The Blink of an Eye: Thoughts on Yom haZikaron and Yom haAtzmaut
I remember an Israeli friend of a friend who couldn’t celebrate Yom haAtzmaut - Israeli Indenpedence day. She wasn’t expressing political dissent; rather, the transition between Yom haZikaron and Yom haAtzmaut was too difficult - her boyfriend had been killed while serving in the IDF. Being that the end of the Day of Remembrance, when the emphasis is on children, parents, family, friends, lovers who died serving Israel, is also the beginning of the Day of Independence, which is essentially a large party, this isn’t too hard to understand. How does one leave grief behind so quickly?
The Talmud has a feel for the difficulty of fleeting transitions. In a discussion about the nature of passing time, the following statement gets made:
Said Rabbi Yosi: The time between day and evening (called bein hashamashot) is like the blink of an eye. One enters, the other leaves, and it is impossible to stand in the midst of it.*
Talmud Bavli, Masekhet Brakhot 2b
Impossible to stand in the midst of it. Could it be expressed better? It seems unfair to me that God so often asks of us, that we ask of ourselves, to stand in the breach between agony and joy. Celebrations are never simple for the Jews: they are always commemorations as well, asking us to mix the joy of what is happening now with drops from the too often bitter past. There are so many holy days, not the least of which the one we just celebrated, that require us to stand at the point between darkness and light. The Israeli Hakhrazat haAtzmaut -- Declaration of Independence -- mentions the strength of the Haluztim and the Nazis in successive paragraphs. Many of us are caught between pride and pain, for a bewildering array of reasons, when thinking about Israel’s place in the world and history.
The problem with chucking it all and not caring is that this moment, the shift between one day and another, is the moment when holiness is born. Shabta kava nafsha**, the Talmud teaches us -- Bein haShamashot is the time when Shabbat “fixes” itself, brings itself into the world.
This means that Bein haShamashot is precisely the time when the potential for something new is created. The time when the world can slip out of the groove of repetitive history, and take a path not previously known. And we have an urgent need for something unexpected.
My blessing is that we have both joy in the existence of our State and comfort in the memory of our loss, but mostly that we reach for the point in between, and be blessed to see the unexpected.
Rabbi Scott Perlo
*“Stand in the midst of it” is a literal translation of the text, which also means something like, “it is impossible to accurately fix the time.“ Rabbi Yosi’s opinion is a minority opinion - the other opinions give a larger margin for time between when day ends and night begins.
** Bavli Pesahim 105a
Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Intermarriage
That's right, PLP tackles the big one. Click here to listen to the team's discussion about intermarriage and the future of the content and concern of Judaism. Much of this discussion is informed by Rabbi Michael Marmur's excellent teaching for the Hartman Global Beit Midrash on Sunday, 5/19/09
Kill the Euphemism (From Harpers Magazine)
I think it's time to kill the euphemism. This little blurb, published in Harpers Magazine, is a testament to just how far we've stretched the euphemism.
Can you hear me now?
From a November press release by the telecommunications company Nokia Siemens Networks.
Nokia Siemens Networks has completed the preliminary planning process to identify the proposed remaining headcount reductions necessary to reach its previously announced synergy-related headcount-adjustment goal. To date, the company has achieved an adjustment of more than 6,000 employees and continues to expect a total synergy-related adjustment of approximately 9,000 employ ees. “With the successful completion of these plans,” said CEO Simon Beresford-Wylie, “we can start to put this chapter of our history behind us and focus on creating a world-class company.” The proposed headcount adjustments are a result of merger-related synergies, including changes to the product portfolio, site optimization, streamlining of various functions, and strategic long-term R&D and workforce balancing designed to build a competitive Nokia Siemens Networks. Bosco Novak, head of human resources, said, “It is our goal to engage constructively with employee representatives to quickly and fairly achieve these needed changes so we are able to remove the ongoing uncertainty that our employees have about synergy-related headcount reductions.”
A little commentary on this from Torah:
Proverbs, 12:18-19
“There is blunt talk like the thrusts of a sword,
But the speech of the wise is healing.
Truthful speech abides forever,
A lying tongue but for a moment.”
Monday, April 13, 2009
Making Synagogue Stimulating Again - Rabbi Shmuely Boteach
All you shul-goers, check this one out. There's important stuff in here...
Making Synagogue Stimulating Again
By Rabbi Shmuley Boteach
We Jews who live outside of Israel just went through a three-day Passover holiday. For many it felt like punishment for being Diaspora Jews. Three nonstop days of Synagogue. Man. It’s supposed to feel like prayer. Not purgatory.
All too many Jews avoid going to Synagogue for fear it will leave them in a deep and irreversible coma. The time has come, therefore, to examine what can be done to reinvent it.
First, there are the sermons. Many of them are utterly predictable, the kind of stuff we’ve heard every single year until it’s coming out of our ears. Others are utterly simplistic and constitute nothing more than stating the obvious. Still others are delivered in a deadening monotone making the Rabbi seem as bored with his own message as the congregants.
There should be a new rule in Synagogues. If the Rabbi feels he has nothing new or interesting to say, then he should not say it. A sermon should be like a newspaper editorial page. If the writer has nothing novel to add or if what he says is obvious, it’s just not printed.
A sermon is not meant to be a time-filler. Want to teach your congregants but feel you have nothing deep share? No problem. Have a discussion instead. Read out an insightful author’s take on the Parsha of the week and ask the congregants to react. But to put your congregants to sleep is to lose credibility. The next time you may have something really interesting to say but they’ll shut their eyes and snore before you even begin.
And Rabbis should not be afraid to share their pulpits. Go ahead. Invite visitors to speak. Have scholars in residence. Your own standing will not be compromised if they give a better speech than you. On the contrary, your community will see you as a master organizer who has made the Shule into a vibrant marketplace of ideas.
And it’s not just sermons that need to change. Too many of us find the Synagogue services oppressive and stultifying. They’re too formal, too long, too boring. That less observant Jews feel that way is evidenced by the fact that they turn up at Shule twice a year on the High Holy Days. That even the observant and orthodox feel that way is evidenced by how painful a three-day holiday sometimes feels. If we loved going to Shule we’d look forward to the marathon.
Shule services can and should be somewhat shorter and should invite greater audience participation. I for one would downplay the role of the Cantor and the choir. Is the Synagogue supposed to be a concert hall? And all of that yodeling means less time for the kinds of discussion that can take place between each of the sections of the Torah reading, bring the weekly Parsha to life. Shule should be a thought-provoking rather than a mind-deadening experience. And it should be a participatory rather than a passive experience. Much better to have the Rabbi insert short explanations during the prayers as to what we’re saying and its meaning than have a Cantor go off with his favorite melody. And if Rabbis would limit their sermons to fifteen minutes and make the sermon more of a discussion, congregants would not mind staying longer because they would be engaged by the ideas.
And the time for building new Synagogues with the women’s section overlooking the men’s sections has passed forever. The two separate sections should be built alongside each other. No, I do not believing in mixing the sexes in Shule, and not just because I’m orthodox. Rather, I believe we approach G-d as individuals and not as couples. Prayer is a solitary experience and to an extent being deprived of the comfort of your spouse is the whole point. Loneliness rather than contentment is what leads us to seek a relationship with G-d. Besides, why should single or divorced men and women immediately feel uncomfortable because of their solitary status?
And the formality of the Synagogue. My gosh. That’s the most oppressive part of all. Can we stop staying things like, ‘Will the congregation please rise?’ Can the people who announce the pages occasionally crack a joke? Why is everyone so serious? Did somebody die? I don’t even believe we have to dress so formally. Respectfully, yes. Formally no. We’ve made the Synagogue into a place where people feel they can’t just be. They always feel like they’re being judged and like they did something wrong. I’m convinced this is the reason that people end up talking so much at Shule. Not only because they’re bored out of their box but because they’re trying to break the nervous tension. And they wouldn’t talk so much about stocks and bonds if there was time for them to offer their opinions on the issues raised by the Torah reading.
And let’s be rid of the separate children’s services. Your kid should not be treated as a nuisance in Shule who is shoved into some room where he is given pretzels and sings Adon Olam. He’s one of the main reasons you’re there, to teach him how to pray and build a relationship with G-d. At the excellent Chabad Shule where I prayed at over Passover in Miami Beach (where I grew up and where I’m visiting), the first three rows of the Synagogue are reserved for the kids. They have a counselor that sings most of the prayers with them. The rest of the congregation follows their pace. It doesn’t take much longer and it really works. Most of the prayers are said out loud thereby avoiding the nonsensical bumble-bee hum that is to be found in many Shules there the prayers are ploughed through to get to the end. Most effectively, the children are given tickets every few minutes for praying nicely and following the Torah. A the end of the service there is a raffle of great toys they can win. It’s amazing to see how beautifully the children participate, and it’s done right there in the main Shule as part of the service.
And there ought to be a reward for the parents as well. It’s called a great Kiddush where people nibble and speak. So trade in the wine that passes for a strong adhesive with a fine single malt. Be gone you stale crackers and give way to piping hot kugel. Because nobody said that there shouldn’t be a stimulating and satisfying social portion of a Synagogue as well.
Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, the winner of the London Times Preacher of the Year competition, is the founder of This World: The Values Network. He has just published his newest best-seller, ‘The Kosher Sutra.’
Making Synagogue Stimulating Again
By Rabbi Shmuley Boteach
We Jews who live outside of Israel just went through a three-day Passover holiday. For many it felt like punishment for being Diaspora Jews. Three nonstop days of Synagogue. Man. It’s supposed to feel like prayer. Not purgatory.
All too many Jews avoid going to Synagogue for fear it will leave them in a deep and irreversible coma. The time has come, therefore, to examine what can be done to reinvent it.
First, there are the sermons. Many of them are utterly predictable, the kind of stuff we’ve heard every single year until it’s coming out of our ears. Others are utterly simplistic and constitute nothing more than stating the obvious. Still others are delivered in a deadening monotone making the Rabbi seem as bored with his own message as the congregants.
There should be a new rule in Synagogues. If the Rabbi feels he has nothing new or interesting to say, then he should not say it. A sermon should be like a newspaper editorial page. If the writer has nothing novel to add or if what he says is obvious, it’s just not printed.
A sermon is not meant to be a time-filler. Want to teach your congregants but feel you have nothing deep share? No problem. Have a discussion instead. Read out an insightful author’s take on the Parsha of the week and ask the congregants to react. But to put your congregants to sleep is to lose credibility. The next time you may have something really interesting to say but they’ll shut their eyes and snore before you even begin.
And Rabbis should not be afraid to share their pulpits. Go ahead. Invite visitors to speak. Have scholars in residence. Your own standing will not be compromised if they give a better speech than you. On the contrary, your community will see you as a master organizer who has made the Shule into a vibrant marketplace of ideas.
And it’s not just sermons that need to change. Too many of us find the Synagogue services oppressive and stultifying. They’re too formal, too long, too boring. That less observant Jews feel that way is evidenced by the fact that they turn up at Shule twice a year on the High Holy Days. That even the observant and orthodox feel that way is evidenced by how painful a three-day holiday sometimes feels. If we loved going to Shule we’d look forward to the marathon.
Shule services can and should be somewhat shorter and should invite greater audience participation. I for one would downplay the role of the Cantor and the choir. Is the Synagogue supposed to be a concert hall? And all of that yodeling means less time for the kinds of discussion that can take place between each of the sections of the Torah reading, bring the weekly Parsha to life. Shule should be a thought-provoking rather than a mind-deadening experience. And it should be a participatory rather than a passive experience. Much better to have the Rabbi insert short explanations during the prayers as to what we’re saying and its meaning than have a Cantor go off with his favorite melody. And if Rabbis would limit their sermons to fifteen minutes and make the sermon more of a discussion, congregants would not mind staying longer because they would be engaged by the ideas.
And the time for building new Synagogues with the women’s section overlooking the men’s sections has passed forever. The two separate sections should be built alongside each other. No, I do not believing in mixing the sexes in Shule, and not just because I’m orthodox. Rather, I believe we approach G-d as individuals and not as couples. Prayer is a solitary experience and to an extent being deprived of the comfort of your spouse is the whole point. Loneliness rather than contentment is what leads us to seek a relationship with G-d. Besides, why should single or divorced men and women immediately feel uncomfortable because of their solitary status?
And the formality of the Synagogue. My gosh. That’s the most oppressive part of all. Can we stop staying things like, ‘Will the congregation please rise?’ Can the people who announce the pages occasionally crack a joke? Why is everyone so serious? Did somebody die? I don’t even believe we have to dress so formally. Respectfully, yes. Formally no. We’ve made the Synagogue into a place where people feel they can’t just be. They always feel like they’re being judged and like they did something wrong. I’m convinced this is the reason that people end up talking so much at Shule. Not only because they’re bored out of their box but because they’re trying to break the nervous tension. And they wouldn’t talk so much about stocks and bonds if there was time for them to offer their opinions on the issues raised by the Torah reading.
And let’s be rid of the separate children’s services. Your kid should not be treated as a nuisance in Shule who is shoved into some room where he is given pretzels and sings Adon Olam. He’s one of the main reasons you’re there, to teach him how to pray and build a relationship with G-d. At the excellent Chabad Shule where I prayed at over Passover in Miami Beach (where I grew up and where I’m visiting), the first three rows of the Synagogue are reserved for the kids. They have a counselor that sings most of the prayers with them. The rest of the congregation follows their pace. It doesn’t take much longer and it really works. Most of the prayers are said out loud thereby avoiding the nonsensical bumble-bee hum that is to be found in many Shules there the prayers are ploughed through to get to the end. Most effectively, the children are given tickets every few minutes for praying nicely and following the Torah. A the end of the service there is a raffle of great toys they can win. It’s amazing to see how beautifully the children participate, and it’s done right there in the main Shule as part of the service.
And there ought to be a reward for the parents as well. It’s called a great Kiddush where people nibble and speak. So trade in the wine that passes for a strong adhesive with a fine single malt. Be gone you stale crackers and give way to piping hot kugel. Because nobody said that there shouldn’t be a stimulating and satisfying social portion of a Synagogue as well.
Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, the winner of the London Times Preacher of the Year competition, is the founder of This World: The Values Network. He has just published his newest best-seller, ‘The Kosher Sutra.’
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Pesach Torah: Rabbis Brett Kritchever, Dara Frimmer, and Scott Perlo
Check out some PLP Passover Torah!
Dara Frimmer from Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles and Brett Krichiver, Senior Educator at UCLA joined Scott in a discussion on the meaning of Pesach. Plus, Dara sings Dayenu. Click the title to download the podcast!
Dara Frimmer from Temple Isaiah in Los Angeles and Brett Krichiver, Senior Educator at UCLA joined Scott in a discussion on the meaning of Pesach. Plus, Dara sings Dayenu. Click the title to download the podcast!
Owning the Story: Thoughts on the Haggadah
Owning the Story
Thoughts on the Haggadah from Rabbi in Residence Scott Perlo
Why is it that we have fallen so in love with the spoken word?
In past days, rabbis only used to give drashot (sermons) twice a year during services. The first was on the Shabbat in between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, and the second was the Shabbat before Pesach. It’s called Shabbat haGadol - the Great Shabbat - and the rabbi would speak for hours (yes, hours) on precisely how to keep kosher for Pesach.
We speak much more than that today. The rabbi’s Shabbat drash has become a focal point of American Judaism,. For better or worse, a rabbi’s teaching in public is the sine qua non of our services.
It was a curious choice to make public speaking the primary way we give over Torah to our communities, and certainly not the easiest choice. Giving a good drash is hard, and not because of the fear of speaking in front of others - that’s mostly a matter of experience - but because it’s impossible to give any idea its due in so short a time, least of all the deep, complicated, not to mention contentious topics that Judaism brings up. Profundity on anything in fifteen minutes is tough. So why is the drash far and away our central teaching moment?
The intuitive power of drash is that it requires commitment from the one giving it, and I think that it is with this willingness to commit that we resonate so strongly. Drashot require that the darshan (that’s the speaker) identify with her words, own them, not step away in an attempt to distance herself from the sentiments expressed. The core of drash, no matter how complicated nor how erudite, is the statement, “This I believe.” When the darshan asks questions, they are his questions, the statements he makes belong to him.
This is why drash is an opportunity for courage, more than anything else. Rhetoric and intellect are not the core of speaking Torah; rather, its essence is the commitment to the words of Torah being given. And when the great ones, a Heschel, a King, a Gandhi, step forward to bravely pair themselves with words that we all desperately need, but only with difficulty can hear, we find that afterwards, for generations, the world is breathless in its awe.
This is the recognition of the Haggadah, which itself means “telling/recounting.” The Haggadah’s language is an unquestioned “We” - always in the first person: we were slaves in Egypt, God took us out with a strong hand and outstretched arm. This identification with the story is explicit: “in each and every generation a person is required to see herself as if she left Egypt.”
This fundamental “We” kills the distance between story and storyteller. It asks that we own the Exodus, that we become part of the story and that we let the story shape our identity. And the beauty of Haggadah is, in distinction to drash, that the commitment to join this narrative is asked of everyone around the table; a communal commitment, not just of the individual.
Even more than that, the Haggadah audaciously asks that we assume the obligations which devolve upon the free who were once slaves: gratitude for our liberation, an abhorrence for oppression that demands our action, devotion, and the consciousness that there is no essential difference between those who are free and those who are enslaved - everyone can be oppressed and everyone must be freed.
We should challenge ourselves to become part of this story, to gather the courage to commit to the words that we speak, to hear dissonance if what we say is not what we do (do the words, “all who are hungry, come and eat” grate on our ears?) Our story is one of great joy and deep obligation, one worth telling even, especially, with its hard parts. This story is who we are.
Hazak ve’ametz - have courage! and especially have
A Sweet Pesach,
Rabbi Scott Perlo
Thoughts on the Haggadah from Rabbi in Residence Scott Perlo
Why is it that we have fallen so in love with the spoken word?
In past days, rabbis only used to give drashot (sermons) twice a year during services. The first was on the Shabbat in between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, and the second was the Shabbat before Pesach. It’s called Shabbat haGadol - the Great Shabbat - and the rabbi would speak for hours (yes, hours) on precisely how to keep kosher for Pesach.
We speak much more than that today. The rabbi’s Shabbat drash has become a focal point of American Judaism,. For better or worse, a rabbi’s teaching in public is the sine qua non of our services.
It was a curious choice to make public speaking the primary way we give over Torah to our communities, and certainly not the easiest choice. Giving a good drash is hard, and not because of the fear of speaking in front of others - that’s mostly a matter of experience - but because it’s impossible to give any idea its due in so short a time, least of all the deep, complicated, not to mention contentious topics that Judaism brings up. Profundity on anything in fifteen minutes is tough. So why is the drash far and away our central teaching moment?
The intuitive power of drash is that it requires commitment from the one giving it, and I think that it is with this willingness to commit that we resonate so strongly. Drashot require that the darshan (that’s the speaker) identify with her words, own them, not step away in an attempt to distance herself from the sentiments expressed. The core of drash, no matter how complicated nor how erudite, is the statement, “This I believe.” When the darshan asks questions, they are his questions, the statements he makes belong to him.
This is why drash is an opportunity for courage, more than anything else. Rhetoric and intellect are not the core of speaking Torah; rather, its essence is the commitment to the words of Torah being given. And when the great ones, a Heschel, a King, a Gandhi, step forward to bravely pair themselves with words that we all desperately need, but only with difficulty can hear, we find that afterwards, for generations, the world is breathless in its awe.
This is the recognition of the Haggadah, which itself means “telling/recounting.” The Haggadah’s language is an unquestioned “We” - always in the first person: we were slaves in Egypt, God took us out with a strong hand and outstretched arm. This identification with the story is explicit: “in each and every generation a person is required to see herself as if she left Egypt.”
This fundamental “We” kills the distance between story and storyteller. It asks that we own the Exodus, that we become part of the story and that we let the story shape our identity. And the beauty of Haggadah is, in distinction to drash, that the commitment to join this narrative is asked of everyone around the table; a communal commitment, not just of the individual.
Even more than that, the Haggadah audaciously asks that we assume the obligations which devolve upon the free who were once slaves: gratitude for our liberation, an abhorrence for oppression that demands our action, devotion, and the consciousness that there is no essential difference between those who are free and those who are enslaved - everyone can be oppressed and everyone must be freed.
We should challenge ourselves to become part of this story, to gather the courage to commit to the words that we speak, to hear dissonance if what we say is not what we do (do the words, “all who are hungry, come and eat” grate on our ears?) Our story is one of great joy and deep obligation, one worth telling even, especially, with its hard parts. This story is who we are.
Hazak ve’ametz - have courage! and especially have
A Sweet Pesach,
Rabbi Scott Perlo
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)