What Sort of Country?

Here in Israel this week, preparations for Yom Ha'atzma'ut - Independence Day - are in full swing.  Blue-and-white bunting is in evidence all over.  The onset of the holiday will be Monday evening, immediately following Yom Hazikaron, Memorial Day, which will be Sunday evening through Monday evening.  We just had a Memorial Day Monday of this week, but that was the Memorial Day for the victims and resistors of the Shoah, the Nazi Holocaust of 1933-1945.  The Memorial Day that happens immediately before Independence Day, is to memorialize the soldiers and civilians who fell in Israel's wars and the reign of terror against the state.

I like the idea of placing Memorial Day immediately before Independence Day.  It serves as a reminder that independence comes only with a high price - not just for Israel, but for many nations on the earth.  Memorial Day here is quite somber.  The radio stations play minor-key music, the TV is full of programs about battles and their casualties, and there's a national moment of silence as there was for the Shoah this week.  The juxtaposition does not temper the celebrations - which here in Israel can be quite raucous - but reminds the populace of the cost to be able to celebrate.  In the USA, with Memorial Day occurring on the last Monday in May and Independence Day on the Fourth of July, it's no surprise that we don't have that level of clarity.

The State of Israel is about to turn 69 years old.  Being such a young state, it is not surprising that there is still much argument over what sort of country it is.  It is, strictly speaking, a secular state but it is the most religious secular state I've ever seen.  Some secularists here see the influence of religion - specifically, Orthodox Jewish religion - as being coercive at times.  That influence is often inconvenient for those not inclined towards religious observance.  Just to take one example, the way that all public transport shuts down considerably before sundown Fridays and the eve of religious holidays.  And doesn't start up until after sundown on the next day.  This makes travel quite chaotic before and after the Sabbath and festivals.

Being a religious guy myself, and retired (at least for now), I don't mind the inconveniences.  They force me to accomplish everything I need to before the chaos starts, so that I can observe the coming holy day in its fullness.  But I understand why, for secular Jews, the government-mandated Shabbat and festival observances grate on them.

My only wish is that religious teachings other than specific ritual observances would get more play in the marketplace of ideas.  There seems to be little to no conversation about the lofty traditions of mutual respect, the worth of the human being, and the value of peace.  Since the 'Peace Camp,' of the Left, collapsed as a political force after the start of Intifada II in 2001, the nationalist camp seems to have set aside the teaching of ethics and humanity.  An example:  not long ago, a soldier in the IDF shot and killed a Palestinian Arab who had attacked a group of soldiers, but was that the time wounded and restrained.  From the aforementioned nationalists, there was an outcry and a raft of political protest when the soldier was convicted by a military court, even though the sentence was fairly light.  The outcry that the soldier should have been acquitted of any crime, as opposed to being given a light sentence because of the circumstances of the transgression, represents turning away - at least for some - of the principles of Tohar Haneshek, meaning 'Purity of Arms' or ethics in warfare, that have been the guiding principle of the IDF since its inception.  But the religious/nationalists have turned their focus, to an unfortunate degree, on ways to force the populace to 'act religious.'  In my mind, this only trivializes religion.

(By the way, I find my own civic home more in the nationalist camp, but I think it's important to have a robust and self-confident Left as well; it makes for a acknowledgement of different ideas, different options, different visions of society.  If only one side of the philosophical coin can express itself confidently, it's to everybody's loss.)

It's not unique to Israel that there are conflicting ideas as to the nature of the country.  In the USA, 240 years after her founding, there are still deep divisions over the kind of society that should be created.  I saw such conflict in Australia also.  So the kulturkampf underway in Israel today makes an important statement, not so much about the influence of religion or the uniqueness of Israel, as about the free and open forum of ideas that exists here.  Hopefully it will stay that way!

"I Will be Sanctified" - a Thought for Parashat Shemini

Nadav and Avihu, Leviticus 10

Dennis Prager likes to say that the Torah is all about boundaries and distinctions.  Israel and the Nations.  Sacred and Ordinary.  Male and Female.  Allowed and Forbidden.  And so on.  At first glance, this might sound like a rather pedestrian focus for one of the most revered holy books on the planet. (I say this, because the Torah is holy not only to the Jews but to Christians as well.  Other sects which are offshoots of Christianity also revere it.  As do Muslims.)  How is a book whose author sometimes seems obsessed with classifying things - and who expresses this obsession amply through the Torah's text - so elevating to so many?  What's so spiritual about boundaries?

This is an easy question for me to answer, having spent 28 years in the military service of the United States.  Some people think that the military man's taking comfort from an easily definable structure and rules, reflects a weakness of character, but the truth is that structure and rules are liberating in that one need not worry about the correctness of one's actions.  If one is following the regulation, and using the command structure the way one should, one can accomplish great things.  It's when the leadership is capricious, neither following nor enforcing the regs, when troops are stymied into inaction, not knowing what will be the consequences of their efforts.  Of course, some endeavors require more structure than others.  But think about the worst job experience you've ever had in your working life, and I'm betting that it was a lack of knowing where you stood in the company or agency that made the experience bad.  I'm for rules and structure which are constant, even when I don't completely agree with them.

In that spirit, this week we read a narrative in the Torah that is, certainly on the surface, disturbing.  The Ohel Mo'ed, the Tabernacle or movable sanctuary has been inaugurated.  Moses' brother Aaron, who has been chosen for the office of offering the divine service, has made the first sacrifices exactly according to instructions.  Hashem has shown His satisfaction with the service.  The people are happy to have pleased their G-d.

And then Aaron's two sons, Nadav and Avihu, take it upon themselves to offer a sacrifice that has not been commanded.  The 'alien fire' that they offer, flares up on the altar and consumes the two.  G-d has shown His displeasure, in spades, for this breach of protocols.

One would have to be heartless to not see this as a very harsh judgement.  At least on the surface.  Nadav and Avihu saw the wonder of their father's service, and wanted to emulate it.  For that, they were instantly killed.  Did these two spirited young men really deserve to die?  Did Aaron deserve the grief that must have accompanied the loss of two of his sons?

But think about it.  The duties of a priest are highly scripted, and what he does is seen to placate Hashem and reconcile Him with His people.  The priest cannot just go off-script, go free lance.

It reminds me of an incident that occurred on Christmas eve 2015, back when hover boards were all the rage.  Remember?  Before people realized that their batteries were subject to exploding spontaneously, and the fad faded.  Video that went viral all over the world showed a Philippine Catholic priest, Father Albert San Jose, rolling and spinning on one of the boards, during Mass.  Some of his parishioners were delighted that their priest was so down-to-earth.  But his bishop was not, and promptly suspended him for not serving the Eucharist with the respect and reverence it required.  Father Albert went free lance, and was whacked down for it.

I've never tried speaking from a hover board while performing my public duties as a rabbi.  Frankly, I'm such a klutz that I would probably have ended up flat on my back in the aisle of the shul!  That aside, I can imagine that it would have gone over like a rock in most places where I've served.  We rabbis don't serve under bishops, but there was always someone who thought that he or she was my boss, (Hint:  usually whoever was signing my paychecks.)

In this context, Nadav and Avihu's punishment might seem harsh but not outlandish.  By offering a sacrifice not commanded - and this by these two who were not empowered to offer it in any case - they, in effect, made a powerful statement. "G-d?  I'm in charge!"

The ancient Israelites knew the misery that comes when there are no rules.  In their servitude to Pharaoh, there was no protection by labor laws or safety regulations.  When in his capriciousness the Pharaoh stopped providing straw while not easing the quota of bricks, there was nothing to stop him.  When Pharaoh ordered all the male offspring of the Israelites killed upon birth, there was no constitution to protect the babies.  There were only two crafty midwives, Shifra and Puah, who found excuses for noncompliance.

This lack of law, this arbitrary action by an all-powerful monarch, certainly terrorized and traumatized the Israelites.  When Hashem led them out of slavery to freedom, that freedom didn't mean 'anything goes.'  Rather, it was the freedom that comes with predictable, enforceable structure, by rules that the people could easily learn and, even if they might not agree with them, live by them without worrying about whether they were actually in compliance.  The law, when you're unfamiliar with how it works, can be frightening.  But when it is comprehensible, it is liberating.  Nadav and Avihu had no use for the law's strictures.  They insisted on going off-script, offering to G-d what He hadn't required or requested, serving in a role for which their father, not them, had been appointed.  The judgement may seem harsh, but in this light it does not seem as much so as at first glance.  Shabbat shalom.

Drash for Passover Seventh Day

As you know, I don't usually post in Hebrew but...the President of our congregation asked me to give a drash on the last day of Pesach as our Rabbi is out-of-town.  So here it is.  Okay,  students of Hebrew:  your assignment is to translate into English and submit for grading!

עליה לארץ, זה כמו להתחתן ולהתחיל חיים כבן זוג.  אתם זוכרים איך היה?

כל פעולה בחיים, כל שגרה, אתה צריך לעשות באופן שונה, כי עכשיו יש לך שותפה בבית.  יש חוקים חדשים בבית.  כל מה שאני עושה, יש השפעה על בין בני זוג.  לשנה הראשונה לפחות, מי שהתחתן חי כמה שהוא הולך, כויכול, על קליפות ביצים.  ונאמר שברגע שאתה מפסיק לחיות ככה, זה הרגע שנגמר ה "ירח דבש." ככה הולך התחלת חיים נשואים.  אבל האספקט הכי חשוב, הוא שכל אחד שואל ושואל:  איך זה משנה עכשיו, כאשר אתה נשוי?  וכאשר שואלים, לפעמים צריך לחשוב רגע ושניים לפני שאתה עונה. 

איך זה דומה לעליה לארץ?

גם אחרי עליה לארץ, אתה צריך לעשות באופן שונה, כל פועלת חיים.  כמוכן, אנשים שואלים:  איך שונה לעשות "זה" בארץ?  ולפעמים, צריך לחשוב רגע או שניים כדי לענות על השאלה.

ברוח הזאת, שאלו אותי לא רק איש אחד או שני אנשים:  "איך פסח שונה בארץ, מאיך שהיה בחו"ל?"

יש תשובות הומוריסטיות.  למשל, בחו"ל, אם רציתי לקנות משהו עם חמץ אפילו יום לפני פסח, זה לא היה בעיה.  עם אני קניתי עוגיות "אוריוס," שאני אוהב, מייד לפני פסח ולא גמרתי לאכול אותם לפני החג, אנחנה פשוט סגרנו את החבילה, ושמנו אותה בארון עם כל החמץ, סגרנו את הארון ומכרנו את כל מה בפנים לשכן לא יהודי לדולר, ואחרי פסח החזרתי את הדולר וגמרתי לאכול את ה-"אוריוס" שלי.  אין בעיה.  אבל פה בארץ, הסופרמרקט עצמו צריך להיות כשר לפסח, וזה תהליך יותר מסובך מלהכשיר בית.  אז, שבועיים לפני פסח אני נכנסתי לסופר לקנות "אוריוס"...ומצאתי שהכל כבר כשר לפסח.  ומה חשבתי?  מה זה??!  אני יכול לגמור חבילת "אוריוס" לפני פסח!  ועכשיו אני צריך לחיות בלי "אוריוס" לא רק שבוע, אלא שלושה שבועות!  זה כבר מקוצה!

הומור בצד, יש כמה הבדלים.  בסוף הסדר, בחו"ל, אומרים: "לשנה הבאה בירושלים."  פה בארץ אומרים: "לשנה הבאה בירושלים הבנויה." זה לא הבדל כל כך גדול.  יותר משמעותי, פה עשינו את כל הסדר בעברית.  בחו"ל, היינו עושים בעיקר באנגלית, ובעברית רק החלקים ששרים.

אבל ההבדל הכי משמעותי, הוא שבארץ עושים רק סדר אחד.  לכן, כשגמרנו את הסדר, התאכזבתי יותר מקצת שלא נעשה למחרת.

למה עושים שני סדרים בחו"ל?  ההלכה מבוססת על שבעולם העתיק, לא היו שני דברים שיש לנו היום.  אחד, לא יכלו לחזות באופן מדויק, את הופעת החודש.  היה אפשר לחזות רק כבין שני ימים.  ודבר שני, לא היתה תקשורת מיידית כמו שיש לנו היום.  לכן, מהרגע שחל הופעת החודש בירושלים, לא היה אפשר להודיע לקהילות בחו"ל בזמן.  לכן, לפי ההלכה מכפילים כל חג, לא רק פסח, בחו"ל.  למה לא מתירים לעשות יום טוב אחד היום?  היום בכל זאת יכולים לחזות מדיוק.  ויש לנו תקשורת מיידית.  אז למה לא מקלים ההלכה?  יש רבנים שאומרים:  בחו"ל צריכים להכפל חגים, כדי להגיע לאותה רמת רוחניות, שאפשר להסיג ביום אחד בארץ.  לפעמים מתריד קצת להכפל חגים; אני לא מתבייש להודות. 

אבל בקשר לסדר פסח, להכפל מרגיש נכון.  האמת היא, שהיום גם בארץ קשה להרגיש מספיק רוחני בסדר אחד.  מיד אחרי הסדר הרגשתי, שעם עוד סדר למחר אני אספיק יותר טוב להרגיש שאני עצמי עברתי מעבדות לחרות.  ובסופו של דבר, זאת מטרת הסדר.

מענין, שאני לא לבד לדעוג על זה.  כמה פעמים אני שמעתי פה בבית הכנסת, על האתגר לעשות חוויה טראנספורמטיבית ממה שעושים לחג. זה לא רק על מחשבותיי.

אולי אציע שעפילו בארץ כל אחד יעשה שני סדרים?  רעיון לא נורה, אבל לא בקלפים.  זה לא יקרא.

יותר טוב מצידי להציע, שינוי בחשיבה.  אילה שעושים סדר כל שנה ושנה, מגיעים למקום שיכולים לעשותו כמעת באופן אוטומטי.  וחושבים על סדר כמקרא משפחתי וחברתי.  וסדר פסח, הוא זה גמכן.  אבל החי חשוב, הוא להרגיש שאתה הייתה שם עם עם ישראל.  במילים של המשנה:  בכל דור ודור חיב אדם לראות את אצמו כאילו הוא יצא ממצריים.  או שסדר פסח צריך להיות, במילים של יושבת ראש שלנו, "חוויה מעצבת."  זה החי חשוב.  איך להגיע למקום ההוא, איך לעשות פסח עם כוונה?  לכל אחד עם הגישה שלו.  זה השורש.  בכל מקרא, מסופו של היום הזה יש לנו 358 יום עד פסח הבא, לחשוב על זה!  חג שמח!

Reflection on Passover in Israel

Seder at my mother-in-law
Mazal Jerbi's home, 2017

All my life I've been celebrating the Passover Seder every year - often twice per year - and ending it with the words:  Next year in Jerusalem!  This aspirational statement, of course, reflects the mindset that the Jewish people, if they're not in their Promised Land, are in exile.  Although 'Jerusalem' is said, it is generally understood to mean the entirety of the Land of Israel - not just the capital built by King David some three millennia ago.  If one celebrates Passover anywhere in the State of Israel, one has fulfilled one's previous years wish.

Until this year, I only celebrated Passover once in Israel, 25 years ago when I was studying in Jerusalem.  I traveled down to Clara's moshav - we were engaged then - to celebrate it with her family.  This year, I once again celebrated with Clara's family in Beit Shikma, although the cast of characters was somewhat different given how many years have passed.  Still, it was a raucous good time!

But the real advantage of celebrating Pesach in Israel is not Seder night, which is a wonderful event no matter where in the world you celebrate it.  Rather, it's the rest of the days of Pesach, when you're still on the hook to eat everything unleavened...

Eyal is home from the army for the initial days of Pesach, so we went out for lunch today, to Sun, a local Asian bistro which opened only a few weeks ago. When they opened, we found a flyer from them in our mailbox, proclaiming that they had sushi and noodle dishes and were certified kosher for Pesach by the local rabbinate.  I said, No way!  But Ashkelon is  definitely a Sephardi town, and many of the Sephardim eat rice...and the noodles being served during Pesach are all rice noodles.  And until I came to Israel and saw it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed soy sauce kosher for Pesach!  As you can see from the picture, Eyal is very much appreciative of the Pesach culinary possibilities here in Eretz Yisrael!

Okay, enough gloating; I know I should say something about the Torah reading for this coming Shabbat.  It's from the 33rd and 34th chapters of Exodus, and in it we find the statement of the attributes of G-d which we sing at the morning services for all festivals that do not occur on Shabbat:  Hashem! Hashem!  A Compassionate and Gracious G-d!  Slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to a thousand generations, forgiving iniquity, transgression and sin.  In front of the open ark, with the Torah scrolls held by officials of the congregation, we chant these verses three times.

I'll never forget when, many years ago, a secular Jewish man explained to me why he believed that G-d is merciful and not judgemental.  "Because I'm merciful," he explained. "I try never to judge anybody, rather to give them the benefit of the doubt.  And if I'm this merciful in my imperfection, then G-d must be a thousand times more merciful."

Interesting way to put it, but the man's logic was sound.  If we take any positive quality that we might possess in some measure, imagine that quality presented in a perfect way and you've got G-d nailed.  And this is what Passover is all about, as expressed in the Dayeinu poem in the Haggadah.  G-d brought us out of Egypt, executed judgements against the Egyptians, executed judgements against their gods, slew their firstborn, gave us their wealth, split the sea for us, led us through it on dry land, drowned our oppressors in it, provided for our needs in the desert for 40 years, fed us manna, gave us the Sabbath, brought us close to Mt. Sinai, gave us the Torah, brought us to the Land of Israel, and built us the Temple to atone for our sins.  As the poem says, had G-d blessed us with any one of this multitude of blessings, dayeinu - it would have been enough.  But as we read in the account of the Exodus, He blessed us with all the above, and that should forever be a source of wonderment and awe.

Wishing everybody a kosher and joyous Pesach!

Pesach - Let the Journey Begin: a Thought for Shabbat Hagadol/Pesach

Please forgive me for not posting last week; I had a very busy week!

This week my thoughts, like those of most Jews on the planet, turn to Pesach - the Passover festival, which begins at sunset on Monday next week.  Traditionally, Shabbat Hagadol - the Sabbath immediately preceding Pesach - was one of two annual occasions when a pulpit rabbi would stand and give a public sermon.  The other one was Shabbat Shuvah, the Sabbath immediately preceding Yom Kippur.  It was said that the laws concerning one's observance of these two all-important days are so complex as to require the congregation's rabbi to do something out-of-character.  Obviously, it is no longer out-of-character for a rabbi to give a sermon!  Today, the rabbi who only stands in the pulpit to give a sermon twice a year would probably not last long in his or her job.  But there was a time when it was a regular practice to give drashot only very occasionally.

During my rabbinate, it was never my habit to offer sermons on how to conduct special observances.  It's not that there's anything wrong with the practice, rather that ritual instruction was simply not my focus.  Every Jew knows that you're supposed to expunge hametz, leaven, from one's diet for the duration of the Passover festival.  And that you're supposed to refrain from all food and drink on Yom Kippur.  I figured that, if someone in my congregation did not understand exactly what either meant, they would ask me privately.

I felt 'called out' about this in one of my last years as an active rabbi.  I had a large class of conversion candidates that year, and the mandatory course I taught for them ran up to Pesach and a bit beyond.  In a session close to the festival, having promised to talk about it, I focused on the why of Passover - the ancient events that have resulted in the two major rituals of the Seder and the refraining from hametz.  At the end of the session, several students came up to me, anxiety on their faces.  I hadn't told them how to do Pesach.  As candidates for conversion, seeking to graft themselves into the Jewish people, they were of course concerned that they knew what to do, and how to do it.

Sufficiently chastened, I spent the next session - the last one before Pesach - going through the nuts-and-bolts of exactly what it meant to expunge hametz from one's life for eight days.  (I didn't have to explain how to do the Seder, because all of them would be attending my 'Teaching Seder' on the first night.)  During the lesson, I could see a number of anxious faces turning much more serene.  If belatedly, I was giving them what they thought they needed.

But my bottom line that night - which I'm going to repeat to you who are reading this - is that Pesach is a Journey.  It's a Journey towards developing a mindset that accepts the challenges of observing the festival as the means to so identifying with it that one makes the ancient narrative one's own, placing oneself squarely in the midst of the people Israel, internalizing that one was there and experienced liberation.  And this is not just my notion; it comes straight from the Mishnah, Tractate Pesachim:  בכל דוד ודוד חיב אדם לראות את אצמו כאילו יצאנו ממצריים - In every generation, one must see oneself as he one had [personally] been liberated from Egypt.

Understanding this, we can see the various rituals of Pesach - the cleaning, the matzah, the Seder - as being calculated to bring one to this very mindset.  And the worst sin a Jew can commit regarding this observance - as specified in the Seder rubric of the rasha, the evil son - is to divorce oneself from the whole business.  We're told in the Haggadah, how to respond to this sort of selfishness:  one explains to this son that, had he been there, he would not have experienced redemption because he would have been too caught up in himself.

The rituals of Pesach, in particular the expunging of the hametz, are complex; the Jew who has not had a lifetime of experience in their ins and outs, is likely to make some mistakes.  If this describes you, take heart!  Pesach is indeed a Journey from one mindset to another.  You do your best with the ritual, and if you succeed, you might experience the change in mindset that it is calculated to bring.  And if you do slip up and find yourself eating something that's hametz - or even possessing it, which is also forbidden - then you can forgive yourself, learn the lesson, and keep soldiering on.

A joyous and kosher Passover to all my readers!  Let the journey begin!