Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

When one takes a gaze at the Jewish horizon, one gets the distinct impression that many synagogues find themselves confronted by a spiritual problem they can scarcely understand—much less articulate: Irrelevance. Judaism may someday die—not by genocides—but by apathy. Yes, as rabbis we love to sermonize about Israel, political concerns, and a host of other miscellaneous topics ad nauseam, but we feel too embarrassed to talk, or engage one another about one of the most important issues of our time: recovering Jewish spirituality.

The obstacles are daunting.

For one thing, talking about God exposes our prepubescence. Can a sophisticated and educated person who is schooled in science still believe in God? Some of us also feel awkward about our ambivalence. Didn’t Feuerbach, Freud, and Marx convince us that God is nothing more but a human projection? Didn’t Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan tell us that God is anything but “personal”? Yes, history also gives us pause to wonder. God poses a mighty problem for those of us who remember Auschwitz and Rwanda, or the legion of Jihadists, who delight in destroying innocent lives in the name of Allah. Although we speak about the great miracles of the biblical past, e.g., the splitting of the Red Sea, we find ourselves cynically asking, “What have you done for us lately, God?” Maybe as a result of our collective suffering as a people, it is too hard for us to imagine God as “personal.”

Any close brush with evil makes it exceedingly difficult to talk about faith. Martin Buber asked poignantly:

• In this our time, one asks again and again: how is a Jewish life still possible after Auschwitz? I would like to frame this question more correctly: how is a life with God still possible in a time in which there is an Auschwitz? The estrangement has become too cruel, the hiddenness too deep. One can still “believe” in a God who allowed those things to happen, but how can one still speak to Him? Can one still hear His word? Can one still, as an individual and a people, enter at all in a dialogical relationship with Him? Can one still call on Him? Dare we recommend to the survivors of Auschwitz, the Jobs of the gas chambers: “Call on Him, for He is kind, for His mercy endureth forever?”[1]

Jewish tradition teaches us that anyone who lives in a cemetery could be considered insane according to mishnaic law.[2] I often wonder whether we have lost our sanity since Auschwitz. Nevertheless, the rabbinic proscription against sleeping in a cemetery ought to make us wonder: Is it possible that our concepts of God and the Bible might have been flawed to begin with? A friend of mine who is a large publisher of Jewish books confided with me, “Michael Leo, I cannot believe in a rabbi who does not believe in miracles.” In my usual Socratic style, I asked him, “Will you define for me, what you mean by ‘miracle’?”

We are so used to Hollywood defining what “miracles” are supposed to be–supernatural violations of natural law; as a result, we fail to consider the obvious. Miracle comes from the Latin miraculum “object of wonder,” and when we see something that awakens within us a sense of wonder, we experience the miraculous. From the religious perspective, the continuous survival of the Jewish people continues to surprise the world. When you consider the enemies that we have faced and out-survived, that too is a miracle. When one considers that the Jewish people bear witness to the reality of ethical monotheism despite the countless attempts of our enemies to destroy us, I am dwarfed by miracles.

There are no easy answers as to why bad things happen to good people, yet the continued existence of the Jewish people seems to point to something very majestic and profound—the God of history. Miracles are subtle. If a miracle can be subtle, I believe God is also subtle. Our childish images of Big Daddy God doing it all for us helpless fools, is passé—God is, for me, the Power that is giving shape to a good world. However, we are also God’s co-partners in Creation. Human generated evil would never be possible if we didn’t allow it to happen.  In my opinion, before we start pointing fingers at God, we need to start taking a sober look at our abdication as God’s shepherds and rescuers.

Lastly, when discussing spirituality, it is important to understand its Hebraic usage in the Torah and Tanakh. To be begin with, the “Spirit of God” רוּחַ אֱלֹהִים  (rûah ´élöhîm) mentioned in Genesis 1:2 describes  רוּחַ as the life-breath and life-principle that transforms the chaos of creation into a cosmos. In theological terms, רוּחַ alludes to the most profound dimension that converts, liberates, and sublimates human existence. In practical terms, when we embrace this aspect of spirit within our being—we can transform even the darkest forces of chaos into an orderly cosmos that exist in our world. This has been our task as God’s witness in history. Isn’t about time we start learning to get in touch with this profound dimension of our life that can improve and transform our earthly and spiritual existence?

** Continue Reading

Picture: Rabbi  Yona Metzger

A question came up recently in my congregation regarding the use of music at a Jewish funeral. The Reform Movement has long permitted the use of music at a Jewish funeral—provided the music does not derive from the Christian liturgy, e.g., Amazing Grace. Most Conservative and all Orthodox synagogues frown upon the use of music at a funeral because they feel it distracts the mourners from mourning. R. Isaac Klein’s book on A Guide to Jewish Practices, says nothing about it, one way or other. However, an argument ex silencio suggests that Rabbi Klein frowned upon this particular practice.

The question is not by any means a new Halachic issue.

About a year ago the Israeli Knesset member Rabbi Hanan Porat died; he was one of the founding members of the Gush Emunim, a religious Zionist organization that is very visible in settling the West Bank. At the rabbi’s funeral, his children sang and played some songs with a guitar that upset Rabbi Yona Metzger, the Chief Rabbi of Israel.  Rabbi Metzger made his opinion known, and is quoted as saying:

• Rabbi Shlomo Amar and I stared at each other and neither one of us knew what was going on –a band, guitars, children singing … One might think that the people came to attend a wedding! But this was a funeral! I have never heard of this kind of ‘mourning’ before–not in Israel, not in Europe, and I am sure not in Yemen. We have never heard of and never saw such a thing like this.[1]

Actually, I applaud the family’s innovative spirit—and I am sure the spirit of their father did not mind either.

The tradition of music in funerals is well attested in biblical, post-biblical texts, Mishnahic and medieval sources.

In biblical sources, the Hebrew term qînâ (qînôt), is an oral poetic music used for times of national calamity and mourning. The best known example of this kind of singing can be seen in the acrostic style of writing found in Lamentations. Indeed, one of the more extraordinary images of God in the Bible is that of a musician and composer. The prophet Jeremiah depicts God as mourning for Moab, “Hence the wail of flutes for Moab is in my heart; for the men of Kir-heres the wail of flutes is in my heart: the wealth they acquired has perished” (Jer. 48:36 NAB).

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus arrives at the ruler’s home and saw the flute players and a crowd making a tumult, he said, “Depart; for the girl is not dead but sleeping ” (Mt 9:23, 24; Mk 5:38, 39). The NT passage suggests that the flute players went to work immediately at the time of death, as well as the time leading to the internment.

Josephus writes that when the news reached Jerusalem of the fall of Jotapata to the Roman armies in 67 C.E., “Most people engaged flute-players to lead their lamentations.” This style of mourning was common throughout the ancient world; Greece, Rome, Phoenicia, Assyria all utilized the flute in times of loss. Roman funeral processions were especially known for being very noisy. Musicians used to lead the way blowing their trumpets, horns and flutes announcing the presence of the corpse.[2]

The wailing of the flute players, the cries of the mourners, the sound of torn garments, was unmistakably common in the cities of ancient Israel. Note that the Jewish mourners had no afterthoughts whether they were emulating the pagan gentiles or not.

In the Mishnah, we also find: רַבִּי יְהוּדָה אוֹמֵר, אֲפִלּוּ עָנִי שֶׁבְּיִשְׂרָאֵל, לֹא יִפְחוֹת מִשְּׁנֵי חֲלִילִים וּמְקוֹנֶנֶת R. Judah says, “Even the poorest man in Israel should not hire fewer than two flutes and one professional wailing woman [for a funeral]” (Ketubbot 4:4). Other Mishnaic sources speak about the use of pipes or flutes as a normal part of the Jewish funerals.[3] The rabbis lifted their prohibitions against women’s voices being heard in public were relaxed for funerary rituals.[4]

Maimonides similarly ruled  almost 1200 years later,”  When a man’s wife dies, he is obligated to bury her and to have eulogies and lamentations performed as is the local custom. Even a poor Jewish man should provide at least two flutes and one woman to lament.“[5]

Why is the music of the flute so special? Maimonides explains that the plaintive melody moves a person to tears at a funeral.[6] The Halachic Codes all acknowledge this custom.[7]

One 14^th century classical work on mourning, Kol Bo al Hilchot Aveilut  admits that during the Talmudic period music was part of the funeral, but rejects its reintroduction because it would be as a result of non-Jewish influence—undoubtedly referring to the Christians, who used music in their mourning rites. Some Halachic authorities had no problem with music being played at a funeral–so long as the musicians happened to be Jewish. It is interesting to note that this custom continued in Egypt during the early 19th century.

A very dear friend of the TBS synagogue died this past week. His name was Kurt Sax, and this Viennese Jew loved the Spanish guitar. In honor of his memory, two of his good friends played a couple selections  that Kurt really loved.  I can personally attest that the music was very  meaningful and moving for the family and their friends.

Was it traditional?

Maybe not by Rabbi Yona Metzger’s standards.

However, I will say Rabbi Metzger is right on one point. If a rabbi chooses to pursue such a path, it is important that he remind the people not to applaud, after all–it is a funeral and not a concert.

However, history has allowed this type of musical innovation. I think Jewish law and tradition needs to be less austere and  become innovative, as it once was before.  If Judaism is to be healthy, we must find a way to make our faith more appealing and less hung up on the external forms of Jewish piety.

In other words, it’s time to allow music to liberate the heart that inspires and experiences prayer—in good times and in bad times. Continue Reading

President Obama’s revelation surprised me. I wondered: Why did it take him so long to state his opinion? Wasn’t it obvious?

True, the President indicated that he had reservations on whether he should personally endorse same sex marriage, or not. Although I think the President would be wise to speak more about the economy, the question about accepting gay relationships and marriage is an important issue—but not because of its political ramifications. In a democratic society, the homogenization of public opinion is not always possible or even desirable. People have a right to their opinions on this subject—even if I, as a citizen, may not necessarily agree.

There is a higher issue at work here: it’s really about personal autonomy, i.e., the freedom for consensual adults to live one’s personal life without government interference. Therefore, I support anyone’s right to choose having a same-sex marriage.

In all honesty, I did not always feel this way.

Let me share a story with you. In the late 1980s, I lived in San Francisco and I was the rabbi of a Modern Orthodox congregation in the Richmond District of San Francisco. My father was a Holocaust survivor who had witnessed many terrible things in Auschwitz and Majdanek, two of the worse concentration camps of the Holocaust era. Hitler, as you may know, went after the gay community and killed approximately 15,000 in the camps. My father remembered seeing how they were treated. Their suffering left an impression upon him that he never forgot.

After settling in Alameda, CA., my father helped establish Alameda’s first Reform synagogue—Temple Israel. Well, one Sunday, I went to visit my father and he was on his way to attend a wedding. I asked him, “Where are you going?” He replied, I am going to be a witness for a gay Jewish wedding.” Feeling surprised—even shocked—I observed, “Dad, you never cease to amaze me; you are the last person I would have ever expected to participate in a marriage ceremony, given your religious background . . .” Dad replied with a smile, “What’s the matter with you son? What’s so terrible about two human beings wanting to affirm their love and commitment to each other?”

My Father’s words left a lasting impression. He helped me to look beyond the religious barriers that tend to stigmatize or marginalize feeling people in the name of “Tradition.” Just as I mentioned earlier, same-sex unions between consenting adults is a privacy issue. Nobody—whether it is the State or the Church or synagogue—has the right to micromanage people’s personal lives.

Earlier this past week, I briefly participated on an Orthodox blog named Hirhurim, and while I was on, I was surprised to read some of the comments regarding Rabbi Elliot Dorf, who happens to be an outstanding Conservative rabbinical scholar. One person felt it was wrong to call Rabbi Dorf by his title, “Rabbi,” since he endorses gay marriages. Some of us demurred. I wrote, “Whether you recognize Rabbi Dorf as a rabbi is not the issue here; it’s really about respect. You cannot go wrong showing kindness to another person. One can politely agree to disagree without being disagreeable.”

As the conversation ensued, one participant quipped, “According to the Torah, homosexuality is punishable by death!” I asked him, “Can you show me a single instance in Judaism where anyone was ever executed for being a homosexual?” He had no answer. I pointed out that there are two kinds of cases where a homosexual may be executed according to the Mishnah. One case pertains to someone who is threatening to sodomize a man, i.e., homosexual rape. Alternatively, the Mishnah may be speaking of someone threatening to sodomize an underage male child (BT Sanhedrin 73a). However, both cases appear to be only theoretical for there is no court record of any homosexual ever having been executed. If anything, the law is heuristic and intended for some future application, should the practical need arise. In the medieval Jewish period, the death penalty was sometimes administered on an ad hoc basis.

In our discussion, I explained that the scriptural basis of this law most likely derives from the famous biblical story of Lot and the angels:

• But before they laid down, the men of the city, the men of Sodom, both young and old, all the people to the last man, surrounded the house; ⁵ and they called to Lot, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us, so that we may know them.” (Gen 19:4-5).

Obviously, the townspeople were interested in not inviting the guests for coffee, cake or crumpets. However, one thing is motivating their behavior—a desire to show that they are in control.  Homosexual rape has nothing to with love or even, “free love (for you ex-Hippies). However, it has everything to do with dominance and control. This would also explain why the Torah considers the rape of a male—“an abomination” (Lev. 20:13). Although this term is not used for cases of ordinary rape, one must remember that in a patriarchal society, sodomizing someone against his will evokes disgust and primal fear. In fact, it still does—even in the 21^st century.

So, in the final analysis, what does this mean? For one thing, ancient Israel’s society differed considerably from our own. Just because Abraham and Sarah lived in tents, doesn’t mean that we should live in tents also in order to emulate their particular lifestyle. Monogamous male relationships probably did not exist, or, happened to be extremely uncommon in ancient Israel, as it later occurred in Greek and Roman societies. Therefore, the issue of a same-sex marriage is for all practical terms historically irrelevant.

In addition, I would add that there are numerous passages that we do not interpret the Torah literally. The Torah tells us to “circumcise the foreskin of our hearts” (Deut. 10:16). Yet, I do not know of any fundamentalist who would interpret this passage literally; if he did, he would be a fool. In fact, the rabbis frequently refused to interpret biblical legislation pertaining to the death penalty literally because of their concern for the social welfare of the community.[1] We do not stone people for adultery either. If we did, a sizable portion of our society would be dead by now.

Unlike the Fundamentalists of the evangelical community, which tends to focus on the literalism of biblical truth, Jewish tradition has long argued that exegetical interpretations are derived contextually as well. Evangelical scholars often derive the prohibition against same-sex marriage from the biblical passage, “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh” (Gen 24:25).

While it is true the Genesis passage speaks of a marriage between a man and a woman who create new life, one must remember that marriage is not only for the sake of siring children. The emotional bond of marriage, i.e., “becoming one flesh” can also mean a fully monogamous life that involves sharing and caring to one another. Marriage is the most profound connection that binds two human beings as they face good and sorrowful times together. Each partner is always present supporting the other. “One flesh” entails a lifelong, exclusive attachment of one person to another—both physically and spiritually; this sharing involves a willingness to eliminate all the barriers that keeps their hearts apart from one another.

In summary,  a contextual reading of the Torah dealing with homosexuality allows for a more elastic postmodern interpretation that could conceivably permit same-sex marriages.

One last question arises: Is it Halachic?

Halacha is not a static system. It allows for a radical re-visioning of Jewish law based upon the ever changing social circumstances. Hillel, for example, permitted people to circumvent the agricultural laws of the Sabbatical Year—despite the fact scripturally speaking—all debts are cancelled.[2] People who have committed suicide used to be buried in the outer parameters of a Jewish cemetery as a sign of disgrace. Today, psychoanalysis has completely altered our understanding of suicide, which often has physical or psychological causes that overpower a mentally ill person. The rabbis of the Talmud did not understand or legislate against pedophilia, but given what we now know about this terrible social and psychological disease, we would be foolish to rely on the views of Sages that lived almost 2000 years ago who thought molesting a child was harmless.[3] Women never voted in biblical times; today, despite the fact that many Halachic scholars think it is biblically forbidden for women to participate in an election or even run for a political office[4] (see the Woman’s Suffrage debate of the early 20^th century in the halachic literature[5]).

For generations, the Orthodox homosexual has been marginalized, ignored, and often shamed for being “different.”

This can no longer be tolerated.

Across the Orthodox divide, more and more Orthodox gays are “coming out” and demand that they be treated honorably and lovingly by their families and by their communities. The world has changed, and so must the Halacha. Nobody has the moral or halachic right to expect or demand that a Jewish homosexual ought to spend the rest of his/her life in seclusion, bereft of a life companion. Continue Reading

Horace Mann School of Cherry Hill, NJ,  is still living in the dark ages. It is ironic that the original Horace Mann opposed corporal punishment in the classroom. He was an early advocate for teaching moral values in the classroom, and that the character formation was as important as reading, writing, and arithmetic. Just as he opposed corporal punishment, he also opposed ridiculing children in the classroom.

Horace Mann would be turning over in his grave if he could see the things being perpetuated by the institutions that bear his name.

Our school system has a serious with respect to bullying. With respect to bullying, there is a good deal of bullying without violence, e.g., bullying by words, gestures, treating the bullied person as a pariah. Many children have committed suicide because the taunting they experience in the class room by their peers. When a teacher resorts to bullying, the problem is exponentially worse since children view adults as role models. That is exactly what happened in Cherry Hill, this past month.

When I read about Stuart Chaifetz’s ordeal with the Horse Mann School, I felt sorry for his poor son, Akian. I felt sorry for all the autistic children who might have had similar experiences. Their lives are hard enough without adults making their lives more miserable.

For those of you unfamiliar with the boy’s odyssey, the story began when the parent heard some complaints about his son acting violently in the class. The father related that this was out of character for his autistic ten year-old son, who always had a pleasant disposition. The father decided to wire his son, so he could hear exactly what was going on in the classroom.

The father was shocked by the degree of abuse his child had received from his teachers. The tenured teachers of Horace Mann began talking about their drinking binges, sexual exploits, gossiping about students and their parents. As if that wasn’t enough, they began taunting, shouting, and swearing at his son.

The teacher and her aides did their best to “make a living hell for my son,” Chaifetz said. After being insulted by the teacher and her assistants, Akian began to cry. The teacher began mocking him and yelling: “Shut your mouth . . . ‘Go ahead and scream because guess what? You are going to get nothing until your mouth is shut.’” After a few minutes, the teacher screamed, “Oh Akian, you are a bastard.”

The father’s decision to Youtube the conversation was a brilliant stroke.

Embarrassed by the incident, the school immediately fired one of the teachers; the other teacher is still remaining in the school.

But Chaifetz does not agree. ‘What you did was so disgusting that you should be walking around with your head in shame… And you’re still teaching children today,’ he said. He added, “I want an apology not for me,  so one day, I can play this video back for my son and say, ‘Akian, you did not deserve anything that happened to you. These people are at fault… This is to reclaim my son’s dignity.’”

The absence of human compassion is shocking. The Horace Mann School is probably not the only school that operates this way. Perhaps the time has come for the local school districts to start video-taping the classes that are believed to have serious problems like the case we mentioned above.

It seems to me that it might not be a bad idea for members of the clergy and other civic leaders to consider moral education into the curriculum, much like Horace Mann envisioned in the 19^th century. True, Horace Mann believed that the Bible was the best source for ethical values, but in the 21^st century, we may want to take ethical values from many traditions, e.g., basic teaching from Epictetus, Epicurus, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Aesop’s Fables, Buddha, Hillel, Jesus, Proverbs, Ben Sira, Ramakrishna,  and the Native American tradition.

A course in the Golden Rule should be a part of any ethics, philosophy, or psychology class in high school.

Our public schools need to teach values about respect, altruism, consideration, empathy, compassion, patience, and prudence. True, one might argue that it is the parent’s responsibility to teach these values, but historically—our country’s schools realized that teaching ethical values (not necessarily religious values) serves to help create a better citizen for society as whole.

If we wish these values to take root, they must be instilled from the pre-school and up, one year at a time. If we wait for children to start learning these values by the time they get to middle school, I am afraid we may be too late. By the time the children become older, bad habits become engrained in their character.

As for Stuart Chaifetz, a lawsuit against the Horace Mann School may be one of the best ways to teach the school a lesson in accountability. It is unfortunate that we have to use lawyers, but this is no frivolous lawsuit. Society needs to learn the hard way that there are serious financial consequences in abusing children—especially those children who have no voice to advocate for them. Continue Reading

Nothing challenges the belief in a benevolent God like the ubiquity of evil in the world.  For the Jewish people, the experience of the Holocaust revealed the inadequacy of traditional theology. The God of the Exodus seemed “to be out for lunch.”  Asked in more simple and straight-forward terms, we wonder: So, God, what have you done lately since the Exodus?

Actually, our discomfort with theological platitudes is nothing new. The book of Job is famous for challenging the theological vision set out in the biblical theology of Deuteronomy. Good people often suffer, while the wicked prosper. In Late Antiquity, the philosopher Epicurus fleshes out the cognitive dissonance people experience when contemplating the problem of theodicy:

1. Is God unable to prevent evil?

2. Is God unwilling to prevent evil?

3. If God is able and willing to prevent evil, then where does evil come from?

4. If God is neither able nor willing to prevent evil, then why do we call him “god”?

The cynics of religion often play a prophetical role in confronting our superficiality as “religious” people. We would be wise to ponder their searing words.

Martin Luther King appears to have anticipated this genre of theological questioning. In his Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community, King asserts, “Structures of evil do not crumble by passive waiting. If history teaches anything, it is that evil is recalcitrant and determined, and never voluntarily relinquishes its hold short of an almost fanatical resistance. Evil must be attacked by a counteracting persistence, by the day-to-day assault of the battering rams of justice the forces of light cautiously wait, patiently pray and timidly act. So we end up with a double destruction: the destructive violence of the bad people and the destructive silence of the good people.” [1]

I believe King’s provocative words offers the only realistic solution to the theological problems posed by Holocaust and other genocides we have witnessed in the 20^th and 21^st centuries.  I believe God’s will is manifested in our will to actively thwart the forces of chaos and inspired fanaticism, which perpetuate human suffering. How we respond to crisis speaks volumes about the depth of our religious convictions and ethical sensibilities.

Some rabbinic leaders demonstrated great acuity in responding to the challenges of rescuing endangered Jewish lives. Others reacted with passivity and waited for a miraculous Divine intervention to occur. In a manner of speaking, redemption came—but not in the form that the theocrats and Hassidic rebbes imagined.

Let us focus on the life of one incredible human being and rabbinical leader. Rabbi Eliezer Silver (1882-1968) was not a physically tall person; he stood about 5ft tall and wore a top hat that made him seem taller. To those who knew this man, Rabbi Silver walked the earth like a Colossus. Jewish leaders, politicians—and even the President—respected Rabbi Silver because of his humanity and concern for others.

For the record, Rabbi Silver proved to be one the greatest rescuers of European Jewry during the Holocaust. He is credited with saving many thousands of Jewish lives. Early on in 1939, Silver was one of the founding fathers of the Vaad Hatzalah (Rescue Committee), where Silver was appointed as its president. He was instrumental in rescuing the cream of European rabbinic leaders, who along with Rabbis Aaron Kotler, Abraham Kalmanowitz marched up Pennsylvanian Avenue on October 6, 1943.

While standing in front of the White House, the large Jewish entourage of over two hundred rabbis recited the Psalms and announced, “We pray and appeal to the Lord, blessed be He, that our most gracious President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, recognizing this momentous hour of history and responsibility that the Divine Presence has laid upon him, that he may save the remnant of the People of the Book, the People of Israel.”

Shortly afterward, the Jewish delegation met with Vice President Henry Wallace and a congressional delegation to make their case for European Jewry. Later, at the Lincoln Memorial, a special memorial prayer was said on behalf of the martyred Jews. Finally, the five rabbis went to the White House to meet with the President, where the President made his famous backdoor exit rather than meeting with them. Although they did not meet with the President, the publicity of the march led to the eventual formulation of the War Refugees Board that opened the doorway to over 100,000 Jews. When one considers how many of these survivors went on to have children–not to mention grandchildren–Rabbi Silver really saved millions of lives!

After the event, Rabbi Silver succeeded and raised over $5,000,000 for the new immigrants and secured over 2,000 emergency visas for the Jewish refugees. Like Rabbi Michael Weissmandl, Rabbi Eliezer Silver utilized every means available to bribe officials in Europe and in Latin America, to help settle Jews in the United States, Canada, Mexico, and Palestine. Foreign diplomats provided the fake visas to help facilitate the rescue. He even attempted to trade concentration camp prisoners for cash and tractors, resulting in the release of hundreds of Jews from the Bergen Belsen concentration camps along with several others.

Rabbi Silver, driven by the biblical admonition against standing idly by a brother’s blood, made no apologies for violating the Trading with the Enemy Act. In one of his most famous letters, he writes:

• We are ready to pay ransom for Jews and deliver them from concentration camps with the help of forged passports. We are prepared to violate many laws in order to save lives. We do not hesitate to deal with counterfeiters and passport thieves. We are ready to smuggle Jewish children over the borders, and to engage expert smugglers for this purpose, rogues whose profession this is. We are ready to smuggle money illegally into enemy territory in order to bribe those dregs of humanity, the killers of the Jewish people![2]

Even after the war was over, Rabbi Silver continued to help bring over refugees from more than eight European nations. In the end, he died penniless after using all of his monies to help pave the way for Jewish immigration to the United States and Israel, including those who were trying to flee from Communism.

As mentioned above, Rabbi Silver’s life speaks volumes about the kind of biblical faith that is transforming and spiritually real.

It is significant to note that there is no redemption anywhere in the Bible where God acts unilaterally when it comes to the redemption of His people. For an Exodus to occur, God requires human partners, e.g., a Moses, an Aaron, a Miriam and so on. For the miracle of Purim to occur, there must be a Mordechai and an Esther. This theme runs like a stream of conscious throughout the Tanakh; the only question remains: What will we do as God’s junior partner in eradicating human evil that we—and  we alone—have either created or allowed to flourish in this world?

Faith in God needs to inspire in us a willingness to step up to the plate and make a difference. Sermonizing might be fine for Christian pastors, but our tradition demands that “we walk our theological talk.” Continue Reading

As we open our door to welcome Elijah, some of us probably snicker and say “Yeah, right…” The cynicism of our age makes us doubt whether the Messiah will ever really arrive.

People often wonder who the Messiah is going to be. Many faith communities believe it will be Jesus; Chabad Hasidim believe that Rabbi Schnersohn will arise from the dead and save humankind. Personally, when asked, I often like to tell my students, “Here’s the bad news: The Messiah is more metaphor than it is a historical reality–at least with respect to the present or future generations.  Antecedents for this belief appear in BT Sanhedrin 99a:

• Rabbi Hillel said: There is no messiah for Israel, seeing that they already had him in the time of King Hezekiah. Rav Yosef said: May Rabbi Hillel’s Master forgive him. Hezekiah lived during the First Temple while Zechariah prophesied during the Second Temple.

Rashi notes in his commentary that R. Hillel accepted the concept of a future redemption but merely held that there will be no individual who will bring that redemption. Rather, God will do it without a human messenger. In other words, the human aspect of the Messiah is not that important; what matters is that it is God Who will bring about the final redemption. The 15th century Jewish philosopher, Joseph Albo, contends that the belief in a personal messiah is not essential to Judaism. There is also nothing indicative that R. Hillel rejected the futuristic concept of a messianic age—just a human messiah.

In the Tanakh itself, the term Messiah, simply means, “the anointed one,” originally referred any individual consecrated with sacred oil such as the king of Israel and the high priest. But it  the was also applied to any person for whom God had a special purpose – Cyrus of Persia, for example (Isa. 45:1). This passage in particular is especially intriguing, because the prophet suggests that God can designate anyone–even a gentile–to function in an anointed capacity. One could further suggest that in modern times, President Truman was King Cyrus redux, for he alone made it possible for Israel to be recognized as a Jewish state.

One could even argue that the idea of a Messianic age is another metaphor for Utopia.

But then I tell my students: “Now here’s the good news: You’re it! You must act like a Messiah in redeeming the world around you.” To create the Messianic world, each of us must actualize the goodness p that we possess. Nobody is going to do this task for you. Here is a remarkable Talmudic story that speaks about the importance of getting in touch with the kind of redemptive lives each of us must live–if we are to ultimately midwife the Messianic Era that was envisioned by the prophets.

The Sages often wondered when and where the Messiah would appear, and frequently criticized individuals who claimed or believed in a messiah, e.g., Jesus and Bar Kochba.  Despite their reticence to make messianic predictions, the rabbis nevertheless believed that his coming remains an eternal possibility. As for the time when this consummation was to take place, it was generally held to depend on the degree of progress men will have achieved in their moral development.

This point is well illustrated in the well-known Talmudic parable:

• Rabbi Joshua ben Levi met Elijah standing at the entrance of Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai’s tomb.… He then said to him, “When will the Messiah come?” “Go and ask him” was the reply. “Where is he sitting?”—”At the entrance of the city.” And how shall I recognize him? — “He is sitting among the poor lepers, untying and re-bandaging their wounds, while thinking, “Should I be needed, I must not delay.” …[1] So he went to him and greeted him, saying, “Peace be upon you, Master and Teacher.” “Peace be upon you, O son of Levi,” he replied. ‘When will you come, Master?’ asked he. “Today” was his answer.” When the Messiah failed to appear that day, a deeply disappointed Rabbi Joshua returned to Elijah with the complaint: “He lied to me, stating that he would come today, but has not!” Elijah then enlightened him that the Messiah had really quoted Scripture (Ps. 95:7): “Today, if ye hearken to His voice” (Sanhedrin 98a).

One might wonder: Why wasn’t the Messiah worried about ritual impurity? One exposition found in the commentaries suggests that the Messiah is among those afflicted with leprosy (cf. Isa. 53:4); while this is a plausible exposition, I prefer the image of the Messiah ministering to the lepers. The answer to the question is even more remarkable when considering how the ancients marginalized the lepers.

In the days of the Temple, lepers lived outside the cities in special huts, where they all congregated for support. People feared any kind of physical contact with them for fear of contagion, or because of the possibility they might become ritually contaminated.

It was not uncommon for children and adults to throw stones at the lepers because they were the outcasts of ancient society.[2] Anytime a person merely approached a leper, the leper had to say, “Unclean!” in order to avoid contact. One could only imagine the havoc this caused in the leper’s family. The mere appearance of a leper on the street or in a neighborhood meant that everyone had to avoid him.[3] No one could even salute him; his bed was to be low, inclining towards the ground.[4] If he even put his head into a home, that home or building became ritually contaminated. No less a distance than four cubits (six feet) must be kept from a leper; or, if the wind came from that direction, a hundred were scarcely sufficient. For all practical purposes, a leper was like a walking dead man.

Yet, the Messiah of our story seems as though he could care less about ritual impurity; for him, caring for the lepers is a supreme ethical demand that transcends ritual laws.

Learning to heal the lepers—just like the Messiah

The Messiah’s response is intriguing. Redemption will not occur tomorrow, but today when we emulate his acts of selfless love; messianic redemption comes when we bandage the wounds of those suffering in the world around us. It seems as though the Talmud is suggesting, we have a personal role to play in redeeming the human condition. Redemption comes by living a redemptive life.

Bandaging the open wounds of the lepers, one open sore at a time, is the only viable human response to preparing the world for ultimate redemption. This process begins with treating the forlorn and abandoned members such as the lepers, or the AIDS victims, or anyone with a terrible disease with prayer, consideration, kindness and compassion— regardless of the disease.

The Talmud relates a story that is consistent with the ethos of the Messiah passage mentioned above. “R. Helbo was once sick. But none visited him. The Sage rebuked the scholars, saying, ‘Did it not once happen that one of R. Akiba’s disciples fell sick and the Sages did not visit him? So R. Akiba personally entered his student’s house to visit him, and upon finding the chamber neglected, Rabbi Akiba instructed his students to clean up the home and the sick student soon recovered. Thankfully, the student exclaimed, ‘My master—you have revived me!’ R. Akiba began his very next lecture with the statement, ‘Anyone who fails to visit the sick is like a shedder of blood’” (Nedarim 40a). The moral of the story stresses the importance of mutual-aid and responsibility. Simply put, we are our “brother’s keeper.

The French Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Lévinas stresses how God’s face is mirrored in the face of the ordinary people we encounter; when we see the beggar on the street asking for us to help, God’s face is present in the face of those struggling just to survive–one day at a time. Kabbalists sometimes describe the Shekhinah (the maternal aspect of the Divine) as always present among those who experience pain and loss. Jewish tradition teaches us that we become most God-like when we outflow compassion to a suffering world.

According to Levinas, God participates in a “divine comedy” in which God makes himself both “knowable” and “unknowable” in the shape of the Other—neighbor, stranger. The way we care for the Other speaks volumes about our faith in God. Isaiah 58 contains a powerful message that still speaks across the chasm of time:

You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.

You fast, but you swing a mean fist.

The kind of fasting you do

won’t get your prayers off the ground.

Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:

a day to show off humility?

To put on a pious long face

and parade around solemnly in black?

Do you call that fasting,

a fast day that I, God, would like?

“This is the kind of fast day I’m after:

to break the chains of injustice,

get rid of exploitation in the workplace,

free the oppressed,

cancel debts.

What I’m interested in seeing you do is:

sharing your food with the hungry,

inviting the homeless poor into your homes,

putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,

being available to your own families.

Do this and the lights will turn on,

and your lives will turn around at once.

Your righteousness will pave your way.

The God of glory will secure your passage.

Then when you pray, God will answer.

You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am”

(Isaiah 58:5-11).

Continue Reading

As we prepare ourselves for the celebration of Passover and give thought to the meaning of freedom. The Passover Hagadah brings us to an important realization: We are not merely the products of the present. In the words of the Hagadah, “And had the Holy Blessed One not taken us out of Egypt, then we, our children and grandchildren would still be slaves to Pharaoh.”

What do these words mean? Think about it . . . The events of the past impact the events of the future. Imagine how history might have changed, were it not for this seminal event of our people? There are turning points of history that forever alter the course of civilization, which creates the stage for the world we now live in.

The question of “What if?” is one of the ancient rabbi’s tools for enhancing our understanding of human history. This simple question may seem counterfactual, but the process of questioning is the vehicle that takes a past event and makes it come alive.

The question of “What if?” reveals the startling stakes that our ancestors faced in a land that disenfranchised and dehumanized them as people. This question is not the only one that the Passover Seder raises. For example, if the Israelites fail to cross the Sea of Reeds, Pharaoh and his hosts would have brought them back to Egypt where they would live out the rest of their lives serving their masters.

One event changes history. Without the Exodus, there is no revelation at Mt. Sinai. By the same token, there would be no “Promised Land,” no prophets, no Kings of Israel, no Temple, no Second Temple, no Maccabees, no Christianity, and no Islam to speak of.

How would the world look today?

Given that the plenitude of dictatorships we see in the world today, it is probably safe to presume that democracy and freedom would be rare. Scholars and rabbis may question the exact historicity of the Exodus, but there can be no question that the entire Torah is predicated upon the memory of the Exodus. For our ancestors, the experience of ill-treatment was real.

If the Israelites choose the security of slavery over the insecurity of freedom, there would never have been an Exodus. Freedom began with a choice.

And so the world changed in the twinkle of an eye . . .

Physicists and meteorologists sometimes speak about a concept known as the “butterfly effect.” According to the meteorologist Ed Lorenz, the earth’s weather systems are perfectly tuned so that even a butterfly’s stirring the air with its wings in the African jungle today will later generate consequences for the storm systems affecting Boston within a few weeks. (By the way, this same kind movement can also be applied with respect to economics, as seen this past year’s gyrations of the stock market.) The effects of the Exodus continue to reverberate over the ages—from ancient times—to the present. The mythos of the Exodus has become embedded in the collective unconscious of all peoples.

The world is still changing as a result of the Exodus. This wonderful holiday beckons all of us to fight for the freedom of all oppressed peoples.

Indeed, God’s glory becomes manifest whenever people free themselves from tyrants. Our sacred stories teach us another important lesson. God does not act unilaterally to free the Israelites from their misery. For freedom to occur there must be a Moses, an Aaron, a Miriam, a Shifra and Puah—good and brave people must take a stand.

Memory in Judaic tradition is never passive. Memory is active, dynamic, and transforming. The Passover Hagadah makes it a point to get the participants imagine themselves as if they were personally present at the original Seder. The Torah makes it a point to reiterate:

• If your kinsman, a Hebrew man or woman, sells himself to you, he is to serve you for six years, but in the seventh year you shall dismiss him from your service, a free man. When you do so, you shall not send him away empty-handed,but shall weight him down with gifts from your flock and threshing floor and wine press, in proportion to the blessing the LORD, your God, has bestowed on you.For remember that you too were once slaves in the land of Egypt, and the LORD, your God, ransomed you. That is why I am giving you this command today (Deut. 15:12-15).
• You shall not violate the rights of the alien or of the orphan, nor take the clothing of a widow as a pledge. For, remember, you were once slaves in Egypt, and the LORD, your God, ransomed you from there; that is why I command you to observe this rule (Deut 24:17-18)

This morning on NPR, I heard the news about Egyptian women fighting for their civil rights. After marching in the streets for more freedom (the more you have, the more you want), the military authorities arrested a large number of women. The Egyptian police took these women to a room where they had to strip. These brave young women had to undergo a “virginity test,” in front of their tormentors.

Samira Ibrahim, 25, a victim of a forced virginity test after being detained in Tahrir Square a year ago, decided to take the Egyptian authorities to court. However, a military tribunal cleared the doctor of all charges.

The Muslim Brotherhood is no friend of the Jews; they despise Western values. After listening to other dissidents who complained about being beaten and incarcerated for weeks, I wondered: Why is our government giving 1.3 billion dollars to a government that despises freedom? Our President needs to be more assertive and make it clear to the Muslim Brotherhood: All financial aid is contingent upon democratizing Egypt.

I am certain our ancestors also experienced this type of treatment in Egypt.

For us, we must do our part and fight for the freedom that the Arab peoples deserve—whether they be in Syria, Egypt, or Iran. Continue Reading

Oscar Wilde once said: “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it… I can resist everything but temptation.”

There’s a lot of truth to Wilde’s temptation. As human beings we often give in to many temptations without thinking about the consequences of our actions.

Lest we start feeling self-righteous and smug, there is hardly a person who cannot be compromised or broken down, provided one is confronted by the right kind of temptation.

An expose appeared in the Ma’ariv newspaper about a man named Yehuda Meshi-Zahav, Eidah Charedis’ former chief operations officer. Meshi-Zahav left his anti-Zionist roots after witnessing the aftermath of a terror attack, and founded ZAKA, the disaster response organization that has rescued countless lives in Israel and elsewhere in the world, whenever a tragedy occurred.

ZAKA’s painstaking attention to gathering all the limbs and organs of terrorist attacks is nothing less than inspiring.

ZAKA provided assistance in Thailand, Sri Lanka, India and Indonesia in the aftermath of the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake. Their teams of forensic experts were sometimes nicknamed, “the team that sleeps with the dead” because they toiled around the clock, ministering to those who died in the tsunami. The experience of ZAKA members, who reportedly see 38 bodies a week on average in Israel, helped the Israeli forensic team to identify corpses faster than many of the other forensic teams that operated in Thailand in the aftermath of the disaster, which placed them in high demand with grieving families.

The Israeli government bestowed Meshiv-Zahav with the honor of lighting an honorary beacon on Israel’s 55th Independence Day official ceremonies on Mount Herzl in Jerusalem, the revered burial spot of modern Zionism’s founder Theodor Herzl.

So what happened? Although few of know or understand the politics of ZAKA, evidently Meshi-Zahav left the organization and started his own ZAKA organization.

Sounds pretty confusing, no?

And confusing it was. Most people did not realize there were two ZAKA organizations. He and his family raised money for the “new” ZAKA but neglected to tell his donors that his organization was different. In good faith, people all over the world sent considerable sums of money to purchase ambulances and EMT vehicles.

The Ma’ariv report alleges that Meshi-Zahav never bought any of these vehicles. It suggested that he used the money for other personal purposes. These are only allegations, and so far we have not seen a response from Meshi-Zahav. One assumes the case will be litigated in Israeli courts and we’ll learn whether Ma’ariv got its facts right.

In its account, Ma’ariv reported that the original ZAKA did not receive the donors’ money. Yet, Meshi-Zahav used the original ZAKA’s tax I.D. number. Meshi-Zahav’s ZAKA allegedly has an agreement with the original ZAKA that allows this, but Meshi-Zahav is supposed to give 40% of what his ZAKA raises after expenses to the original ZAKA. However, no money has been given to it by Meshi-Zahav’s ZAKA, according to Ma’ariv.

ZAKA is in dire financial straits. The Israeli government is trying to understand why the original ZAKA collapsed, and why millions of dollars are missing from its accounts, Ma’ariv reported. The newspaper said that Meshi-Zahav used ZAKA as a personal account for purchasing groceries and vacation trips.

A religious person in particular ought to know that the Torah teaches that freedom is not the license to do whatever one wants. In a God-centered world, it is God Who determines the boundaries between right and wrong; in a human-centered world, humans define values, and in a sense act like God.

We all face temptation. Oscar Wilde is correct to some degree. However, the solution is not to give in to caprice, but to sublimate these urges by simply saying, “No thank you . . .” Continue Reading

A few weeks ago, we heard President Obama condemn the accidental burning of the Qu’ran. With great interest, I went online to see what the President had to say about the murders that took place in the French city of Toulouse, where three Jewish children along with their father were killed at gunpoint by a crazed Jihadist. The only reference I found was a statement from White House spokesman Tommy Vietor, who said:

• We were deeply saddened to learn of the horrific attack this morning against the teachers and students of a Jewish school in the French city of Toulouse . . . Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims, and we stand with a community in grief . . . We join the government of France in condemning this unprovoked and outrageous act of violence in the strongest possible terms.

However, a friend of mine later brought to my attention a news article that appeared in today’s Yahoo’s News that said:

• US President Barack Obama has called up his French counterpart Nicolas Sarkozy, to express his solidarity with the people of France as they deal with the aftermath of the “tragic and unprovoked attacks” at a Jewish school . . . “Obama expressed his solidarity with President Sarkozy, and the government and people of France, as they deal with the aftermath of the tragic and unprovoked attacks that left seven dead, including three French soldiers, and three children and a teacher at a Jewish school,” the White House said in a statement after he spoke by phone with Sarkozy while aboard Air Force One en route to Nevada yesterday . . . “Obama welcomed the actions taken by French authorities in identifying and locating a suspect in the killings, and their continued efforts to prevent further acts of violence,” the White House said, adding that Obama underscored that the American people stand shoulder to shoulder with its French allies and friends in this trying time.

This article could have appeared a couple of days ago, but it didn’t. “Better late than never,” I suppose. I think that a  public statement from the President would have made a much greater impression on the international community that America stands shoulder to shoulder with the Jewish victims of terror.

President Obama had nothing to lose politically by offering a Presidential condolence to the French Jewish families and to the American Jewish community would have given all Jews in this country a sense of solidarity.

The President’s advisers made a serious blunder here in failing to advise the President properly–especially in a year where he ought to be concerned about the Jewish vote.

Many American Jews tend to think of anti-Semitic attacks as a part of our past—it’s something a lot of us would much rather forget. However, France, Germany, Italy, and other Eastern European countries have a long history where the Jew suffered for the “crime” of being different.

According to the NY Post, the killer Mohammed Merah may have been in U.S. custody while he was in Afghanistan! “The stunning revelation that the mad Jihadist was once in the hands of the US Army came as the Rabbi Jonathan Sandler, 30, his two boys Arieh, 5, and Gabriel, 4; and a cousin Miriam Monsenego, 8, were laid to rest in Jerusalem in a funeral that drew 1,000 mourners, including the French foreign minister.”[1]

If the NY Post allegation is indeed correct, the President ought to consider making another apology–but this time–to the Jewish community.

Somebody dropped the ball.

“There is a time to speak and a time to be silent” (Eccl. 3:7). When the Palestinians shot 500 rockets at Israeli cities, President Obama also chose silence. I hope that  the loss of Jewish innocents means something in the political world.

One last note:
The Republican candidates running for President had even less to say about the Toulouse attack than did the White House. Perhaps some politicians don’t read or pay much attention to the newspapers. Sen. Santorum can lecture us all he wants about American values,” but empathy for others does not seem to be a part of his moral or religious teachings. Surprisingly, Gov. Mitch Romney also had nothing to say. Still and all, making a public condolence at the time of the attack, or shortly after, is really the job of the President.

Sometimes a story is told as much by silence, as it is by speech.

Notes:

[1] http://www.nypost.com/p/news/international/french_police_turn_out_lights_around_M3gTWTgzc9KDddy8t8jw5N#ixzz1ptJqzP6a