A prophet every inch the stature of Isaiah, Jeremiah and Ezekiel lived in Boston, a few miles from Temple Emanuel. He built and rebuilt. He loved. He taught. He role modeled. He wrote books. He won a Nobel Prize. He died.
What happened in those classrooms? What wisdom did Elie Wiesel impart that might help us today?
The prophet Jeremiah had Baruch Ben Neriah, a scribe who recorded and preserved for posterity the prophet’s teachings. Elie Wiesel had Ariel Burger, a student and disciple, who has just published a book called Witness which won the Jewish book award. This is a beautiful book that we need now.
Elie Wiesel’s frame is that the world has gone mad. His question is how can we be of the world and not go mad along with it?
Tomorrow morning we will encounter three Hasidic parables that Wiesel taught in his classroom that challenge us to be of this world, without surrendering to its despairs, and ever working on making it a little better.
See you tomorrow at 8:30.
On April 25, 2019, The New York Times International Edition published a cartoon of such profound Jew hatred that the word Nazi is fully deserved, in no way an exaggeration. The Nazis were defeated in 1945. A Nazi cartoon was published by the Times last Thursday.
To its credit, the Times published a withering critique by Times Columnist Bret Stephens entitled “A Despicable Cartoon in the Times.”
Subsequently, the Editorial Board apologized for the cartoon in an op ed entitled “A Rising Tide of Anti-Semitism.” Many leading Jewish thinkers refused to accept the Times’ apology.
All of this takes places against the backdrop not only of Pittsburgh, San Diego, and Yom Hashoah, but the recent ADL report that Massachusetts had the fourth-highest number (144) of anti-Semitic incidents in 2018.
How do we understand the Times’ grave sin here? Was publishing spine-tingling Jew hatred an aberration, a mistake, or does it confirm long-standing Jew hatred and Israel hatred? Should we accept the Times’ apology? These questions I leave up to each of you.
On Shabbat morning, I want to take this crucial conversation to a higher level and ask a personal question: what is our personal connection to this issue? How shall each of us, personally, respond to this issue? What does this unsettling and scary time demand of each of us? Are we being summoned now? Does history have its eye on you?
We are going to consider a gorgeous source from Lord Jonathan Sacks that will take your breath away and has the very real potential to change your life.
In a recent Talmud class, one of our learners observed that beer commercials always show people who are young, hip, fit, healthy, happy, and in love, living and loving life without a care in the world. They drink. They play. They laugh. They barbecue. They enjoy the beach. Happy and perfect.
Why is that not us?
Are we not the beer commercial because we carry the heaviness of Jewish history?
Or are we not the beer commercial because it is not the human condition? Life is not like that. Real people are not like that.
This question-from whence comes the complexity, the weight, the lack of ease-is reflected in a special reading associated with Pesach, day 8. We read the Song of Songs, which is supposed to be a love story, the canonical equivalent of the beer commercial, young lovers in love. But it is not. As we will see the lovers in the Song of Songs can never get it together. They yearn without fulfillment. They seek without finding. Their love is deeply felt and not consummated. The Song of Songs is the opposite of the beer commercial.
We are going to consider Song of Songs in the context of two other love stories, also dark, also true, and also ours– Abraham and Isaac, and Leonard Cohen’s final song, You Want it Darker, in which he says Kaddish for himself, written a few weeks before his death. This song is his midrash both on Song of Songs and on Abraham and Isaac. We will study his lyrics and hear him sing it.
We don’t do easy days at the beach. Because we are Jewish? Or because we are human? What do our love stories say about us?
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach,
In his evocative column this week entitled “The Moral Peril of Meritocracy,” Times columnist David Brooks raises the question: when you are broken by life, what does that brokenness do to you?
Life had thrown them into the valley, as it throws most of us into the valley at one point or another. They were suffering and adrift.
Some people are broken by this kind of pain and grief. They seem to get smaller and more afraid, and never recover. They get angry, resentful and tribal.
But other people are broken open.
The foundation of our Exodus story is that we were broken. We were slaves. For 430 years.
Tomorrow morning, our last class before the first seder, we will see how the Haggadah provides us with a roadmap for how our brokenness can make us better and stronger. It is not easy. It is at least as likely that our brokenness makes us smaller. But it is possible. What do we need to think about, what do we need to be working on, so that we can will ourselves from our broken place to our better and stronger place?
Your Exodus is in your hands.
Shabbat shalom and chag kasher v’sameakh,
Think about one of your biggest and most persistent problems. Your Mitzrayim. Mitzrayim does not only mean Egypt. Mitzrayim is also an existential category, a narrow place from which you need an exodus. We all have some Mitzrayim-relational, financial, professional, health (tomorrow is mental health and inclusion Shabbat at Temple Emanuel), emotional, from which we need out.
The Mishnah in Pesachim describes the Israelites’ exodus from their Mitzrayim. Wish we could all enjoy an exodus like this.
He brought us forth from slavery to freedom, from sorrow to rejoicing, from mourning to festivity, from darkness to a great light, from servitude to redemption. Let us say before God: Praise God. (10:5)
The Israelites are blessed here with a very happy arc. A linear arc. They were slaves. No more. Now they are free. They were in darkness. No more. Now they are in a great light. They were in mourning. No more. Now it’s time to celebrate.
Is that arc real? Does this happy arc apply to you and your Mitzrayim? If so, great. Good for you. But what if this arc does not take you in? What if there is no happy, linear arc? What if your darkness hangs on? How else can we see the trajectory of our lives? What other moves does the Seder have for us? The first seder is two weeks from tonight. Let’s get ready.
See you tomorrow.
[Shabbat morning, March 29 | 8:30 – 9:30 am] Impurity. What is the impurity in our world from which we need to rid ourselves?
Tomorrow is Shabbat Parah, when our tradition invites us to think about impurity, a word and category that we never otherwise use.Read More...
Here is a paradox: There is a chapter of the Hebrew Bible that is incredibly scary and urgently relevant. We encounter it every year without ever thinking about what it actually says. We miss it. We brush right past it. We did so again this year. At our peril.
Especially now we need to pay attention. On Shabbat morning, we will.
Here is the problem we are trying to solve. Jews are blocked on God. Community? Check. Social justice? Check. L’dor v’dor transmitting values from generation to generation? Check. Israel? Check. Rich family traditions like Shabbat dinners and Pesach seders? Check. But God? Many of us will say, “I am not a God person.”
Rabbi Elie Kaunfer of Hadar has an interesting thesis. Maybe the problem is that for Jews connecting with God is too much of a head thing. You have to read a book to get to God. You have to be a philosopher to get to God. We are given a menu: Heschel, Kaplan, Soloveitchik, Buber, Levinas, which is great if you are a graduate student in Jewish philosophy.
How can we reach God through our emotions, through our heart, through feeling?
Last week we read Rabbi Kaunfer’s sources which show overwhelming evidence that, to quote one of his sources, “The God of the Hebrew Bible has a body.” We also encountered Talmudic sources where God has a body. Talmudic rabbis see, talk to and talk about God in the flesh.
Does corporeal God solve our God problem? For most of us, no. Corporeal God leaves us cold. It feels off. It feels weird. It feels not us. Reading Heschel or Soloveitchik may not be the answer for everyone. Taking God’s arms, legs, back, face, flaring nostrils literally also appears not to be the answer for many around the table.
Can we solve our God problem? Is there a non-intellectual, non-corporeal way to connect with God?
When I talk about God, one reaction I often get is: “I am not a God person. Can you talk about community instead?”
Why is that? For 21 years I have wondered why much of my teaching on God does not land. And then this week, while listening on line to a lecture by Rabbi Elie Kaunfer of Hadar, I had an epiphany.
Tomorrow I think I have a game changer, Rabbi Kaunfer’s sources and ideas, a paradigm shatterer, a conversation that might make God real for people who had never seen themselves as God people before. Rabbi Kaunfer’s idea will be provocative, might be shocking, might well offend some, but after that it may even help.
If you have a child or grandchild in their 20s, and you talk to them about economic inequality and what to do about it, you are likely to discover that words that were dirty in my generation are no longer dirty to many in the rising generation; and that words that were sacred are no longer sacred. Case in point: Socialism and capitalism.
I was raised to believe that socialism equals communism equals fascism equals injustice. That childhood equation was refreshed in adulthood: socialism equals Venezuela equals death. Any American candidate that would attach themselves to the word socialist would earn unremitting opposition.
By contrast, capitalism evoked what Winston Churchill famously said about democracy itself: “No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” Capitalism is not perfect, but it is the best principle on which to build a society. That was axiomatic.
But what was axiomatic for me growing up is no longer axiomatic for many thoughtful young people. In my conversations with 20-somethings today, these paradigms-socialism bad, capitalism good-are no longer so clear to them. Many are not repulsed by, but are attracted to, candidates who attach the word socialist to their identities.
Tomorrow is Shabbat Shekalim, by which we read the Torah’s explicit acknowledgement that there is such a thing as rich and poor.
This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel…the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than a half a shekel (Exodus 30: 13-15).
How does the Torah regard the reality that there are rich and poor? Is this reality inevitable? How should we see it, and what should we do about it? What does the Torah’s posture on economic inequality mean to us today? In considering these questions, we will consider the wisdom of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks and Rabbi Shai Held.
Economic injustice has been a problem for a long time. How might our past inform our future?