Dear Friends:
I am troubled by the vitriolic verbal attacks that some opponents of Park51, the planned Islamic community center near Ground Zero, are waging against Muslims. Arguments against the project’s completion seem to fall into three main categories: (1) sensitivity: it would rub salt into the still raw wounds of the grieving families (this is the Anti-Defamation League’s thinking); (2) symbolism: it would represent a triumphant victory for the terrorists; (3) security: it would compromise national sovereignty. I believe the first rationale to be a noble attempt to balance the general constitutional principle of freedom of religious expression against the personal emotional needs of the victims in this particular case. (As the ADL national director put it: “it is not a question of rights, it is a question of what is right.”) I believe the second and third positions to be based upon deep-seated fear and mistrust. (As one demonstrator’s placard read in the pages of last week’s issue of Newsweek: “Islam Kills!”)
I am not an expert on Islam or the Quran, but I have devoted myself to Jewish living and Jewish learning. I am aware that Judaism, like all the great world religions, is not monolithic, but comprises many groups. A few of these groups, I am ashamed to say, advocate and perpetuate violence against non-Jews. Even the Torah contains certain bellicose verses that call for the extermination of the enemies of Israel. I would not want those groups and those verses to define the Judaism that I practice and preach. I see as my Rabbinic role to present a valid Jewish alternative to fundamentalism—through my theology, through my interpretations of Scripture, through my endorsements, and through the way I conduct my life. It is not my role to counteract fundamentalism among Muslims, but I can surely promote those moderate imams who do. Ultimately, that is the reason why I support Park51.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
August 11, 2011: Entering Talmud
Dear Friends:
It’s here! My gift from JCOGS to celebrate my ordination, something I’ve wanted for a long, long time, has arrived—a smacking new 72-volume set of “the Schottenstein Talmud.” The Schottenstein Talmud is a great study tool—with a facsimile of the original Aramaic page on one side and a parallel line-by-line translation and explanation on the other. (Adult education class anyone?) I had purchased this edition for the JCOGS library several years ago from the Rabbi’s Discretionary Fund. Now we both have one! Many thanks, especially, to Patti Rubin for organizing this gift, as well as to Lisa Carrick and Ron Feinstein for their support.
Mei’eimatai qorin et Shema b’aravit? “From when does one recite Shema in the evening?” The first line of the Talmud surprises us with its prosaic delivery and commonplace, seemingly trifling concern. We would expect the grand, opening chords of a magnum opus, such as Maimonides’s stately, philosophical pronouncement: “The foundation of foundations and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a Primary Reality who brought into existence all that exists,” (Mishneh Torah 1:1) or the Torah’s magnificent declamation: “In the beginning God created heaven and earth.” (Genesis 1;1) Instead, the Talmud starts in medias res, presupposing a context in which the entire community is already actively living a rich religious life, which includes the recitation of the Shema twice daily.
And the subject matter? The Shema is appropriate enough, since it is the fundamental declaration of Judaism, but why start with the detail: “from when does one recite Shema in the evening?” The text’s oblique answer is even more surprising: “From the time when the Kohanim enter to eat of their Trumah.” Who are the Kohanim? The Temple priests of old. What is the Trumah? The sanctified food reserved for the priests, who could partake of it only when they were ritually pure. What does this have to do with the anything? Because, even if they had immersed in a ritual bath, the priests still had to wait until three stars appeared in the sky before they were declared ritually pure. If so, why didn’t the Talmud answer its own question about the proper time for the evening recital of the Shema much more straightforwardly: “When three stars appear in the sky?” The text must be inviting us to draw conclusions from its literary allusion to the priests and their actions.
See how quickly we are off to the races! The answer to one question, leads to another, which leads to another, and before we know it, we are performing the ancient endeavor known as talmud Torah, sacred study. The Talmud does not spoon-feed its information to us, like a manual, a textbook, an encyclopedia, or a code of law. Rather, it forces us to derive our own wisdom from its pages through active engagement. What profound wisdom does the Talmud impart already in its first two lines? Just this: when we live a Jewish life we spread holiness into the world, just as the priests of old spread holiness; we are nourished by prayer, just as the priests were nourished by Trumah; finally, we should purify ourselves emotionally and spiritually in the evening from the stresses of the day, just as the priests purified themselves in the ritual bath. These three points strike me as I study the passage today; who knows what I might glean tomorrow? And you might come up with something entirely different.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
It’s here! My gift from JCOGS to celebrate my ordination, something I’ve wanted for a long, long time, has arrived—a smacking new 72-volume set of “the Schottenstein Talmud.” The Schottenstein Talmud is a great study tool—with a facsimile of the original Aramaic page on one side and a parallel line-by-line translation and explanation on the other. (Adult education class anyone?) I had purchased this edition for the JCOGS library several years ago from the Rabbi’s Discretionary Fund. Now we both have one! Many thanks, especially, to Patti Rubin for organizing this gift, as well as to Lisa Carrick and Ron Feinstein for their support.
Mei’eimatai qorin et Shema b’aravit? “From when does one recite Shema in the evening?” The first line of the Talmud surprises us with its prosaic delivery and commonplace, seemingly trifling concern. We would expect the grand, opening chords of a magnum opus, such as Maimonides’s stately, philosophical pronouncement: “The foundation of foundations and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a Primary Reality who brought into existence all that exists,” (Mishneh Torah 1:1) or the Torah’s magnificent declamation: “In the beginning God created heaven and earth.” (Genesis 1;1) Instead, the Talmud starts in medias res, presupposing a context in which the entire community is already actively living a rich religious life, which includes the recitation of the Shema twice daily.
And the subject matter? The Shema is appropriate enough, since it is the fundamental declaration of Judaism, but why start with the detail: “from when does one recite Shema in the evening?” The text’s oblique answer is even more surprising: “From the time when the Kohanim enter to eat of their Trumah.” Who are the Kohanim? The Temple priests of old. What is the Trumah? The sanctified food reserved for the priests, who could partake of it only when they were ritually pure. What does this have to do with the anything? Because, even if they had immersed in a ritual bath, the priests still had to wait until three stars appeared in the sky before they were declared ritually pure. If so, why didn’t the Talmud answer its own question about the proper time for the evening recital of the Shema much more straightforwardly: “When three stars appear in the sky?” The text must be inviting us to draw conclusions from its literary allusion to the priests and their actions.
See how quickly we are off to the races! The answer to one question, leads to another, which leads to another, and before we know it, we are performing the ancient endeavor known as talmud Torah, sacred study. The Talmud does not spoon-feed its information to us, like a manual, a textbook, an encyclopedia, or a code of law. Rather, it forces us to derive our own wisdom from its pages through active engagement. What profound wisdom does the Talmud impart already in its first two lines? Just this: when we live a Jewish life we spread holiness into the world, just as the priests of old spread holiness; we are nourished by prayer, just as the priests were nourished by Trumah; finally, we should purify ourselves emotionally and spiritually in the evening from the stresses of the day, just as the priests purified themselves in the ritual bath. These three points strike me as I study the passage today; who knows what I might glean tomorrow? And you might come up with something entirely different.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
August 4, 2011: Israel and the Model Society
Dear Friends:
Who wasn’t energized and transported by the Israeli scouts’ rocking performance at JCOGS on Sunday evening? (Many thanks to Miriam Rosenbloom and Rita Schneps for bringing them to us.) Afterwards, their leader asked me about the composition of our community. I explained to her that as an unaffiliated organization, we try to cater to all our Jewish constituents, those with spiritual as well as social needs. The two groups do not necessarily always intersect, I said, but they both came together for the scouts’ performance—for which I thanked her. She laughed, because my characterization reminded her of the much starker split in Israeli society. She told me, for instance, that most Israelis are entirely ignorant of the international controversy over the Knesset bill regulating conversion, because they have already ceded control over religious matters to the Orthodox minority. In Israel, you are either dati, religious, or you are chiloni, secular; there is next to no in-between.
For the most part, the troupe presented a glowing, “feel good” vision of the Israeli landscape. Therefore, I was particularly grateful when they interjected a segment highlighting their social action on behalf of at-risk youth in poverty stricken Israeli communities. You see, I grew up with the idealistic Zionist image of Israel as a model society; to this day it still jars me to encounter the country’s social challenges. As I wrote a few weeks ago in this column, I do not believe in the State of Israel as the “first flowering of (Messianic) Redemption.” Nevertheless, the State of Israel may still retain theological significance. It is the only place in the world where the opportunity exists to live and interact according to the fundamental values of Judaism—not just in the home or synagogue, but on all levels of society. As David Hartman writes: “the Torah was not given at Sinai for a messianic society; it was meant to be implemented and developed with an unredeemed world.” (in: Contemporary Jewish Theology, p. 438) Strikingly, this week’s Torah portion drives home the very same point, when it proclaims the end to poverty in one breath, “there will never be any needy among you…,” (Deuteronomy 15:4) and legislates protection for the poor in the next: “if there is a needy person among you, then you must open your hand…” (Deuteronomy 15:7-8) Even Israel has its problems. Shouldn’t we address them as Jews?
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Who wasn’t energized and transported by the Israeli scouts’ rocking performance at JCOGS on Sunday evening? (Many thanks to Miriam Rosenbloom and Rita Schneps for bringing them to us.) Afterwards, their leader asked me about the composition of our community. I explained to her that as an unaffiliated organization, we try to cater to all our Jewish constituents, those with spiritual as well as social needs. The two groups do not necessarily always intersect, I said, but they both came together for the scouts’ performance—for which I thanked her. She laughed, because my characterization reminded her of the much starker split in Israeli society. She told me, for instance, that most Israelis are entirely ignorant of the international controversy over the Knesset bill regulating conversion, because they have already ceded control over religious matters to the Orthodox minority. In Israel, you are either dati, religious, or you are chiloni, secular; there is next to no in-between.
For the most part, the troupe presented a glowing, “feel good” vision of the Israeli landscape. Therefore, I was particularly grateful when they interjected a segment highlighting their social action on behalf of at-risk youth in poverty stricken Israeli communities. You see, I grew up with the idealistic Zionist image of Israel as a model society; to this day it still jars me to encounter the country’s social challenges. As I wrote a few weeks ago in this column, I do not believe in the State of Israel as the “first flowering of (Messianic) Redemption.” Nevertheless, the State of Israel may still retain theological significance. It is the only place in the world where the opportunity exists to live and interact according to the fundamental values of Judaism—not just in the home or synagogue, but on all levels of society. As David Hartman writes: “the Torah was not given at Sinai for a messianic society; it was meant to be implemented and developed with an unredeemed world.” (in: Contemporary Jewish Theology, p. 438) Strikingly, this week’s Torah portion drives home the very same point, when it proclaims the end to poverty in one breath, “there will never be any needy among you…,” (Deuteronomy 15:4) and legislates protection for the poor in the next: “if there is a needy person among you, then you must open your hand…” (Deuteronomy 15:7-8) Even Israel has its problems. Shouldn’t we address them as Jews?
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
July 28, 2011: Who is a Jew?
Dear Friends:
The bill for regulating conversion to Judaism in Israel, recently introduced into the Knesset (Israeli parliament), inflamed Jewish passions all over the world. The bill has stalled while the Knesset takes its summer break. Maybe we can take advantage of the interim to delve more deeply into some of the complex issues raised, including the conflict between Zionism (Jewish nationalism) and the principles of democracy, the relationship between Diaspora Jewry and Israeli Jewry, and, most fundamentally, the definition of the word “Jewish.” Regardless of the outcome of this latest instance of an ongoing controversy, one thing is certain—it will not definitively resolve the question: “who is a Jew?”
Jewish leaders have debated the nature of Jewish identity at least since the time of the Talmud. We can discern two opposing streams of thought in the classic Rabbinic literature. The first, exemplified by the Mishnah, views the Jewish people as a tribe whose members trace their lineage back to the patriarchs—literally “the children of Israel.” (mBikkurim 1:4) The second, exemplified by the Midrash, views Jewish peoplehood more expansively—anyone who chooses to “enter beneath the wings of the Shechinah (divine Presence)” is considered Jewish. (Midrash Tna’im on Deuteronomy, 26:3) This beautifully poetic phrase quotes directly from the Biblical Book of Ruth, whose heroine epitomizes righteous conversion. Strikingly, far from being a descendant of Israel, Ruth was a Moabite, Israel’s traditional archenemy.
The status of the convert is a crucial test case for what it means to be Jewish, and no issue gets under the skin quite like questions of personal identity. The same dichotomy of attitudes that prevailed during the Talmudic era still lies at the heart of the modern debate. We are a strange breed—not quite a nation, not quite a religion, but combining aspects of both. Whatever we are, our bonds of attachment lie deep and strong.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
The bill for regulating conversion to Judaism in Israel, recently introduced into the Knesset (Israeli parliament), inflamed Jewish passions all over the world. The bill has stalled while the Knesset takes its summer break. Maybe we can take advantage of the interim to delve more deeply into some of the complex issues raised, including the conflict between Zionism (Jewish nationalism) and the principles of democracy, the relationship between Diaspora Jewry and Israeli Jewry, and, most fundamentally, the definition of the word “Jewish.” Regardless of the outcome of this latest instance of an ongoing controversy, one thing is certain—it will not definitively resolve the question: “who is a Jew?”
Jewish leaders have debated the nature of Jewish identity at least since the time of the Talmud. We can discern two opposing streams of thought in the classic Rabbinic literature. The first, exemplified by the Mishnah, views the Jewish people as a tribe whose members trace their lineage back to the patriarchs—literally “the children of Israel.” (mBikkurim 1:4) The second, exemplified by the Midrash, views Jewish peoplehood more expansively—anyone who chooses to “enter beneath the wings of the Shechinah (divine Presence)” is considered Jewish. (Midrash Tna’im on Deuteronomy, 26:3) This beautifully poetic phrase quotes directly from the Biblical Book of Ruth, whose heroine epitomizes righteous conversion. Strikingly, far from being a descendant of Israel, Ruth was a Moabite, Israel’s traditional archenemy.
The status of the convert is a crucial test case for what it means to be Jewish, and no issue gets under the skin quite like questions of personal identity. The same dichotomy of attitudes that prevailed during the Talmudic era still lies at the heart of the modern debate. We are a strange breed—not quite a nation, not quite a religion, but combining aspects of both. Whatever we are, our bonds of attachment lie deep and strong.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
July 21, 2011: Exile as the Human Condition
Dear Friends:
We live in a state of exile. I don’t mean politically—after all, we Jews have our homeland back after nearly two thousand years. I mean existentially. As individuals and societies, we will always fall short of perfection. I will never solve all of my problems, and—let’s face it—the world will never be at peace.
I am writing these words on Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of the Temple and the concomitant loss of Jewish sovereignty. It was a strange thing when I was in Israel two summers ago to be mourning the destruction of Jerusalem on Tisha B’Av—from the Hass promenade, festooned with Israeli flags, overlooking the magnificent Old City. The scene was resplendent—a far cry from the desolation described in the Book of Lamentations. Some say that the State of Israel is reshit tzemichat ge’ulateinu, “the first flowering of our redemption,” but I do not believe that redemption works that way. Redemption, as a theological category, is an unattainable ideal.
The opening word of Lamentations is eichah, which means “how”: “how the lonely city sits—she that was once great with people!” In one of its typical wordplays, the Midrash notes that the very first instance of eichah in the Bible is ayeka, “where are you?,” which God called out to Adam and Eve as they tried to hide after eating from the forbidden tree. (Genesis 3:9) The first exile was not the Jewish exile from Jerusalem; the first exile was humanity’s exile from Eden.
I do not despair that we will never get back to Eden. What would we ever do there? No: I prefer a world with problems to solve and growth to achieve. Isn’t that what life is all about?
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
We live in a state of exile. I don’t mean politically—after all, we Jews have our homeland back after nearly two thousand years. I mean existentially. As individuals and societies, we will always fall short of perfection. I will never solve all of my problems, and—let’s face it—the world will never be at peace.
I am writing these words on Tisha B’Av, which commemorates the destruction of the Temple and the concomitant loss of Jewish sovereignty. It was a strange thing when I was in Israel two summers ago to be mourning the destruction of Jerusalem on Tisha B’Av—from the Hass promenade, festooned with Israeli flags, overlooking the magnificent Old City. The scene was resplendent—a far cry from the desolation described in the Book of Lamentations. Some say that the State of Israel is reshit tzemichat ge’ulateinu, “the first flowering of our redemption,” but I do not believe that redemption works that way. Redemption, as a theological category, is an unattainable ideal.
The opening word of Lamentations is eichah, which means “how”: “how the lonely city sits—she that was once great with people!” In one of its typical wordplays, the Midrash notes that the very first instance of eichah in the Bible is ayeka, “where are you?,” which God called out to Adam and Eve as they tried to hide after eating from the forbidden tree. (Genesis 3:9) The first exile was not the Jewish exile from Jerusalem; the first exile was humanity’s exile from Eden.
I do not despair that we will never get back to Eden. What would we ever do there? No: I prefer a world with problems to solve and growth to achieve. Isn’t that what life is all about?
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
July 14, 2011: The Bedtime Blessing
Dear Friends:
Last week, I talked about waking up. There is an inverse blessing for going to bed, called hamapil, similar to the hashkiveinu prayer that is embedded in the evening service. In contrast to the communal hashkiveinu, which is a general supplication for divine protection and peace, hamapil is personal, urgent, and, frankly, a bit hysterical: “illuminate my eyes lest I sleep the sleep of death, for You, O God, illuminate the pupil of the eye.” (In Hebrew, there is a gorgeous alliteration between the word for “sleep,” ishan, and the word for “pupil,” ishon.)
Our ancestors were, of course, worried about falling to sleep and never waking up. However, I can’t help thinking that there is a figurative meaning, as well, to “illuminate my eyes.” You see, the Rabbis taught that, before retiring at night, we should take a moral inventory of the day we just lived. If we discover something problematic in our behavior, we should seek forgiveness and resolve to do better. “Peace means more than quiet,” as our prayer book puts it. (page 63) “If we are to be at peace at night, we must take heed how we live by day.”
I confess that I am often so tired at night that I usually just plop into bed. It’s hard enough to brush my teeth, let alone pause long enough to recite hamapil. I must remind myself: deep, untroubled sleep is not the product of exhaustion; it is the product of a clear conscience.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Last week, I talked about waking up. There is an inverse blessing for going to bed, called hamapil, similar to the hashkiveinu prayer that is embedded in the evening service. In contrast to the communal hashkiveinu, which is a general supplication for divine protection and peace, hamapil is personal, urgent, and, frankly, a bit hysterical: “illuminate my eyes lest I sleep the sleep of death, for You, O God, illuminate the pupil of the eye.” (In Hebrew, there is a gorgeous alliteration between the word for “sleep,” ishan, and the word for “pupil,” ishon.)
Our ancestors were, of course, worried about falling to sleep and never waking up. However, I can’t help thinking that there is a figurative meaning, as well, to “illuminate my eyes.” You see, the Rabbis taught that, before retiring at night, we should take a moral inventory of the day we just lived. If we discover something problematic in our behavior, we should seek forgiveness and resolve to do better. “Peace means more than quiet,” as our prayer book puts it. (page 63) “If we are to be at peace at night, we must take heed how we live by day.”
I confess that I am often so tired at night that I usually just plop into bed. It’s hard enough to brush my teeth, let alone pause long enough to recite hamapil. I must remind myself: deep, untroubled sleep is not the product of exhaustion; it is the product of a clear conscience.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
July 7, 2011: The Dawn Blessings
Dear Friends:
Waking up in the morning, my partner walks through his garden and I go onto the lawn to face the sun (East) and recite the Dawn Blessings. (These days it’s already 70 degrees by 7 AM!) Each in his own way, we spiritually center ourselves before delving into the day’s agenda.
The fifteen Dawn Blessings correspond to the successive stages of waking up. “Blessed are You, Eternal God, Ruler of the universe, who opens the eyes of the blind”—when opening one’s eyes; “…who clothes the naked”—when changing out of one’s nightclothes (in ancient times, they used to do that under the covers out of modesty!); “…who frees the bound”—when stretching in bed; “…who raises the bent”—when sitting up in bed; “…who establishes dry ground upon the waters”—when setting one’s feet upon the floor; “…who has provided for all my needs”—when putting on one’s shoes; “…who sets out the heroic path”—when taking the first steps of the day; etc. Amazing! The liturgy imbues every natural human act with social, ethical, even cosmic significance from the very first moment of consciousness.
How will my own human actions today further the divine process?
Don’t wake up and immediately plunge into your day. Do you have time to take a shower or brush your teeth? Then you have time to count your blessings and remind yourself that you are a human being.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Waking up in the morning, my partner walks through his garden and I go onto the lawn to face the sun (East) and recite the Dawn Blessings. (These days it’s already 70 degrees by 7 AM!) Each in his own way, we spiritually center ourselves before delving into the day’s agenda.
The fifteen Dawn Blessings correspond to the successive stages of waking up. “Blessed are You, Eternal God, Ruler of the universe, who opens the eyes of the blind”—when opening one’s eyes; “…who clothes the naked”—when changing out of one’s nightclothes (in ancient times, they used to do that under the covers out of modesty!); “…who frees the bound”—when stretching in bed; “…who raises the bent”—when sitting up in bed; “…who establishes dry ground upon the waters”—when setting one’s feet upon the floor; “…who has provided for all my needs”—when putting on one’s shoes; “…who sets out the heroic path”—when taking the first steps of the day; etc. Amazing! The liturgy imbues every natural human act with social, ethical, even cosmic significance from the very first moment of consciousness.
How will my own human actions today further the divine process?
Don’t wake up and immediately plunge into your day. Do you have time to take a shower or brush your teeth? Then you have time to count your blessings and remind yourself that you are a human being.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
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