Posted tagged ‘Clergy’

Endangered Childen and Community Conscience

July 27, 2014

There has been great debate throughout our nation concerning what shall be done with the hundreds of unaccompanied children who have in recent weeks crossed our border, seeking a refuge from the chaos and violence to which they were subjected in the homes in Central America.  Their parents sent them on that dangerous trek to the United States because they knew that if their children did not flee, more than likely, their children would wind up the victims of brutality, rape, and murder.  Today our country is divided between those who wish to welcome and protect these children and those who see them an placing an unacceptable burden upon our country’s resources and wish to send them back to from whence they came.

About two weeks ago, Bill Gluba, the Mayor of Davenport, Iowa – my community – put forth a proposal to  bring some of these children to our city.  Not surprisingly, the response to that proposal was mixed, marking us as a microcosm of the national debate.  There were those who gathered to plan on how we could best welcome these children, while there were those, including some alderman of our city council, who expressed there determination to keep them out of our town.  One alderman, on national TV, proclaimed his intention to stand in the middle of the street, blocking any bus carrying such children from entering within our city limits.

As those who know me can well imagine, I stand on the side of welcoming the children.  To that end, I have joined with other community clergy who are planning an event meant to declare an interfaith message of support for opening our doors to these young refugees.

Five days ago, I submitted an Opinion Page letter to the Quad City Times, expressing my particular perspective and feelings on the matter.  So far, my letter has not appeared in print or on their website.  They may yet publish it or they may never publish it.  I suspect that they have received many letters and cannot begin to publish them all.  Still, I want my voice to be heard, even if the audience is not nearly as large or as locally focused as it would be in our local paper.  Therefore, I have decided to share the text of this letter here in my blog.  While it speaks specifically to the question of whether or not the Quad Cities should open its doors and welcome these children, it also can be understood to address whether our nation itself should open its doors and welcome these children, declaring them “official” refugees from grave danger and persecution.  Here is what I wrote:

Prior to the outbreak of World War II, when the specter of the Holocaust loomed ever greater in Europe, and the borders of the free world were generally closed to Jews seeking to flee the coming destruction, there was one small ray of hope. That ray radiated out of England. While England, like the United States, would not open its doors to the endangered Jews, it did decide to open its doors to Jewish children. Boatload after boatload of Jewish children landed on British shores. With many tears and great anguish, their parents sent them away, knowing that they might never see them again, so that these children might not die at the hands of the Nazis. This valiant effort to save the children was called “Kindertransport” and it came to an abrupt end when England entered the war.

Holocaust analogies can easily be overplayed but sometimes they are truly appropriate. This is such an occasion. Today on our southern border there are amassed a large number of unaccompanied children from Central America who have been sent to our country by their parents, seeking asylum. Their parents, with broken hearts, sent them away because could not stand idly by while their children would have been beaten, raped, and killed. Like with the Kindertransport, these parents made an extremely hard choice in order to save their children’s lives.

Today, we in the Quad Cities are faced with a choice as well. Will we, like the people of England, open our doors and our hearts to these refugee children, or will we, like so many other nations back in the ‘30’s, choose to slam our doors shut on them and in so doing, condemn them to cruel suffering and death? In the years to come, which choice will we be better able to live with?

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A National Holiday for Prayer

April 25, 2012

Just when you think that you are familiar with all of our national holidays, you find out about one that you never heard of before.  So it probably is for many of you when it comes to the National Day of Prayer.  That’s right – the United States of America actually has an official national holiday dedicated to prayer!  If falls on the first Thursday of May.

The history of this holiday is interesting.  It was officially designated by Congress as a national holiday in 1952, as a day when the American people are asked “to turn to God in prayer and meditation.”  Each year, the President signs a proclamation in which he reaffirms the purpose of this holiday.  However, its historical roots sink far deeper into the American tradition.  The first proclamation calling for a National Day of Prayer was issued by the Continental Congress, in which it declared July 20, 1775 to be “a day of publick humiliation, fasting, and prayer.”  Subsequent declarations for individual National Days of Prayer were issued by Presidents George Washington, John Adams, and Abraham Lincoln.  But it was not until 1952 that it became an annual event.

In my community of the Quad Cities, which straddles the Mississippi River uniting Iowa and Illinois, for several years now, there has been a group which has sponsored an annual National Day of Prayer breakfast.  Not surprisingly, the organizers of this breakfast are exclusively Christian.  Therefore, the tone of this event also has been exclusively Christian.  A little over four years ago, Rev. Ron Quay, the Executive Director of Churches United of the Quad Cities Area, approached these organizers and proposed that they broaden the religious base of their event by inviting non-Christian faith groups to participate in it as well.  After some deliberation, their response to Rev. Quay’s request was that while non-Christians are always welcome to attend, the nature of their event will continue to remain exclusively Christian.

Upon receiving that response, Rev. Quay approached Rev. Roger Butts (then minister of the Unitarian Church) and me to consider joining with him in organizing an interfaith National Day of Prayer event.  And so we did.  For the last three years, Temple Emanuel has hosted an Interfaith National Day of Prayer luncheon which was primarily targeted toward community clergy.  We chose to do this as a luncheon because, while we wished to provide an interfaith alternative to the exclusively Christian event, we were not interested in competing with it.

This year, the sponsorship for this event has been taken up by our newly formed Interfaith Clergy Caucus.  Yet once again, Temple Emanuel will be the host institution.  However, this year we are instituting a significant change. Instead of restricting the event to clergy, we are opening it up to the general public.

In the beginning, why did Rev. Quay, Rev. Butts, and I feel that organizing such an event was so important?  Why have the members of the Interfaith Clergy Caucus decided that it was important to sponsor such an event?  It is because we believe that the National Day of Prayer does not belong to any one faith group exclusively.  It belongs to all people of faith who enjoy the blessings of living in this American democracy.  Indeed, it is a time for us of many faiths to come together to thank God or the Divine Powers, whatever our beliefs, in our many ways for the blessing we share in this land.  It is a time to celebrate the wonder and the beauty of the religious diversity of America.  That is what it was ALWAYS intended to be.  In fact both John Adams and Abraham Lincoln said as much in their particular proclamations for the day.  To quote Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation:

“Now, therefore, in compliance with the request, and fully concurring in the views of the Senate, I do, by this proclamation, designate and set apart Thursday, the 30th day of April, 1863, as a day of national humiliation, fasting, and prayer.  And I do hereby request all the People to abstain, on that day, from their ordinary secular pursuits, and to unite, at their several places of public worship and their respective homes, in keeping the day holy to the Lord, and devoted to the humble discharge of the religious duties proper to that solemn occasion.”

All the people… at their several places of worship.”  This day was never meant to be the exclusive domain of one faith or another but is the possession of all people of all faiths.

While Americans today do not face as great a crisis as we did in 1863, still there is ample call for praying for our country; praying for justice, praying for equality, praying for peace, praying for prosperity.  Let us pray that no America need ever go homeless or hungry or jobless.  Let us pray that no American ever need suffer from discrimination, hatred and intolerance.  Let us pray that no American ever be denied health care or education.  Let us pray that the day will soon arrive when no longer will we need to sacrifice the lives of our sons and our daughters on the battlefields of this planet.

On May 3, 2012, let us as a nation composed of many people of varied faiths once again raise our voices in prayer as we rededicate ourselves to building a better tomorrow for all.

The Prayer of Breath, the Breath of Prayer

February 26, 2012

There are many reasons why people come to Shabbat services.  Some come to remember loved ones who have passed away.  Some come to take the opportunity to actively affirm their Jewish identity.  Some come because they find Shabbat worship to be a meaningful way to start a weekend of leisure.  Some come to connect with Jewish friends or with the Jewish community as a whole.  Perhaps some come because they have nothing better to do on a Friday evening.  There are many reasons why people come to Shabbat services, but I suspect – indeed, I hope – that perhaps the most common reason is that in one way or another they wish to try to establish some sort of connection with God.  At the least, they may view the very act of leaving their home on a Friday evening and making the physical effort to come to the synagogue for prayer as a means of showing God that they care.

To me, the saddest aspect of contemporary American Jewish life is that in most synagogues, like my own synagogue, many of the seats of our sanctuaries remain empty Shabbat after Shabbat after Shabbat.  For the empty seats serve as a painful testimony to the fact that most of our people rarely or no longer feel the desire or need to connect with God.  They are Jewish.  They probably believe in God.  But they have little interest in pursuing an active relationship with God, particularly through prayer and worship.

But be that as it may, we cannot force people to want to connect with God; to want to engage God in their lives through prayer.  We can only try our best to provide them with the opportunities and the inspiration to do so.  The rest is up to them.  As the old adage says, “You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make it drink.”

However, as for the people who do choose to come to Shabbat worship, to stretch that analogy a little further, they are the horses who have chosen to drink; to drink from the wells of spiritual refreshment and Divine connection which Shabbat worship can offer.  It is precisely to these people that every synagogue has a responsibility; the responsibility to assist them – to work with them – in the search to find ways to make their prayers a more effective vehicle for connecting with God.

This past December, I traveled to Washington, D.C. in order to attend the biennial convention of the Union for Reform Judaism.  While at that convention, I had many wonderful and meaningful experiences.  Among them was a workshop entitled “Making Prayer Real.” It is upon that workshop which I wish to reflect.

First off, I have to tell you that I found the title of that workshop to be odd.  “Making Prayer Real” implies that our prayers are not real, and I do not believe that to be the case.  I believe that the prayers of any person who takes the effort to come to synagogue on Shabbat are real.  They may not be as effective as they could be, but they definitely are real.

That aside, I found the workshop  – particularly one aspect of the workshop – to be enlightening.  It was some­what meditative, but it was more than mere meditation.  I say “mere meditation” because I believe that while meditation techniques can assist us in prayer, they cannot replace prayer, especially in a Jewish setting.  For Jewish prayer is predominantly, though not exclusively, communal, while meditation is almost exclu­sively, if not exclusively, personal.  While there is a place for meditation in Jewish prayer, the greatest power of Jewish prayer is to be found in what we do together as a community of worshipers.

But back to the workshop.  At this workshop, one of the presenters – Cantor Ellen Dreskin, with whom I used to serve on faculty at the NFTY National Camp in Warwick, New York – conducted an exercise involving God’s name and breath.  As most, if not all of you know, we Jews are not permitted to pro­nounce the actual name of God.  It is a four-letter name composed of the letters Yud-Hey-Vav-Hey, and when we see it in the texts, we say “Adonai” in its stead.

Yet there are many Hebrew words and names that incorporate elements of this name in order to include some sort of connection with God.  So, for example, the Hebrew name for Elijah is “Eliyahu.”  “Yahu” comes from that four-letter name of God, and the name “Eliyahu” means “Yud-Hey-Vav-Hey is my God.”  There is also a very well known Hebrew word which also includes an element of God’s four-letter name.  That word is “Halleluyah” with “Yah” being the God part.  The word means “Let us praise Yah; Let us praise Adonai.

Yet when you consider “Yah” it is a sound that is made up of nothing but breath – “Yah.”  So Cantor Dreskin had us do an exercise.  She asked us to take a deep breath and hold it.  Hold it as long as we could.  And when we finally let it out, we were to let it out with a “Yah.”  Dear reader, try that now then do it again.  “Yah” – God – is breath, and without the eventual “Yah” – without God – we cannot continue to breathe.  When you think about it, God is present in our every breath.  Every time we exhale, God is there.  For as long as we breathe, God is an integral part of our every moment, both waking and sleeping.

Then she turned our attention to that word: “Halelu-yah – Let us praise Yah.”  So we took a deep breath and held it, and then let it out saying “Halelu-yah.”  Dear reader, try that then do it again: “Halelu-yah.”  With our breath, we are praising God.  Our every breath should praise God, for without God, we would have no breath.

There is probably nowhere in Jewish texts in which this is better expressed than in Psalm 150, which is included in the Shabbat morning worship service.  For in verse 6 of that psalm it says, “Kol haneshama t’haleil Yah, halelu-Yah! – Every breath praises Yah, so let us praise Yah!”  Of course Cantor Dreskin had us sing this verse, but if you cannot sing it, then at least say it:  “Kol haneshama – t’haleil Yah, – halelu-Yah!”

This is not just a prayer nor is it just a meditative technique.  What it is, is a life perspective; an important spiritual life perspective.  For if we want to truly connect with God, we have to honestly come to the realization that God is just not present to us in the sanctuary, but is present to us every day, every hour, every minute of our lives, with every breath we take.  God is our constant companion, and every breath – every moment of life – is yet another gift from God; a gift for which we should be grateful.  It is only when we begin to view God in this way that we can begin to start to pry open those gates which seem to keep us from God and God from us.  The Hasidic master, the Kotzker Rebbe, once said, “Where is God?  Wherever you let God in!”  When we begin to recognize God’s presence in our every breath – that our every breath is a prayer – then we will have begun to let God into our lives.

So if our every breath is a prayer, why come to the synagogue?  Why come to services?  I once heard a dear friend and colleague of mine, Rabbi Stephen Pinsky, give a sermon about prayer.  It was back in my New York days.  In that sermon he said, “People ask me, ‘Why do I have to come to the synagogue to pray?  I can pray in the middle of Central Park.’  To this I respond, ‘If you find yourself in the middle of Central Park then you better pray!’” His point was telling.  People say that they can pray anywhere but the fact of the matter is that unless the situation is such that it evokes prayer, they rarely if ever pray.  The Shabbat worship service offers us the opportunity to set aside some time for the act of praying; for actively reaching out to God, and opening ourselves up to receive a God who is reaching out to us.

It is not unlike our love for our dear ones.  We know we love them.  We feel our love for them con­stantly, but we don’t always express it.  We don’t always marry word and deed to intention.  We don’t always say to them, “I love you,” nor do we always demonstrate through our deeds the love we hold for them.  Yet there are times like birthdays, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, which provide us with the opportunities to express in word and deed that which is always in our hearts.  So it is with Shabbat and worship.  It offers us the opportunity to open our hearts and express to God that which is always there, and perhaps even open our souls and receive God’s reciprocating touch.

Sensing God in our every breath – praising God with our every breath – and praying to God on Shabbat are by no means alternatives but rather they exist in a symbiotic relationship.  Our constant experiencing of God in our lives fuels and vitalizes our prayers.  It makes them meaningful.  It endows them with wings with which to fly to Heaven.  And as for our prayers, they give voice – a clear and beautiful voice – to the connection we feel to God with our every breath.  They enable us to announce to the world, and most importantly to God, those profound feelings we carry in our hearts.  For in the end, prayer is not just a matter of reading words out of a book but rather attaching those words to that which is in our hearts, so that together they can rise to Heaven and draw Heaven to us.

Snow What?

January 27, 2012

Friday, January 20th was not a wonderful weather day here in the Quad Cities.  Indeed, it was actually quite miserable, with cold and snow falling all day into the early evening.  It most understandably was one of those days when, having arrived at home after a long day at work, for most people, going out again was probably one of the farthest things from their minds.  Here at Temple Emanuel, during the course of the day we wrestled with whether or not to cancel services.  However, since by mid afternoon, we only had about 2 inches of snow on the ground, we decided to hold them.  After all, Shabbat is Shabbat, and 2 inches does not a blizzard make.

One of the calls which we received during the day, asking whether or not we would be cancelling services was from the associate pastor of a local Presbyterian church whose Confirmation class had been scheduled to attend our worship that evening; a church which has been sending its Confirmation class to our synagogue for a “Jewish worship experience” for so many years I cannot begin to count them.  When I told her that services would be held as scheduled, she sounded quite pleased rather than disappointed.

That service was planned as a special one for our congregation.  Not only were we hosting these visitors and longtime friends of our congregation, but we also were hearing from those of our congregation who had the privilege and pleasure of attending the recent joint biennial convention of the Union for Reform Judaism and the Women of Reform Judaism, as they shared with us their insights and reflections on that gathering.  On top of that, we were observing the first Yahrzeit of beloved modern Jewish music composer, Debbie Friedman, by including in the music of the service many of her settings for our prayers.

No sooner had the Cantor and I pulled into the parking lot than the students from the Presbyterian church started arriving in car-after-car-after-car.  While some of our congregants arrived later, when the service began, the Presbyterians were in a significant majority.  Though the numbers gap shortened as the evening progressed and a few more of our people arrived, I strongly suspect that had it not been for the special reports and music, we would have remained far outnumbered.  At the beginning of the service, I made a quip about how it seemed as though the Presbyterians were made of far hardier stock than the Jews, but we all know that it is more than that.

Our congregation serves as host to many different church groups in the course of any given year.  One thing that most of these groups hold in common is that they are in awe of what they experience here.  They are captivated by the very sound of the Hebrew prayers.  They find our melodies enchanting.  The text of our services really touches them.  They are both fascinated and moved by our Yahrzeit boards, our obser­vance of Yahrzeits, and especially when mourners share some reflections on the people they are remembering that Shabbat.  And when the ark is open, and they see the Torah scrolls they are wide-eyed in mystical wonder, and especially so when they are fortunate enough to attend on a Shabbat eve when we actually take the scrolls out of the ark, carry them around the sanctuary, and read from them.  For so many of these church members, attending our services constitutes a spiritual, or even mys­tical, experience.

This is truly one of the great ironies of American Jewish life; that Christians have a far greater appreciation of Jewish worship than do Jews.  They find so much more meaning in our worship than do our own people.  Nor is this odd imbalance limited to the worship experience.  I find it so whenever I speak or teach about Judaism to a non-Jewish audience.  The non-Jews flock to study Judaism while the Jews seem to flee from the opportunities to do so.  In speaking with the folks at our own Federation, they, too, acknowledge that while their public programs have met with great success, it is not so much the Jews who attend them but rather the non-Jews.  Indeed, for as long as I have been in our community, that has been the greatest complaint that I have heard about the massive crowds who year in and year out attend our Interfaith Yom HaShoah observances; “Where are the Jews?”

I have to tell you that our community is not alone in this Jewish malaise.  According to a study done by the Pew Forum, which is an organization devoted to studying all aspects of religious life in America, we Amer­ican Jews have a pretty pathetic showing when it comes to the appreciation of our religious oppor­tunities.  So, for example, while the national average for those who attend worship services weekly or more than weekly is 39%, out of 14 different faith groups, with Jehovah’s Witnesses ranking 1st at 82%, American Jews are tied with “Other Faiths” for 12th and 13th place – just above the “Unaffiliated,” with 16%.  According to that same survey, when it comes to how important people feel religion is in their lives, with the national average for those who feel that it is very or somewhat important being 84%, and with Historical Black Churches ranking number 1 with 98%, we Jews rank number 12, with 71%, just above “Other Faiths” and the “Unaffiliated.”

One cannot help but feel sad in the face of these statistics, and in the face of the reality that not only our synagogue but almost all American syna­gogues face on an ongoing basis.  Why is it that so many of those who are not Jewish have such a great appreciation for the rich and wonderful heritage which is our own, while we Jews look at it and yawn?  Perhaps it is the fault of the synagogues.  Perhaps it is the fault of the rabbis and the cantors.  Perhaps it is the fault of our religious schools.  Perhaps it is the fault of our obsessive desire to “fit it” with the rest of our society and not to be viewed as “different” or “alien” by our non-Jewish neighbors; to be with them, wherever they are, whenever they are there, doing whatever they are doing, and not to let our Judaism get in the way of that.  But more likely, it is all of these reasons, and even more.

There are those who say that competitiveness is a Jewish trait.  Maybe it is.  But if it is, then we as Jews cannot be satisfied being near the bottom of the list when it comes to religion; just one or two steps above those who openly profess that they do not care at all about religion.  So what are we going to do about it?  Whatever it is, we have to start doing it together.

Rabbis for Israel: An Oxymoron or a Necessary Statement

September 19, 2010

Continuing my series of High Holy Day sermons, here is the sermon on delivered on Yom Kippur morning.

This morning’s Torah portion opens with the statement: “Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem lifnei Adonai Eloheichem; rasheichem shivteichem, zikneichem v’shotreichem, kol ish Yisraeil. Tapechem, nasheichem, v’gercha asher b’kerev machanecha, mechotev eitsecha ad sho’ev meimecha – You are standing today, all of you, before Adonai your God; the heads of your tribes, your elders and your officers, every man in Israel. Your children, your women, amd the stranger who is in the midst of your camp, from the one who chops your wood to the one who draws your water.”

At that one moment in history, all Jews stood together – “Atem nitzavim hayom kulchem – You are standing here today all of you” – united as a people, united in common cause. There are those who might claim that this was the only moment in history when all Jews stood together, united in common cause. And they might not be that far from the truth. While this might not have been the only moment in our history when all Jews stood united, it probably was one of the few.

It would seem that we Jews have a special talent for disagreeing with each other. I am sure that you have all heard that old joke about two Jews stranded for a long time on a desert island. When finally rescued, they proudly gave their rescuers a guided tour of all they had accomplished during their stay. They showed them their planted fields and their handmade aqueducts, their long term food storage facilities and their comfortable shelters. In the process, they came across one grass hut and the rescuers asked, “What’s that?” to which one of the men said, “That’s the synagogue I attend.” When they came across yet another grass hut, and the rescuers asked, “What’s that?”, the other man replied, “Well that’s the synagogue I attend.” A little later, further down the trail, they came upon a third grass hut, and once again, the rescuers asked “What’s that?” and the two men replied in unison, “That’s the synagogue neither of us would ever set foot in!” Yes, we have a talent for disagreeing with each other. One might almost say that we have transformed argumentation into a sport.

But in spite of the fact that it sometimes seems that we Jews can disagree about more things than we can agree upon, still there are some topics about which we generally do agree. So, for example, we agree that antisemitism is bad. However, we don’t necessarily agree about how we should respond to it. Should we confront it head on or should we ignore it and hope it will go away? We agree that Jews should observe Shabbat and the holidays. However we don’t necessarily agree about how Shabbat and the holidays should be observed. Should we drive on Shabbat? Can we watch television on Shabbat? Turn on the lights? Tear toilet paper? Do we observe Rosh Hashanah for one day or two? Do we observe Sukkot and Pesach for seven days or eight? Are corn, peas, rice, and other foods that puff up when cooked permissible on Pesach or forbidden? We agree that the Torah is our most sacred possession and that through it God speaks to us. However we don’t necessary agree about how God speaks to us through the Torah. Is the Torah word-for-word the actual spoken words of God or is it a human attempt to put into words that fellow human beings can understand a Divine communication which profoundly transcends the narrow boundaries of spoken language?

There is another thing that all Jews should agree upon, but while all may not, at least most Jews do. That is that the continued existence of the State of Israel is an absolute necessity for the Jewish people. After the Holocaust, during which so many of the 6 million Jewish victims died primarily because there was no safe haven to which they could flee from the Nazis, it is absolutely amazing that any Jew could question whether or not the existence of the State of Israel is justified.

Now I am a product of the first post-Holocaust generation, having been born 4 years after the end of the Holocaust and 1 year after the establishment of the State of Israel. So I did not personally witness the world events which produced the Holocaust need for Israel. Yet in my own lifetime I have witnessed it with other persecuted Jewish populations. I, along with so many others, protested on behalf of Soviet Jewry. I worked to raise funds and awareness when it came to the plight of Ethiopian Jewry. And I visited with both sets of immigrants as they studied Hebrew and culture in Israeli absorption centers in order to facilitate their entry into the Israeli society which offered them a safe haven; the safe haven that was there for them but which was not available to those targeted by the Nazis.

That Jews should support the State of Israel should be a no-brainer. Even American Reform Judaism – which originally was anti-Zionist because they feared that support of Zionism might be interpreted as a questionable dual loyalty by their non-Jewish neighbors – even American Reform Judaism began to change its perspective in the 1930’s and has continually grown in its positive relationship with the State of Israel. Israel is the land of our history. It is where Abraham lived, where Isaac and Jacob lived. It is the soil that was trod by Joshua and the Judges, Kings Saul, David, and Solomon, the Prophets and the ancient rabbis. It is the land of our story. Today it is the home for all Jews who wish to live there. It is the home for all Jews who need to live there, for they can no longer survive living in the lands of their birth.

But sad to say, today there is a growing number of Jews who feel little or no connection to the land or the State of Israel. For them, for whatever reasons, Israel is no different than any other foreign land. It could just as easily be Hungary or Kenya or Samoa. Since they have no personal tie to Israel, they feel little or no responsibility to stand up for Israel when she is in need of friends. Indeed, since they have no personal tie to Israel, and yet Israel is associated by the others with them as Jews, they can find themselves feeling embarrassed or even threatened by Israel and the actions she sometimes takes; especially as those actions are presented to the public at large by an often biased media. They may even feel the need to join their voices to those of Israel’s detractors; as much, if not more because they wish to distance themselves as Jews from Israel.

Well one would expect that if Jews today are finding themselves increasingly divided over whether or not to support Israel, then at least Israel should still be able to number among her friends those Jews who, by virtue of the life they have chosen for themselves, should never forget the vital role Israel continues to play for the Jewish people – the rabbis. One would expect it to be axiomatic; rabbis support Israel. If that were truly the case, one would have to wonder why, in recent months, there has arisen a new organization on the world Jewish scene, the name of which is “Rabbis for Israel”?

Yet such an organization does exist. I know. I was present at its birthing. I was one of its earliest members. It pains me to have to admit that the creation of this organization has filled a very real need. For the time has come when not all rabbis are truly for Israel. And then there are those rabbis who claim that they are for Israel but who always seem to take the other side.

What was it that led rabbis such as myself to feel the need for an organization such as Rabbis for Israel?

For a long time on the American Jewish scene, the primary organization representing the interests of Israel was AIPAC – the American Israel Public Affairs Committee. Founded in the 1950’s, this organization has grown to become the most powerful pro-Israel organization in America, boasting a membership of over 100,000. There is no question about AIPAC’s intense commitment to the survival of Israel. Indeed, AIPAC tends to be so intense about its commitment that it has a tendency to be blind when it comes to Israel. For, according to AIPAC, Israel can do no wrong. They will vigorously defend Israel no matter what she does and it matters not to them if she sometimes gets way out of line.

Yet while we view Israel as a very special nation, and we expect Israel to conduct herself according to higher standards than the other nations of the world, still Israel is a nation ruled by flesh and blood human beings. Still, Israel is a nation that can make mistakes. Israel is a nation that every once in a while can actually be in the wrong. The problem with AIPAC is that it has a hard time recognizing this. Their failure to do so has the potential of causing Israel more harm than good. For when the supporters of Israel try to justify that which is unjustifiable, it only results in their losing – and in Israel losing – credibility in the eyes of the world.

It was out of this type of frustration with AIPAC that another organization was born – J Street. This organization was founded in 2008, so obviously it is a new comer. Its founders gave it the name J Street for two reasons. Obviously, the letter “J” associates them with “Jews.” But also, and significantly, if one is familiar with the layout of Washington D.C., then one knows that they have streets which are progressively named after the letters of the alphabet – A Street, B Street, and so on. However, in this alphabetical grid, there is one street which – for whatever reasons – is missing. That street is J Street. So the founders named their organization J Street in order to indicate that it was their intention to present an alternative pro-Israel Jewish perspective which, up until then, seemed to have been missing from the conversation.

What is that perspective? J Street identifies itself as an organization which is pro-Israel and pro-peace. Unlike AIPAC, they are willing to recognize that there are times when Israel, by her actions, can harm the cause of peace rather than aid it. So they are fully capable of criticizing Israel as well as supporting her.

J Street endorses the two-state solution and is an avid supporter of the pursuit of diplomatic solutions rather than military ones to the conflicts which divide the Israelis and the Palestinians. Indeed, if someone, especially someone with a liberal perspective, was to go to their website and read through their Statement of Principles, they would most likely find them extremely attractive. I know that I do. In fact, for quite some time I seriously considered joining J Street because, at least in principle, they stand very close to where I stand.

However, as there is a problem with AIPAC, there is a problem with J Street as well. For J Street does not always operate strictly according to its principles. Indeed, some of the positions that it has taken have seemed somewhat contradictory to its principles. The reason for this is that J Street can often get lost in its self proclaimed freedom to criticize Israel. Eager to present itself as a conciliatory Jewish voice to Israel’s detractors, it is all too ready to jump on their band wagon; all too ready to lay fault and blame for conflict solely or primarily at Israel’s feet. Personally, I view this as another manifestation of a phenomenon we witness in our own country, where there are those who are so “liberal” – and I put that word in quotes, and remember, I consider myself a liberal – who are so liberal that whatever America does, they see America as being in the wrong. And just as there are those people who are always criticizing America, the folks at J Street seem to always criticize Israel.

It was that dichotomy between their principles and their actions that caused me to struggle with whether or not I should join. In fact, in my struggle, I sent out an email to a select group of rabbinic colleagues, sharing my indecision and seeking their counsel. Some of them were supporters of J Street, some were supporters of AIPAC, and some were like me; undecided and seeking an ideological home. Well the dialogue was fascinating. And it was out of that dialogue that one of my Israeli colleague, Rabbi Mickey Boyden, decided to organize Rabbis for Israel.

This whole question of “to J Street or not to J Street” came to a head for me, and for many others, with the Gaza Flotilla Crisis of this past summer. No sooner had the incident taken place than the president of J Street, Jeremy Ben Ami, issued a statement in the name of J Street, severely castigating Israel for its attack on the ship Mavi Mamara. It disturbed us greatly that he did not even give Israel the opportunity to state its case; he did not even wait for the facts to come in. He just assumed that Israel was in the wrong. Of course, as the videos became available and the facts became apparent, Israel was not in the wrong. The violence was the product of a planned assault by those on the ship.

So Rabbis for Israel came into being. This organization envisions itself as being centrist. Unlike AIPAC, it refuses to turn a blind eye to Israel’s failings, but also unlike J Street, it refuses to assume that Israel is always in the wrong. It is committed to seeing that in the eyes of the world Israel is given a fair shake. Like J Street, it endorses the two state solution. But unlike J Street, it recognizes that when things go awry between Israel and the Palestinians, more often than not, no one side is to blame but both carry responsibility. Those who try to lay blame exclusively at the feet of one side or the other – at the feet of the Palestinians or at the feet of the Israelis – ultimately do more harm than good to the cause of peace. Scape goating will never bring peace to the Middle East. Only honesty, an ability to accept responsibility for one’s actions, and an openness to compromise and change on the part of all parties, will bring about that peace.

So why the name Rabbis for Israel? Because the members of this organization have been really frustrated with so many of our colleagues. While so many of these other rabbis – rabbis who, believe it or not, openly oppose Israel, or who align themselves with either AIPAC or J Street – may or may not claim that they are for Israel, the stands that they take and the pronouncements that they make do Israel more harm than good. How can you truly be for Israel if you turn a blind eye to her faults, and how can you truly be for Israel if you automatically assume that whatever she does is wrong? To truly be for Israel, you must be willing to support her and to have faith in her. You must be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt yet also be willing to call upon her to do better when she has gone astray. It will only be when we, as rabbis, and we as Jews, are willing to meet those criteria that we will be able to find ourselves in another one of those special moments in Jewish history when, like in our Torah portion, we are standing together, all of us, united as a people, united in our common cause, that cause being our loving support of the State of Israel.

Temple Emanuel: Looking Toward Our Next 150 Years

September 10, 2010

If you wonder why I have not posted on this blog in some time, the answer is simple:  High Holy Days preparation.  Writing sermons and tending to countless other details prior to the advent of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur occupy nearly the totality of every congregational rabbi’s time.  So in my next few posts, I will be sharing with you the texts of the sermons that I presented to my congregation during the Holy Days.  Below is the text of my Rosh Hashanah Eve sermon.

There are New Years and then there are New Years, and this is certainly a New Year for us here at Temple Emanuel. For us, this Rosh Hashanah not only marks the beginning of the Jewish year of 5771, but it also marks the beginning of the celebration of our 150th anniversary as a congregation.

150 years! That is no small accomplishment. While ours was not the first synagogue established in the state of Iowa – for there were synagogues which preceded ours in both Dubuque and Keokuk – ours is the oldest Jewish congregation in continual existence in the state. Of that we can most justifiably be proud.

We sit here this evening in this fine 57 year old building, which, by the way, was the first house of worship in the Quad Cities which was constructed utilizing the designs of modern architecture. We sit here, not only as a viable but also as a vibrant congregation. There is so much about Temple Emanuel life which we take for granted, as if it was always so. But it was not. What we benefit from and enjoy today was handed down to us as the result of the dedication and labor of so many others who came before us; who strove to make Temple Emanuel possible, nevertheless vital and vibrant. Over the next 13 months, we will be celebrating their gifts to us, as we begin to learn more about our past and rededicate ourselves to the future of the congregation which they bequeathed to us.

Sitting here this evening, considering the life of Temple Emanuel today, let us try to imagine what Jewish life in this community was like for our founders back in 1861. In those days, the total population of Davenport was a meager 500. Of those 500, there were a scant one dozen Jewish families. Most, if not all of them were German Jews who had arrived in this community during the preceding ten years. They came to America, seeking freedom and democracy. They were part of a greater wave of German Jewish immigration that came to our shores fleeing Germany and Austria after the failures of the liberal revolutions of 1848. Yes, even then, Jews were social liberals. In fact, in our congregation today, we have direct descendants of one such famous socially liberal Jewish refugee who didn’t come to our area, but rather to Kansas. His name was August Bondi. Bringing to America his socially liberal values, August Bondi rode with the abolitionist John Brown, only to break with Brown for ethical reasons after the Potowatamy Massacre. Later, he would earn the Congressional Medal of Honor while serving the Union during the Civil War. He earned that honor by risking his life to bring wounded soldiers from both sides off of the battlefield and to safety. Hart Bondi, Greg Schermer, and their children, are his direct descendants. Those early German Jews who settled here, while maybe not as heroic as August Bondi, most certainly shared with him their motivation for coming to this country and their vision of what America should be.

So on Wednesday evening September 4, 1861 – Erev Rosh Hashanah, 5622 – our congregation held its first High Holy Day service. They had no building. They had no rabbi. So the services were led by a knowledgeable Jew by the name of Max Feder. Shortly after that, on October 21, 1861, they formally voted Congregation B’nai Israel into existence.

That’s right, Congregation B’nai Israel. That was, until recently, our original and official name. So where does the name Temple Emanuel come from? Back in 1885, we finally erected our first synagogue building. It was on Ripley Street, between 4th and 5th Avenues. At that time, belonging to our congregation was a very wealthy family by the name of Rothschild. In exchange for a major donation to the building fund, the congregation agreed to name the building after the patriarch of that family, Moses Emanuel Rothschild, who had recently passed away. So originally it was our building which was called Temple Emanuel, but with the passage of time, it was that name that stuck.

So our congregation came into being. Our first Board President was Isaac Berneis, and initially membership dues were a whopping $5.00 a year. Until we built that building in 1885, we rented space in which to meet, our first being a third floor room in a building at 3rd & Perry.

It was not until 1875 that our congregation acquired the services of a rabbi. Our first rabbi was Rabbi Isaac Fall. He served our congregation until 1890, which made him the longest serving rabbi of our congregation until yours truly. He is also the only rabbi buried in Mt. Nebo Cemetery. As part of our anniversary celebration, next October we will be holding a special ceremony at his grave. That ceremony, researched by the Cantor, is called a Hilu La Ceremony.

You might find this hard to believe, but Rabbi Fall was an Orthodox rabbi. That is not as strange as it might seem, considering the fact that in 1875 we were an Orthodox congregation. Granted, we were a liberal Orthodox congregation, but we were Orthodox nonetheless. But even at that time, we were seriously considering change. The Union of American Hebrew Congregations – which today we call the Union for Reform Judaism – the official North American organization of Reform congregations, was founded in 1873. Whether or not our congregation should join it, leave Orthodoxy and officially become a Reform congregation, was the subject of heated debate. It was not until 1879 that we decided to make that move. But even as the congregation voted to join the Reform movement, the president of our congregation at that time, John Ochs – you may have seen the Ochs mausoleum in our cemetery – resigned his post as president because of it.

Nor did the struggle over our Reform identity end with that vote. It went on for many years, painfully dividing our congregation. The planning of the dedication ceremony for our first building was embraced by the proponents of Reform as an opportunity to bring the practices of our congregation closer to their way of thinking. It was in that spirit that the Board voted that no hats were to be worn during the ceremony. They also invited a rabbi from Chicago to deliver the main address, in English. You have to understand. Up until that point, only Hebrew and German were spoken on our bimah. With this act, they introduced the use of English into our service. Later, in August of 1889, the Board voted to affirm the decision of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, to include the counting of women in the minyan.

It should be noted that through all of this, Rabbi Fall tried to be responsive to all his congregants. As an Orthodox rabbi, he demonstrated himself to be extremely flexible and open to the changes proposed by the proponents of Reform. But he was walking a tight rope, with some finding him too open to change and others finding him not open enough to change. Finally, in August of 1890, the Board released him and turned around, engaging the services of their first rabbi who was a graduate of the Hebrew Union College.

Rabbi Samuel Freuder was ordained from the Hebrew Union College in 1886. He came to our community, having previously served a congregation in San Diego. However, his tenure at Temple Emanuel was short lived. He was a living example of the caution, “Beware lest you get what you asked for.” The congregation felt that they wanted someone more progressive than Rabbi Fall, and in Rabbi Freuder they found him. However, Rabbi Freuder went too far in the other direction. As one chronicler put it, whatever was forbidden, he considered permitted. The dissatisfaction with him was so great that in July of 1891, the Board released him. However, you could imagine their dismay when the local newspaper published an article in which Rabbi Freuder announced that he had resigned and was renouncing the Jewish faith altogether.

In our lobby, you will find a handwritten letter to our congregation from Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, the father of American Reform Judaism; the founding president of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, the founding president of the Hebrew Union College, and the founding president of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. In it he expressed his apologies for not being able to provide us with a student rabbi to conduct our High Holy Day services, but recommended that we contact an unemployed rabbi living in New York. On the surface, this is a very disappointing letter. Indeed, when Joan McGee found that letter in our records, as she was organizing our 125th anniversary celebration, her comment was, “Damned Union! Didn’t do anything for us then and is still not doing anything for us!” However, you have to look at the date – September 12, 1891 – and understand it in our historical context. For obviously, it was after our congregation went through this trauma with Rabbi Freuder, and probably conducted an unsuccessful rabbinic search, that we applied to the Hebrew Union College for a student rabbi for the holy days. But by then, it was too late. All the students had High Holy Day pulpits. This was but another manifestation of how I congregation suffered in the wake of its struggle over its Jewish identity.

That struggle would continue for quite some time, only ultimately finding resolution during the rabbinate of William Fineshriber. Rabbi Fineshriber, a graduate of the Hebrew Union College, came to our community in 1900. It was through his efforts that the old wounds were ultimately healed and it was under his leadership that we finally established ourselves solidly as a Reform congregation, with the formal conclusion of the struggle being our adoption, in 1902, of the UNION PRAYER BOOK, a prayer book which we would worship from, in its various incarnations, until, in the mid 1970’s, when we adopted GATES OF PRAYER, the prayer book which replaced the UNION PRAYER BOOK as the worship text of Reform Judaism.

It was also through Rabbi Fineshriber’s efforts that our congregation seriously embarked upon its mission to pursue social justice causes and to become a voice and a presence for social justice in this community; a mission which we still pursue today, as earlier this evening I testified to, as I called upon you to support our hunger relief efforts. It is not surprising that it was through Rabbi Fineshriber’s social justice efforts that our congregation came to assume a new position of esteem and respect in the eyes of our general community; a position we still hold today, in good part due to our Tikkun Olam efforts.

I share with you these tidbits from the early history of our congregation because we need to know our past in order to appreciate our present and to start to build for our future. History, whether it be world history or American history or Jewish history or the history of our congregation, is not made up of quantum independent moments in time. Rather, it is linear; it is cumulative. Our ancient rabbis understood this all too well when they coined the concept of “Shalshelet HaKabbalah – the Chain of Tradition.” What we are today is due in great part to the gifts bequeathed to us by those who came before us. What comprises the future will be due in great part to the gifts we pass on to those who come after us. Today, we stand as one moment in time along the time line of Temple Emanuel. So much of what we are today as a congregation, whether we realize it or not, is great part owing to those who came before us. What will happen to this congregation, and this Jewish community, in the future, will be due, in great part, to the decisions we make and the actions we take; we, our generation of Temple Emanuelites.

For the first 40 years of its existence, our congregation struggled desperately with issues of its Jewish identity. Should we be a Reform congregation? What does it mean to be a Reform congregation? How much change is not enough? How much change is too much?

Struggling with our Jewish identity as a congregation is not new to this congregation. In fact, it is a very old story as far as Temple Emanuel is concerned. But from that story we must learn important lessons.

Lesson Number One: Openness to change is an intrinsic part of the nature of this congregation, as it is an intrinsic part of the nature of Reform Judaism itself. We should not be afraid of change but neither should we embrace it blindly. Change can be good, but only when it is purposeful and thoughtfully arrived at. Every possible change must be evaluated on its own merits. Is this a change for the good? Will this serve to advance our goal of being a contemporary meaningful expression of Judaism for our congregants? Will this change serve us for the good in the long run, or only in the short run? Will this change stand the test of time? Where will it take us ten years down the road? Twenty years down the road? A hundred & fifty years down the road? On the other hand, are our ties to the past founded upon the innate values of the past or only because the past is comfortable while change is disconcerting? The changes we make today, and the changes we choose not to make today, are the legacies we leave for tomorrow. Before we make them or don’t make them, we need to honestly ask ourselves whether or not this is what we wish to be remembered for.

Lesson Number Two: As the philosopher George Santayana once said, “Those who fail to learn from the past are condemned to repeat it.” The early history of our congregation was a very difficult history – a very painful history – because of the ways in which we dealt with, or failed to deal with successfully, the issues of change. It was a history filled with conflict and controversy. Too many people drew lines. Too many people took sides. As my mother, of blessed memory, was fond of saying, “You can disagree without being disagreeable.” It would appear that our Temple Emanuel forebears did not always appear to grasp that concept, and as a result, the congregation as a whole suffered.

Today, we, too, struggle with questions of change, both within the current life of our congregation, and especially as we consider the possibility of merger with the Tri City Jewish Center. The changes we are considering, and the decisions we will make about them, will most certainly impact the future of this congregation; the next 150 years of Temple Emanuel, or whatever it is we become if we decide to merge. As we grapple with these issues of change, we constantly need to ask ourselves two questions: (1) By making these changes, can we honestly claim that we are remaining true to our past, to our heritage? And (2) By making these changes, can we honestly claim that these are the legacies we wish to bequeath to our children and those who come after us?

As we go about our business, considering the future – the next 150 years – we need to constantly remind ourselves that we can disagree without being disagreeable. We can understand that others hold viewpoints which may differ from ours; viewpoints which may differ greatly from ours. Yet just because they differ from us does not mean that they are wrong. Each and every one of us holds the future of this congregation gently and lovingly within our hearts, within our minds, and within our hands. We all strive to do what we think will be best for our congregation and for its future. Though we may differ on approach, we do not differ on intent. And we need to respect that. We need to respect that though someone may disagree with us, they do so honestly and they do so lovingly when it comes to the Temple. Therefore, even though we may disagree, we need to maintain a respectful dialogue. We need to truly listen to each other; not just listen for the points we can dispute, but listen in order that we can come to understand where each of us is coming from. For only when we develop that groundwork of respectful understanding, can we build from that a successful compromise; a successful consensus; a successful meeting of the minds. And it is in that meeting of the minds that we will find the strongest future for Temple Emanuel. I do not know what that future will be. No one does. But let us explore it together.

Controversy and Disclaimer

April 16, 2010

I serve as a rabbi of a congregation and that is not always the easiest of jobs.  Congregational rabbis are highly visible creatures and perpetually vulnerable.  With every Jew possessing at least three opinions on any topic, the job is not that different than that of herding cats.  And to make matters all the more complex, there exists this truly interfaith phenomenon that when some people come together into association for the expressed purpose of raising up the will and work of God, for some unexplained and inexplicable reason, these individuals seem to leave both reason and compassion at the door and become easily provoked into behaving more like a lynch mob than like a sacred congregation when dealing with their clergy.  For when they find that they have differences of opinion with their clergy, they do not approach their clergy to discuss these differences rationally, in a respectful, and hopefully productive, dialogue but rather they expend great energy to spread their discontent far and wide and gather their forces to seek out the congregational lay leadership in order to pursue some sort of administrative solution which often can mimic Alice in Wonderland’s Queen of Heart’s call for “Off with his head!”  Several years ago, a Protestant clergy person wrote a fairly popular study on such people and entitled his work “Clergy Killers.”

I share this with you because in my community, somewhat of a firestorm has arisen over the views that I have expressed on this blog in regards to two recent entries – “A Perfect Storm Threatens Same Sex Marriage in Iowa” and “Revisiting The Perfect Storm.”  While only two members of my community demonstrated the good character to approach me in order to dialogue about their discomfort over these articles, there seem to have been several others who have taken great pains to run to the president of my congregation with their cries of outrage.  I have been a rabbi for 35 years.  Having people disagree with me on issues is not exactly a new experience.  I welcome disagreement and the healthy discourse that it can lead to, for it is out of such discourse that we all can grow; that is if we are open to growth.  Venting one’s anger is quite another story, especially when one vents it in such a way as to attempt to do material harm to the object of their anger and that person’s family.  There is something fundamentally mean spirited about such behavior.

While these people have legitimate reasons to disagree with me – and to take issue with the content of these blog entries – they did not have  legitimate reason to seek an administrative solution to their problems through the mechanisms of my congregation.  Let me explain why.

No clergy person is the “property” of their congregation, with the congregation possessing the “right” to regulate and control their every waking action and word.  All clergy have both their professional lives and the personal lives.  What they do within their professional lives is most certainly open to scrutiny, and if necessary, censure by their congregation.  What they do within their personal lives is not.

For me, my blogging is a function of my personal life and NOT my professional one.  I write my blog entries on my own time, from my home computer.  I utilize neither work time nor work resources upon them.  One might say that my blog is my hobby.  As such, it stands outside the purview of congregational control or regulation.  Indeed, I see one of the functions of my blog being that of providing me with the opportunity to address topics that I could never address within my official role as rabbi of my congregation; topics I could never speak or write on in a newsletter article, or a sermon, or in the context of a synagogue class; topics such as partisan politics, for doing so would endanger the congregation’s 501c3 not for profit status.

While, in my professional capacity, I cannot broach such topics, that does not in any way mean that I am devoid of opinions on them or that I am completely restricted from ever addressing them at any time in any place.  No.  Clergy, like every other citizen of the United States of America possess the right to freedom of opinion and freedom of speech, as guaranteed in the First Amendment to the Constitution.  The very idea that clergy, by stint of being clergy, relinquish their constitutional rights and surrender them over to the powers of their congregations is patently absurd.  Clergy most certainly have the right to publicly express their opinions on any and all matters, as long as they restrict those expressions within the legal parameters of the tax codes when they are serving in their official capacity within their congregations.  But outside of their congregational life, they are as free as any other American citizen to speak their mind.

Does this mean that the members of their faith community do not have the right to express their dissatisfaction with whatever they say, outside of congregational life?  Of course not!  It does, however mean that it is extremely inappropriate and fundamentally wrong for such faith community members to turn to and use the administrative mechanisms of their congregations in order to express that dissatisfaction.  If such people wish to take issue with what is being said by their clergy outside of their congregation, then they should go to the clergy person him or herself – as did the two individuals who actually sent me emails and entered into dialogue with me.  They can pick up the phone.  They can send an email.  They can even knock on the door.  And, in the case of my blogging, then can also make comments directly on my blog site.  But they cannot seek institutional redress for matters that are extra-institutional.

In discussing this issue with my congregational president, he pointed out that there was no place on my blog which stated that the views expressed here are exclusively my views and are not to be considered the views of my congregation.  Though such a disclaimer is not required, considering the fact that the blog is mine and not the congregation’s, I was more than happy to add such a disclaimer to the header of this blog, simply for the sake of clarity.  Indeed, after my president left my office, I immediately called my good friend, and past synagogue president, Alan Garfield, who helped me set up this blog, and asked him to help revise the header.  He did so within one hour!

Personally, I would be interested to learn of how many of the OTHER 18 blog entries, over and above the ones in question, were read by the folks who called my president to express their outrage.  I wonder if there were any of those entries with which they agreed, and whether or not they expressed their approval for those entries along with their disapproval of the two in question.  But that is probably too much to ask for, seeing that human nature tends to focus on getting upset about what you don’t like and disregarding the rest.

I know that there still will be those who will claim that no one is trying to deny me my freedom of speech, but that whenever I speak, or write, there will be those who will choose to believe that I am speaking and writing for the Jewish community as well as for myself.  In fact, what such folks are saying is that of course I have my freedom of speech, as long as they agree with what I say.  However, whenever they disagree, that freedom somehow has been revoked.  For such folks, I hope that the disclaimer now present on this blog will satisfy them.  If not, I pray that they will learn to live with it, just as I pray that the lay leadership of my congregation will learn to respond to blog complaints by saying that the blog is outside of their jurisdiction and that they suggest that the dissatisfied party seek me out directly.

By the way, as far as my presenting a questionable face of the Quad Cities Jewish Community, and of Temple Emanuel in specific, via some of the entries in my blog is concerned, the numbers tell the story.  I truly wish that this blog was so well read by others, but it is not.  Since I started it in December, it has received some 1,053 hits.  Of those hits, some 243 of them followed my posting of the first “Perfect Storm” entry.  About 23% of the total hits on my blog come from these entries and are most likely the result of the actions of those upset community members who energetically went around telling whoever they could, “Have you read what Rabbi Karp wrote on his blog?”  Over the last two days, as the word has by and large finished making its rounds, the number of daily hits has dropped back down to its typical 2 to 15 per day.  How ironic that those who were concerned about the exposure of this blog were in and of themselves responsible for providing it with its greatest exposure.  Indeed, since the complaints started coming in and making their rounds, my blog had its two best readership day.

I do not seek out ways to generate controversy nor do I get any pleasure from being embroiled in one.  But as those who know me can attest, I always have been one to speak my mind and to follow the dictates of my conscience, regardless of risk.  In the world of Western Religion, we call that possessing a “Prophetic Voice.”  And like the biblical prophets, those of us who speak “prophetically” sometimes find that we get beaten up for doing so.  We don’t like it but we are willing to pay the price.  What we are not willing to pay is the price for keeping silent out of fear of the consequences.  In the realm of Holocaust studies we call such people who surrender to such fear “bystanders”.  Now I know how some people just cannot abide with Holocaust analogies, but if the shoe fits…

So in the future, if anyone has an issue with anything I say on this blog, don’t call my president.  Call me.  I will be more than happy to enter into dialogue with you.  If our dialogue is successful, then hopefully we both will benefit and grow from it.  In Yiddish we say that is the “menschlekite” thing to do.