as well the philosopher Moses Mendelssohn, is retained by only a tiny minority [of Jews in Germany.] The school in Potsdam has as well the cultural/political mission to anchor the historical-critical study of Judaism in congregational life. The Zentralrat has in the meantime worked out its relationship with the Potsdamers. The small group of Liberal Jews (around 5000 are organized in the “Union of Progressive Jews in Germany”) have ultimately accomplished what after decades the Zentralrat (which represents 105,000 Jews) could not. The fact that in most German congregations new immigrants from the Soviet Union form the majority has contributed to the detent. “First we have to win many of these people newly to Jewish culture,” says Walter Homolka. “To our advantage, we teach and open, contemporary Judaism.” A sign for the end of the [German Jewish] culture war is that the new Rabbi Daniel Alter will soon look after the Oldenburg congregation, which belongs to the Zentralrat.

Rabbis in Germany are as well Integration Officers

Tom Kučera will be moving to Munich where he has been called by the Liberal Congregation Beth Shalom. It took an enormous effort to raise the funds to support a full-time position. For a long time, the Munich liberal community had to get by with a rabbi that would fly in twice a month for the Sabbath. Now with Tom Kučera a tangible spiritual leader will always be in place. Tom had already worked there [as a student Rabbi] before his Ordination. Thus he already knows that many of the core attributes of a congregational Rabbi cannot be learned at University. “Not long ago I visited a terminal care [patient]. How do you react when a person says to you, ‘I want to die’? It left a deep impression on me. At the same time, I knew in that moment that I was in the correct place.”

As a Jew in Germany, especially as a Rabbi, one is also always challenged to be an apologeticist for Israel. Tom Kučera is not shy about it. His connection with the Jewish State is no contradiction his criticism on many of Israel’s political decisions. With young clergy like Tom, Judaism in Germany is getting a new face. Walter Homolka, the Director of the Abraham Geiger Kolleg, associates with this the hope for a new face of the Rabbinate. He should not be an “Imported ritual vending machine” that becomes a dispenser of the proper occasion on the fly, but rather a spiritual leader familiar with the circumstances in Germany, theologically informed, and at the same time morally self-confident and a political authority. The rabbinate is not, says Homolka, in the end a “Prophetic Position,” rather an office where a critical personality does not shy away from the interfering or being an admonitory figure in public debates.

These are great words, in which one can almost forget that today’s Rabbis in Germany are above all responsible for the two-fold integration of thousands of immigrants—both into congregational and German life. “We train navigators for the seeking of identity in today’s Judaism,” says Homolka.

The German government up until today has provided only 70,000 Euros per year for start-up financing. The rest comes from donations, the vast majority from America. In order to cover the need for Rabbis in the nascent German congregations, Homolka clearly needs more money. “Six Rabbis a year would be necessary. In order to make that happen, we would need 550,000 Euros and a strong endowment at the University.” He wants to raise 100,000 Euros himself through donations, and then the rest should come from the combination of the Zentralrat and Ministry of Culture.

Ten additional rabbis are currently being educated at Abraham Geiger Kolleg. The interest in Russian and Southeast Europe is large, Not only there: one of the three to be ordained, 35 year old Malcolm Matitiani, will go from the Dresden ordination to Cape Town to lead a liberal congregation there [in South Africa.] Rabbis from Germany in the Jewish congregations of the world? It is anything but and exaggeration to call this a Miracle.

-Joerg Lau for Die Zeit

English information on the ceremony and graduates can be found on AGK’s website here.

Baruch ata HaShem, Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, Shehechianu, V’keyemanu, V’hegiyanu Lazman hazeh. Blessed are you HeShem, Sovereign of the Universe, who gives us life, sustains us, and brings us to this (sacred) time.

Amen.

Yad Vashem and Pointed Editorial Comments

2006-09-08T16:20:00.000-07:00

(Credit to this site for the photo—I would not have been allowed nor would I have taken photos inside the museum. Learn more about Yad Vashem.)

How do you write about emotions, impressions and thoughts when you visit a Holocaust memorial? The first time I visited any place with any information about the Holocaust was a week before I went to Germany for this first time. I felt strongly that I needed to go with perspective and at that time, nearly 10 years ago, I admitted to myself that my Holocaust education was lacking. So I went to the Washington D.C Holocaust Museum with my then partner, and realized that in truth my Holocaust education was woefully lacking. I am not sure we really learned anything of substance about the Shoah in Montana public schools. Certainly we learned that it happened, but meaningful details? Substance? Help? Those that do not learn from history are doomed, yada yada yada, right? Isn’t the Holocaust kinda sorta worth its own chapter in our history books, much like the decimation of American Native Peoples and the realities of slave trade that we are also not taught?

I like neither the feeling nor the reality of ignorance, so I have made up for these educational gaps as much as I was able to in the meantime, as much as anyone is able, which is partially the point of the whole post—how much are any of us really able to learn about the Holocaust? How can any exhibit or museum or book or film or play or lecture or even a lifetime of these combined give any of us the smallest fraction of the sum total of the whats and the whys? A little food for thought on how impossible this task is: A quote by Stanley Kubrik that is posted in Yad Vashem regarding Schindler’s List, a film I have heard more than one person call a definitive Holocaust film, states: “Think that was about the Holocaust? That was about success, wasn't it? The Holocaust is about six million people who get killed. 'Schindler's List' was about six hundred people who don't." That's perspective.”

Taking this impossibility as a jumping off point let me focus then on only one small thing. Now several days after my first visit, I realize that I am more impressed with the information in hindsight than I was in the moment – in the moment it was simply too much. I walked through quickly, reading little in detail, intending to get a feel for the totality of the exhibits and then return at a later date to focus on what I felt I needed to focus on. The one thing that stopped me in my tracks and brought me to tears, however, was a shoe insert. A letter in German to a book seller next to the shoe insert read roughly, “I have procured a large amount of real parchment (donkey skin) of high quality. The writing on one side can be easily scraped off with a little water . . .” etc. etc. Of course the “writing” was Hebrew and the parchment that the man was so excited about was parchment from the Torah Scrolls looted from Synagogues. And such practical items were made out of the “parchment.” There were day diaries and the backs of drums and stringed instruments, and so much else, all with the Hebrew so clearly showing that with a yad and a blessing I could have chanted from them.

I debrief with my wife almost daily on the phone, and after I returned from Yad Vashem we had an intense discussion on the nature of Holocaust education and basic “Jewish” awareness—that is, awareness of Judaism outside of Judaism. You see, the parchment seller represents tragedy and pathos simultaneously—the wanton destruction, theft, vandalism, disregard and mockery of sacred Jewish symbols is and was truly tragic. Moreover, I am sure that the SA and SS and partisans that looted the Synagogues knew that these were sacred objects, and the mockery in all its forms, by all historical accounts, was meant to draw blood and dehumanize in the worst way. Yet the parchment seller’s letter does not represent mockery. After reading the entire letter in the original language several times, I am convinced that he was thrilled to have found parchment, and had no clue as to the sacred nature of the “wares.” I am not excusing the cycle of horror here – anyone that knows me knows much better. There is an argument to be made here, however, that those of us in positions of Jewish leadership, present or future, might want to open up discussions among ourselves on how we can educate our larger communities on the beauty and value of our sacred symbols. Should I not expect of my Christian neighbors the same respect for a Torah scroll as they should expect from me for a communion table? It is easy to mock willfully or through ignorance that which is other, but much harder to attack that which is part of community. Listen, I know much more these days about the history of the Holocaust, and I know that my suggestion above is an absurdity when one knows the reality of “friends” and “neighbors” in many parts of Europe that willfully turned on members of their “community.” But I also know of another story that we all need to start teaching more. When you look at the numbers of Jews in various countries before and after the Holocaust one place should stick out for entirely different reasons. Out of the 7500 Jews in Denmark, all but 77 were saved by, truly, the collective will of the country.

“. . .From all strata of Danish society and in all parts of the country, clergymen, civil servants, doctors, store owners, farmers, fishermen and teachers protected the Jews. A united Lutheran Church openly and persistently challenged the German offensive. Many Torahs from Rabbi Melchior’s synagogue were hidden a few blocks away in the crypt of Trinity Church. Dr. Koster, who was in charge of Bispebjerg Hospital, was instrumental in arranging for hundreds of Jews to be hidden at the hospital before they made their escape to Sweden. The psychiatric building and the nurses' quarters were filled with refugees, who were all fed from the hospital kitchen. Virtually the entire medical staff at the hospital cooperated to save Jewish lives. Once it became known among Danes what the hospital was doing, money was donated from all over the country.

The Danish police and coast guard also took sides with the oppressed by refusing to assist in the manhunt. Not to mention the Wehrmacht soldiers, some of whom looked the other way - moved by either compassion or bribes.

To make their escape, many refugees were driven to the coast in ambulances belonging to the hospital. Local fishermen agreed, for a price, to transport them to Sweden. But they weren't safe yet. Successfully completing the two-mile boat trip without being intercepted by German patrol boats was not easy . . . Over the course of a few days, more than 7,000 Danish Jews reached safety in Sweden. Only 481 were captured and sent to a Nazi prison at Theresienstadt.”

Source -- http://www.auschwitz.dk/Denmark.htm

Why was it so different there? The fact that the Jews there were integrated is somewhat meaningless, as so were Jews in other parts of Europe. The horrors that occurred during the Nazi reign are the most obvious aspects of the Holocaust to discuss and film and write about, and quite frankly, the horrors must be known and never forgotten. But where is the Denmark seminar? Where is the conference on tolerance and community based on this heroic episode? Where are the tour groups from American Shuls going to visit the Royal Palace in Copenhagen or the sight of the fishermen’s boat docks or the hospitals where Jews were hidden in an improvised underground railroad? We have so many discussions when we see a movie like the Pianist or the Grey Zone or Schindler’s list on what we would have done had we been inside or outside the ghetto walls, most of us knowing full well that we have no clue what we would do in such unthinkable extremities. But the Danes—not saints, not perfect, certainly on no pedestal—nonetheless did something that was only done in the efforts of horrifically sparse individuals or groups – the righteous persons. I see a nation of righteous persons that, something tells me, would not be so apt to buy a looted Torah Scroll. Let’s work a little bit to find out why, and more important, include this in the list of items that we will never forget.

More Miscellaneous Thoughts (and Confessions – It Is, After All, Elul)

2006-09-06T06:20:00.000-07:00

Another SHORT Update -or- Boy Don't I Feel Like A Schlemiel!

2006-09-03T07:31:00.000-07:00

So first the egg-on-face quick word of apology -- I am still new at this blogging thing, and there were apparently a load of comments that folks left that never got published because I had my settings set to "moderate comments mode." Now that is fixed, I have read every comment and commented back on a few but not all -- this I will do in the next few days. But thank you all for the great comments and for the love, and now I'll stop with the "Nobody Likes Me, Guess I'll Go Eat Worms" song. :)

(Quick note on the photo -- HU has a great passive aggressive way to get you to learn Hebrew fast -- only about 50% of the direction signs have English on them, and of the ones that do, only about one in every 4 places you might want to go is listed in English. Lots o' fun! May not seem like a big deal, but everything else in Israel is bi or tri lingual, and HU, well, in the dictionary under "labrynth" it says, see HU's campus.")

Hi all:

Midterms are tomorrow and Wed (exam then essay test), so I am pretty much overwhelmed with studying-- hence the lack of posting. I love the intensity of class, but this is how it is working -- we learned weak verb conjugation of simple past tense for the first time today, and it is one of the items on the exam. Talk about time compression!

Anyway, posts on Yad Vashem and my argument/debate with an Orthodox Rabbi all to come this week.

Shalom Shalom!

Paul

Dorm Saga Update – Quick Post

2006-08-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

Well, my friends, the good news is that the dorm saga is finally over. The better news is that I am not as dumb as I thought I was. The best news is that no one is pressing charges (that one is supposed to be amusing, for my literal friends and relatives.)

It took a visit to the head of the International School here at HU to get it moving, but as of late last week I have moved into the graduate student dorms (not usually meant for Ulpan students) into an apartment with two orthodox Jewish gentlemen (yes, truly gentlemen) that are smart, polite, serious students with sane sleeping hours. Overnight, the living arrangement has transformed from one that severely limited my experience to one that enhances. Already I have joined them in studying old Chassidic texts with a Chassidic Rabbi that joins them on occasion (“Leave the door open,” he said, pulling Russian Vodka and various liquors from his bag. “It is Rosh Chodesh. Let us invite anyone who comes by to celebrate Rosh Chodesh with a blessing and a ‘L’Chaim.’”) No pressure in the study, no subtle push for me to be a Chassid, but just a couple hours of pure love of studying mixed with a “little” vodka. (Not that anyone was worried, but no one ever need worry that I may desire to become Chassidic. I am a practical sort of man. Let me say for the record that I sweat more than any other man in Israel. Can you imagine if I were to choose to wear the long black coat, grow my beard, and wear the black – or even fur – hat? Can you??) In addition we have already had many great discussions on all subjects, celebrated Havdalah together, and generally they have inspired me to have more of the total experience here that I had wanted to have all along.

Needless to say my humor has improved drastically, and I discovered something amazing: after a full night’s sleep, I am not the slowest learner in class. Quite frankly I am learning more at the speed I am use to, taking into account that I am not an aural learner. I guess this lesson is best learned now rather than when I begin rabbinical school next year.

My next post should be much longer and more interesting.

Very awake and alert greetings to all!!!

B’Shalom

Paul

The Day I Fell In Love With Jerusalem

2006-08-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Some people call them happy accidents. I like to say that the dice are rolling.

Let me first say that I am in RA purgatory. For my international readers, in college I was employed in the dormitories as a “Resident Assistant,” which at my University meant that my cohorts and I were expected to be Counselor, Police Officer, Father Confessor, Parent, Court Jester, and Ah—yes—babysitter. So I must have been a rotten RA, or at least built some really nasty Karma, as the dorm experience here has gone from bad to intolerable, and I apparently don’t have a whole lot of choices in the matter.

Well, last night I had my “encounter” with the, uh, gentlemen and their lady friends from my dorm: the first at midnight when a group of them decided to bring a hookah out into the common area and fill my room up with clouds of reek, the second at 4:14 am when they returned from wherever to continue the fun, including opening up all their doors and blasting their music at 5 pm levels. Although I understood that the act would be, with this crowd, a pariah creating act, I nonetheless thought that I would give it one try to see if talking with them would illicit sanity. Hah!

So after a total of somewhere between 2 and 3 hours of sleep, I tried to go to class, made it about a half hour until I felt myself beginning to snore (ask Sandra – this is NOT a good thing) and then promptly returned to my room during the only silence that exists – when “they” are all at class. When I woke up around 1 or 2, I knew I needed to just get away from the dorms, and so at last I did what I always do in new cities, and should have done much earlier here: I got myself deliberately lost. Disclaimer: This is not for the faint of heart.

Here’s how you do it: Hop on some form of public transportation—any form will really do. Since this is Jerusalem, that means a bus. Note that this works best when you grab any bus and not a specific bus, however, as the buses in Jerusalem might be letting you out in Haifa or Eliyat, I did cheat and read that the bus I took was one of the “through Jerusalem only” sort. Next, hop off the bus when you know you are more than walking distance from your starting destination—I like a good 30 minute ride on a city bus, myself. Important: Have an exit strategy. I had practiced “Bavakasha, sa l’Universita Ivrit b’Har Tsofit” (please take me exactly where I need to go) for a quick cab ride home before I left. A city is a city and a dicey neighborhood is a dicey neighborhood no matter where you are. Finally, sniff the air and watch the people and listen to the pulse of magnificent life around you.

It really doesn’t matter where I went. For the record’s sake, I walked through most of the immediate new city from the Great Synagogue down through Yemin Moshe, (the first new city neighborhood – the one with the famous windmill) up through most of the New City pedestrian shopping district, through the Shuk (market) on Rachov Agrippas, and finally ended up at the Knesset – for a grand total of about 6 hours of walking. And I fell in love.

Most of the culture shock of the first several weeks here was honestly just being so far from the real city. Mount Scopus is beautiful and important and holds so much of interest, but it is only the smallest part of the magnificence I felt. I haggled with clerks over a matter of shekels, I ate falafel that was being mixed and deep fried in front of me, I sampled the unbelievable organic fruit from Israeli farms, I listened to the hum of Hebrew and Arabic and English and Yiddish and Russian and French around every corner, I drank a shot of Sabra for health and I listened to a shop keeper blow a shofar to advertise that his were indeed the best. I greeted a thousand Israelis with “Shalom Shalom” and was offered water by a concerned shop keeper who saw me sweating too much. (“First you must bless,” he said, handing me the water. “Shehekol Niyeh Bidvaro.” I recited the prayer and was rewarded with a hearty “Amen,” and joyous grin, a vigorous handshake, and a Jersey from the local football team for 27 shekel.) Finally, I was able to talk with my wife on the phone from the middle of the shuk, and tell her with joy and honesty that we would have a good year hear together when we came back to live during my third year of rabbinical studies.

B’Shalom,

Paul

Life in Yerushaliyim

2006-08-16T03:48:00.000-07:00

Or should I say, “Vive La Jerusalem!”? As it turns out, although I am studying tons of Hebrew, the survival language I am being forced to use is French. It seems that in someone’s infinite wisdom, I have been placed in a dorm of 100% native French speakers, (er, um, with an average age of 19—use your imagination regarding chaos levels) and when I say that my spoken French is better than their spoken English, that is not actually saying anything good about my French. Let’s just say that if I was an RA responsible for this floor, I would have probably already quit. But enough of that—who really needs to study or sleep?

Lots of Miscellaneous Thoughts . . .

So we have a fragile cease fire, and for this I and many others are saying “Baruch HaShem.” The general feeling here seems to be one of collective “we’ll see,” and the Israeli saying of “Better a critical editorial than a praiseworthy obituary” contains much truth and perspective. How does anyone weigh defense vs. annihilation? I don’t think any of us in the US can really understand this perspective or answer this question.

Hebrew University is really located in a stunning place. The photo that I have posted one I took from the humanities building, just below the university Synagogue. The keep the perspective, the Rothberg International School where all my classes are held looks over East Jerusalem, and throughout the evening we are greeted by the sounds of prayers from the mosques. I find the sounds to be among the most peaceful I have ever heard in a city, anytime, anywhere.

I have had a few emails asking about security—even with the war hopefully over, I still would like to take a few minutes to address the questions. Security like everything else in Israel is a matter of perspective. Generally speaking, I feel much safer on the Mount Scopus campus than I did on the U Montana campus, and much more than at Temple. In 2002 a suicide bomber hit the Sinatra Café (yes, you heard right, the Sinatra Café) about a 100 meters from where my classroom is, and since then there is no entrance at any time onto campus without an ID check, bag check, and walk through a metal detector. The same is true for all dorms. Israeli police and army personal man the checkpoints, armed with very large and very automatic guns. Sponsored trips to the city are on private buses with armed guards that accompany the tour groups beginning to end. State run buses also have tight security, and when one gets use to the ubiquitous Uzis, life seems secure. That being said, what does security really mean? Should one become “use to” Uzis? These are questions for another post, but I still say that it is a hard to judge the Israelis unless you have lived in Israel as it is to judge the Palestinians unless one has lived in Palestine.

Specific to my cat loving friends: I don’t know if I can recommend you ever take a trip to Israel. Apparently, once upon a time, there was a major rat problem in Israel, so the Israelis imported a ton or so of cats, which have now become the x generation of feral cats that are as populous here as squirrels were on my campus at the University of Montana. Some live well, some do not, some are in good shape, some are not. I have begun a photo collection, however, that will be posted in the next week or so on paulstrasko.com along with all the photos I have been collecting.

My class itself, Aleph Sheva, (meaning out of the 15 beginning Ulpanim I scored straight down the middle in my entrance exams) is a regular United Nations in and of itself. We have: 1 Brit from Liverpool, 1 Australian from Melbourne, 1 French girl from Paris, 1 Moroccan, 2 Koreans, 3 Arab Israeli Citizens (who, I really want to say, are among the most profoundly fun people I have met here, and proudly call themselves Israelis), and two opposite coast Americans, from Seattle (ahem) and Brooklyn. After a week of class, covering about two chapters a day from the book, we are still in some ways at the “See Dick Run” level, but on the other hand, I now have enough knowledge that yesterday I made the transition from “Shalom-- Ata Mehvin Anglit” (Hello, do you understand English) as my first words in a shop, restaurant, etc., to Hebrew only. Ordering a meal or buying a t-shirt isn’t exactly arguing about fragile peace agreements or Talmudic principles, but . . . .

Alright – I’m done for now. Hardly anyone has commented on my posts, so I am going to get all whiney and assume that only Sandra and one or two others are reading this. You all know that I need tons of attention, so please let me know you’ve been here, or even let me know what you want me to write about in Israel. For those of you that have commented or sent me other emails, I am profoundly grateful, as it is honestly a bit lonely here on occasion.

B’Shalom,

Paul

Safe Arrival in Israel

2006-08-07T04:10:00.000-07:00

ON THE AIRPLANE

I strikes me that every step I will take in Jerusalem to the east will be one step farther than the farthest I have ever been from home. A trip such as this makes you question your basic abilities. I think you could drop me anywhere from London to Moscow (except, probably, Hungary and Finland as the languages are so crazy) and I would be able to speak enough words in some common language and survive. But that is more cultural than anything. As I walked through the special (read: long, dark, quiet, and filled with extra security) wing of the Frankfurt Airport that houses the El Al and Lufthansa flights to Israel, I realized that for the first time, I am simply not sure of if I could make it or not dropped into the Middle East. I simply have no frame of reference to judge my own abilities against this upcoming adventure. Looking at the window as the captain tells this boy from Montana that we are flying over Athens drives home the otherness of this moment.

On the flight they are showing a video of the fighting in Lebanon and the rockets that struck the soldiers at the Kibbutz. But the Boeing 747-400 is almost completely full, people were praying their morning prayers in the gate area, an old Israeli man asked me in joyful Hebrew if I could watch his bags and allowed me my first conversational words of this revived language, and in a way that puts our Patriot Act response to terrorism to shame, life is just going on. I think I could learn a lifetime of perspective in the faces of these people on the airplane.

SAFE ARRIVAL

It will be impossible to cohesively put my initial thoughts into words. I'll try to sort it out over the next few weeks. But I am here, I am safe, and I am about to take a cab from my hotel to Mt. Scopus to *the former RA cringes here* check into the dorms. There is, however, one experience I would like to recount:

If any of you have read Stephen Covey's "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People," you may recall in Chapter 1 where he recounts the story of an unruly child on a commuter train. As the child become more boisterous to the apparent non-chalance of the parent, Mr. Covey finally said something to the father, who replied that he simply didn't know what to do as they were just returning from his wife's, the child's mother's, funeral. I always hated that story, as it forces an almost insane sainthood on those of us in observer positions. As a (very) frequent traveler, I reserve to right to be annoyed with certain behaviors. I am certainly not a saint. Anyway-- When I finally arrived at the Gold Hotel, adjacent to the new central bus terminal (anyone, by the way, that feared for may safety were mispaced in the focus of your concerns-- the group-taxi-shuttle ride was near fatal!) I entered what many of you will recognize as my personal hell. From the courtyard, solid packed to the reception and throughout the lower level were hundreds of children. At a ratio of about 5 screaming children for every one adult, with the average child age at about 5, well, you can get the picture. When I had checked in and reached my floor, the hall resembled closer to a football pep-rally that the usual travel experience I am use to-- almost every door open, people running from room to room, children racing up and down the hall, children screaming, babies crying-- I "Slicha"d my way past a crowd simply to enter my room, closed my door, and collapsed into a ball of sweaty traveler.

Back to that brutal honesty thing-- I made some assumptions about the folks in the hotel and hall. I was indeed working hard to keep an open mind-- different culture and all-- but most of the families were orthodox and I had thoughts of average family size figures running through my head. The experience previously written about in Germany gave me at least some perspective-- then the true truth hit me. What the place really felt like was a refugee camp, which it turns out is exactly what it was. I made my reservations for the hotel 3 months ago. In the last several weeks, 300,000 Jewish and Arab Israeli citizens have fled the civilian-max-casualty Katyushka rockets into the south. According to news reports here, those that cannot find other accomodations being housed in hotels throughout the region.

Maybe I should have not scoffed so much at Stephen Covey's perspective. On second thought those children's screams sound awefully nice. May the Eternal bless ALL those displaced in this war.

B'Shalom,
Paul

Frankfurt and Shul

2006-08-05T22:57:00.000-07:00

Honesty time: Part of my excitement for this trip was simply my desire to spend time in Germany. I planned my travel schedule around being able to adjust my body clock in a place where I knew the language and was comfortable with the culture, but I must admit that the sheer desire to sneak in some extra hours in Germany has always been my motivation.

The fact is worth exploring a bit. In 1998 when I first traveled to Germany I stepped of the plane in Frankfurt and said that I felt like I was coming home. At the time, I put the feeling down to an understandable psychological reaction to having always desired to spend time in Europe, yet never really believing that I would have the opportunity (Truly, when one is born in a small town, Europe might as well be the moon-- it simply doesn't seem possible one could travel there if one is not wealth.) This must all be a juvenile reaction based on and even more juvenile sense of childhood deprivation. Indeed. This is now my fifth time in Germany, and the feeling gets stronger every time. It is also not simply a reaction to Europe -- I have visited and spent significatant time in France and England, and although there were objective individual items I preferred in both places, I never had the feeling of being home. In Germany, as strange as it continues to seem, I feel moved by the people and language, streets and history, darkness and light. My dear friend Amy Rosenleaf explains this as a reaction to non-linear time-- that my body and spirit recognize that it many ways I am already living here-- in essence a sort of premonition to decisions that have already been made and a hearth that at least in a spiritual sense has already been laid. My logical positivist friends out there are going to cringe when you read the previous sentence. To you I will offer, "maybe it is just the beer."

Shul in Germany

During my conversion to Judaism, I must admit to a specific pride that I am no longer particularly proud of. Everyone comes to conversion to any religion for their own unique reasons, but I believe I am not out of place by saying that in Judaism it is usually through marriage. As a result, there were many people in Sandra’s and my conversion class that were struggling with deep seated ties to Christianity. I must say to my beloved Christian friends and family that there is nothing wrong with this. I am glad people were struggling, in retrospect, as it is merely the literal reality of the metaphor of Jacob wrestling with G-d. But the struggle stemmed from the fact that, although Judaism is primarily a religion of practice rather than belief, the one belief that makes Judaism incompatible with Christianity is the belief in the divinity of Jesus. In essence, although I know a certain sect will disagree with me, one cannot be both Christian and Jew. As Rabbi Zari said in class, “The playing field [of potential and ‘acceptable’ Jewish belief} is huge, but when one accepts Jesus as divine, one is no longer in the playing field.” There is no judgment here, they are merely different things, some of which match the spiritual journey of some, and some of which cleave to that of others.

So back to my pride. I began my conversion process way after having wrestled with that particular face of the divine, and in the class was even in the position to walk with some of the folks and help them with their own questions. I would like to say that this was done with the deep humility of an ersatz spiritual guide, but in reality I was pretty darn proud of my knowledge—a pride bourn of the fact that I didn’t have to struggle with belief. Unfortunately I think this translated to overconfidence in understanding the entire Gestalt of Judaism.

So enter the Westend Synagoge in Frankfurt. The building, dating to before the holocaust, has been restored to an almost overwhelming beauty. When the cantor sang, the sound had to move fifty meters forward and who-knows-how-far up into the Byzantine dome before it came back to me, a mere twenty feet behind the cantor, sounding like a prayer sung from the bottom of a canyon. No specific words could really be made out, only the melody and a haunting accompaniment of men’s elongated bass voices—for my music geek friends out there, think Leonin and Perotin with Jewish modes. And during all of this, kids ran around, grabbed their fathers’ tallitot while their fathers stood on the Bimah, old folks and young caught up with their friends in German and Russian and Hebrew and Yiddish while the prayers were prayed and the Torah was read—and, and, and . . . I realized that I may indeed have readied myself belief-wise in my Jewish journey, but like my current trip, I simply have no reference to be ready for the full breadth of cultural experience. Quite simply, I began Sabbath prayers seeing everything through a very WASP-y lens of “that is not very orderly or polite” and ended it realizing that I had been able to see Judaism, the Sabbath, and even Orthodoxy in a different way.

For better or for worse, many Jews pray as a duty. It is a mitzvah to pray, and what is a mitzvah but a sacred obligation? One of the joys of the reform prayer services that I have had the opportunity to experience, is that our Rabbis are not shy about guiding the congregation through kavanah, or spiritual focus so that the prayers are more than a duty, but as well an act of spiritual interconnectivity. I may be wrong, but I think that that many are turned off by Orthodox prayer services because they come across as an over-long duty that is short on the connectivity. So as I disconnected myself and had my usual panic attacks in the presence of loud children running about, it all changed. The conversations, the children, the seeming chaos are nothing more than life existing within the Sabbath. People were not going to a Synagogue to be other than what they were for a few hours, but were coming to Shul to be the most of themselves, and to be that in the presence of their community.

As soon as the veil of disapproval fell from my eyes, then I understood the final truth of the moment: As Shul is simply a microcosm of life, perhaps an epitomization, then how could I understand the service with expectations outside of that? Do we have deep spiritual enlightenment every moment of our lives? No, but as Jews as well as in most other religions, we seek to learn and increase that spiritual awareness our entire lives. Shul is the same—at a running time of between 3 and 4 hours how could I expect the kids to remain docile and quite? Certainly their parents didn’t, hence no disapproval as the children clamored up the bimah. It was simply life continuing to happen. How could I expect everyone worshipping to be fully spiritually present the entire service? I certainly wasn’t. Life continued to happen and we all continued to remain very human. But we were there, and we all had our moments, and I cried as everyone joined together in certain prayers, and maybe came out at the end slightly more connected.

Extended Letter to Friends and Family

2006-08-04T20:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends and Family,

As many of you know (but some of you do not) I am taking an
extended leave of absence from work to study at Hebrew
University from now until the first week of October. This
trip is in preparation for when Sandra and I officially move
to Berlin in August 2007 to begin rabbinical school at the
University of Potsdam. Although I have heard many words
of support and encouragement, I have also heard concern,
and I wanted to send a quick note of "why am I still going"
as well as let everyone know how I will send updates.

First of all for updates -- As I am one for the power of choice, rather
than clutter everyone's in-boxes, I have set up a web site and a
"blog" to help document the entire journey of Rabbinical School in
the long-term, and in the short term to post weekly and let people
know I am alright. The website is www.paulstrasko.com and the
link to the blog is on the first page. While I am in Jerusalem I will be
posting at least weekly, as well as immediately if there is any
incident in the area to help alleviate concerns.

As for the why -- the most simple reason is that it is a requirement
for my entrance into rabbinical school, and is a requirement for
pretty much every rabbinical school worldwide. From a purely
linguistic standpoint, everyone one of you that has taken a foreign
language understands that there is no substitute for language
immersion, and this is no different, and is also why it is a
requirement.

The other reasons are more complex and I'll cover some in posts on
my blog, but I'll try to at least articulate several of them, however
briefly. From a personal standpoint, traveling to Israel is a
fulfillment of a dream, and as such, there is never really a "safe"
time to go. As we have found out in the last week in Seattle, as if we
did not already know, safety is an illusion. Am I more or less safe in
Seattle where a gunman killed a woman at the Jewish Federation
this week citing anti-Jewish hatred? From a Jewish Solidarity
standpoint, I feel that those that have sworn to destroy Israel will
do so more easily if every trip to Israel is canceled, every tour
curtailed, and every dollar meant to be spent bolstering the
economy of the only country in the region that supports, for
example, progressive women's rights, is not spent in Israel-- in
such a case Hezbollah, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, Al Qaida -- they have
already won. I have no illusions that my several shekels will change
the world, but this is so important to me that were I to run away in
fear when somany other Jews around the world do not have the
luxury of my choices, that I would be less of a person, and certainly
less of a future Rabbi.

Well, that is probably deeper than anyone really wanted to go in an
email! I am so deeply grateful for all of your love and support, and
I hope to see at least a few emails and posts to my blog over the
next few months to let me know that you are out there.

B'Shalom,
Paul

2006-07-30T16:01:00.000-07:00

Acknowledgement of Concern

Friends and Family,

In the last few days and weeks, many of you have expressed your concern that I am going to be traveling to Israel during this time of trouble. I am deeply grateful for your love and concern, and have set up this blog to keep you updated and let you know that I am safe. I'll try to post weekly, at the very least, and will make sure that I post immediately should there be any incident around Jerusalem. The provost at Hebrew University also continues to post safety updates on the University's website. The Rothberg International School at HU places a huge emphasis on safety, and the Provost's notices can be read at http://overseas.huji.ac.il/ .

b'Shalom,

Paul