Delivered at Temple Mount Sinai, August 29, 2014
Preparing my thoughts for tonight I was reminded, again and again, of the deep connection between mind-states and physical sensations. You see, typing away on my laptop (or trying to), my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing at me. It wasn’t emails or texts. It was the “Red Alert” app announcing rocket fire from Gaza toward Israel. One after another, the warnings reached my phone, each one representing a neighborhood seeking shelter. And with each alert, I experienced a wave of sadness felt in my heart, and a corresponding kick to my kishkes. Continue reading
I had the privilege of working alongside Rabbi Weiss for four years. That they were the first four years of my congregational rabbinate, and the last four of his, has something to do with the outsized influence they’ve had on me, and will continue to have on me going forward. My rabbinate was very much shaped by those years. There are so many lessons I could point to, but I’m going to limit myself to the one which, I think, mattered most to him, and which he therefore communicated with particular passion.
A story: I remember a time early in my tenure when Ken and I were working on something together and a member of the congregation stuck his head in the door to Ken’s study. Ken jumped to greet him, invited him in, and suddenly we weren’t having a meeting anymore. We were visiting with a member of Temple. After a while, the congregant left. At which point, Ken turned to me and said, “Larry, never forget: the interruptions are the job.” Continue reading
Love your neighbor as yourself, You said.
And light-blinded we saw
that inner and outer worlds are one
as You are One.
I began my annual report a couple of weeks ago, at which our new trustees and officers were elected, by quoting those lines. I joked then that my annual report was sounding like a sermon. Tonight, I get to give that sermon, by way of welcoming our leaders, both new and returning, to service. For this week’s portion, called Kedoshim, is a virtual manual of service for trustees and officers of a synagogue. Continue reading
How we live in light of suffering and pain matters. Given the inevitability of suffering, which eventually touches us all, how we live in its light may be all that matters.
Last week I had the privilege to witness a tremendous outpouring of love and power occasioned by deep suffering. I was part of an event called “Shave for The Brave,” in which people have their heads shaved to raise money and awareness for pediatric cancer. This particular Shave for the Brave involved Reform Rabbis who were moved by the story of “Superman Sam” Sommer, his siblings, and his parents, Rabbis Michael and Phyllis. Continue reading
Interfaith study and prayer are a tricky business. We seek to foster tolerance at a minimum, but really, we want to create more than that. None of wants to be “tolerated” so much as “respected” and “accepted.” There’s an impulse, then, amongst interfaith dialogue participants, to smoothe over the differences, to make it seem as if our religions are all teaching the same thing, all in the service of making sure that we all feel good.
To a certain degree, we are teaching the same thing. I know of no religion that doesn’t have texts which preach peace, and every religion, somewhere in its canon of sacred text, has a version of the Golden Rule. But the particulars — how do we make peace, how do we demonstrate love of our neighbor? — that’s where the distinctions come in, and that’s where the fun begins, in terms of dialogue. It’s also where the tension can happen. Because all of us who embrace a particular path to the exclusion of some other path or paths, do so because we find something about it compelling. We find it to be, if not objectively better, at least better for us. Continue reading
The recent release of a new survey of American Jews by the Pew Research Center has the Jewish world abuzz. The data seem to confirm and further quantify that to which most observers of American Jewish life can easily attest: American Jews are less observant and less connected than at any time in living memory. Despite efforts by the organized Jewish world to spin the data this way or that way, there is little good news in the survey results. Trends in place now could well lead to a vastly smaller Jewish community in the near future.
Among many of us who care passionately about the future of the American Jewish community (and who earn a living by serving it), the survey gives rise to a certain set of responses. Our heart rates might rise a bit, just thinking about it. We might speak a little bit faster when conversing about it. We might find ourselves even dreaming about it! If we were to sit with those responses, notice them, and name them, we might name that emotion “fear.” Continue reading
For the last few weeks, I’d been watching the national rabbinical conversation with a certain smugness. As my colleagues agonized over what to do with sermons they’d written weeks earlier given the seeming likelihood that we’d be at war with Syria over this holiday season, I took comfort in my own style, which is to write much close to the deadline. In my confidence, I thought: “Oh, you’re going to be writing your Kol Nidrei sermon on Thursday and Friday? Welcome to my world.” I was doubly smug because this year, I was actually quite a bit ahead of my usual schedule. My sermon about the abundance of God’s love in the world — the everpresent flow of divine energy, always accessible, always free, a gift, a grace — that sermon took shape over the summer through sabbatical reading and writing, and was concretized in my mind quite early. I even wrote a song to go with it. And, unlike so many of my colleagues, I didn’t feel the need to chuck it in favor of a sermon about Syria.
That I spent some time this afternoon reshaping my words is entirely predictable. Rabbi Gets smug, Universe gets the last laugh. But I’m not going to blame God or the Universe for my need to make last-minute additions and subtractions to tonight’s message. No, I’m going to be a grown-up and assign the blame where it really belongs: it’s all Vladimir Putin’s fault. Continue reading
A chicken and salmon are having a conversation over drinks, and the chicken says to the salmon, “Hey, are you going to the lox-n-eggs breakfast on Sunday?” Says the salmon, “I’d rather avoid it. You see, from you that breakfast requires a mere contribution; from me, it takes a serious commitment.”
This rather lame joke — they’re the only kind I tell, as my children will confirm — came to mind as I read various commentaries on a verse in this morning’s Torah reading, from Genesis, chapter 22. It’s the portion known as the “Binding of Isaac.” Following the ancient midrash, rabbis of every century seem to key in on the two-fold repetition of the phrase vayelchu shneyhem yachdav, “they walked, the two of them, together.” These many commentaries all seem to want to make a similar point: Abraham and Isaac were together on their journey to Mount Moria, and the were equally invested in the outcome. Isaac was no salmon, side-stepping his commitment to the cause; he was in it no less than his father. Continue reading
Continuing events overseas have me thinking about the way the worlds’ religions speak about one another and relate to one another. I’d guess I’m not the only one. What is the healthiest, the kindest, the most skillful way for us to think about our neighbors?
The words which prompt this reflection appear only in the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services, and they, perhaps more than any other words in the prayerbook, capture the essential themes of this day. Our tradition calls them the uv’chen paragraphs, since each one begins with the word uv’chen, “and therefore.” They present us with a vision of the world at peace and in harmony, all creatures in a right relationship with the Source of Life, and with each other. And not only a vision; there is a roadmap as well. The uv’chen paragraphs point us in the right direction, and they give us a glimpse of what it will feel like when we’ve arrived at our destination. Continue reading
Simona: As you know, my b’nai mitzah custom has often been to find a little something to say about the student’s name as we stand at the Ark for a blessing. You might have thought you were off the hook with me when Rabbi Bellush offered your blessing a moment ago. Actually, my blessing is extra-long and we didn’t want to leave you standing there with a Torah in your arms while I rambled on and on. But now, with the Torah safely back in the ark, it’s my turn to say a few words about your name. Continue reading