Tag: Spirituality

How to Compose a Thanksgiving prayer: Clergy give tips on writing, leading a group prayer

By MELISSA NANN BURKE (Daily Record/Sunday News)

Thanksgiving can be a time to meditate on all that you are grateful for.

Instead of reciting the same, rote family prayer at the dinner table this year, we asked clergy to share some advice on writing your own:

Some people can pray aloud in front of a group easily and spontaneously. Some will use the standard blessing, such as the “Bless us, o Lord . . .” Other families will have a memorized thing or will have an opportunity for everyone to say what they’re thankful for.

I certainly encourage people to pray spontaneously just to slow them down a bit — sometimes things that we memorize we tend to say it so quickly. And sometimes to do something spontaneously allows for a little more reflection, a little more thought. More

Then for more Thanksgiving ideas, click here.

Blessing for Non-Jewish Spouses and Partners on the Bimah at Yom Kippur Services

A Ritual for Yom Kippur Morning and Family Services
Adapted by Rabbi Paul Kipnes (Congregation Or Ami, Calabasas)
from Blessings Written by Rabbis Janet Marder and Denise Eger

[Background: At Congregation Or Ami, we honor and value all members of our community, including and especially those non-Jewish spouses and partners who have chosen to raise their children as Jews. The depth of our outreach and support is evident in the award-winning webpage for interfaith couples and families (http://www.orami.org/outreach/interfaith) which states “No one is more welcome at Or Ami than you.” Non-Jewish spouses are fully integrated into our community, standing on the bima as their children become Bar/Bat Mitzvah and sharing other simchas and sorrows with the congregation. We recognize the special gift and sacrifices our non-Jewish members make to raise their children as Jews. So at Yom Kippur services, just before we sang the Mi Chamocha prayer, we called them to the bima to bless them. I did not write this blessing. I thank my colleagues Rabbi Janet Marder who wrote this blessing, and Rabbi Denise Eger who helped me integrate it into the service. ]

Today I want to recognize and publicly acknowledge for the first time some very important people in our congregation. They are part of Congregation Or Ami because, somewhere along the way, they happened to fall in love with a Jewish man or woman, and that decision changed their life. I want to let you know in advance that in a few moments I am going to be calling up all non-Jewish spouses and partners to come to the bima for a special blessing of thanks and appreciation.

I hope that you will not be embarrassed or upset that I am singling you out in this way. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable. What I do want is to tell you how much you matter to our congregation, and how very grateful we are for what you have done.

You are a very diverse group of people. Some of you are living a Jewish life in virtually all respects. Some of you are devoutly committed to another faith. Some of you do not define yourselves as religious at all. You fall at all points along this spectrum, and we acknowledge and respect your diversity.

What we want to thank you for today is your decision to cast your lot with the Jewish people by becoming part of this congregation, and the love and support you give to your Jewish partner. Most of all, we want to offer our deepest thanks to those of you who are parents, and who are raising your sons and daughters as Jews.

In our generation, which saw one-third of the world’s Jewish population destroyed, every Jewish child is especially precious. We are a very small people, and history has made us smaller. Our children mean hope, and they mean life. So every Jewish boy and girl is a gift to the Jewish future. With all our hearts, we want to thank you for your generosity and strength of spirit in making the ultimate gift to the Jewish people.

Please, please…do not be shy and do not feel uncomfortable. It is important that we show you how much you have our love and respect, and there is no better time to say that than on the most important day in the Jewish year. Please come up now, and receive the heartfelt gratitude of your congregation.

[Music is played as non-Jewish spouses and partners come up on the bima]

You are the moms and dads who drive the carpool for Mishpacha, Kesher and Temple Teen Night. You help explain to your kids why it’s important to get up on Sunday morning or to come to Temple midweek, and to learn to be a Jew. You take classes and read Jewish books to deepen your own understanding, so you can help to make a Jewish home. You learn to make kugel and latkes; you try to like gefilte fish; you learn to put on a Seder; you build a Sukkah in the backyard. You join your spouse at the Shabbat table – maybe you even set that Shabbat table and make it beautiful.

You come to services, even when it feels strange and confusing at first. You hum along to those Hebrew songs, and some of you even learn to read that difficult language. You stand on the bima and pass the Torah to your children on the day they become Bar or Bat Mitzvah, and tell them how proud you are and how much you love them, and how glad you are to see them grow into young Jewish men and women.

We know that some of you have paid a significant price for the generous decision you made to raise Jewish children. You have made a painful sacrifice, giving up the joy of sharing your own spiritual beliefs and passing your own religious traditions down to your kids. I hope your children and your spouse tell you often how wonderful you are, and that their love and gratitude, and our love and gratitude, will be some compensation, and will bring you joy.

In your honor, I now ask our congregation to rise, and repeat after me as we offer you this ancient blessing from the Torah…

Yivarechecha Adonai V’yishm’recha – May God bless you and watch over you;

Yair Adonai Panav Eilecha Vi-chuneka – May the light of the Holy One shine upon you and be gracious unto you.

Yisa Adonai Panav Eilecha, V’yasem l’cha Shalom – May God be with you always and grant you the precious gift of peace.

It was Pharoah’s daughter, a non-Israelite (a non-Jew) nurtured that baby, who became Moses our leader, who saved our people from Egyptian slavery and received Torah for us and brought us to the gateway to the Promised Land. Similarly, you nurture your children, ensuring they grow up connected to the Jewish people. What you are doing is no less than miraculous. You are ensuring that Jewish values, Jewish tradition, and Or Ami continues to shine brightly. Thank you for being the miracle in our lives.

Todah Rabbah Lachem – Thank you all very much.

The Whole Earth is Filled with God’s Glory

M’lo Chol Ha’aretz K’vodo: The Whole Earth is Filled with God’s Glory
A Sermon by Rabbi Paul Kipnes, Congregation Or Ami, Calabasas, CA
Rosh Hashana 5770/2009

[for citations of rabbinic and modern sources, see the sermon on the Or Ami website]

Lead in: Sheryl Braunstein and Or Ami Chorale sing “B’tzelem Elohim”

Sheryl’s beautiful song reminds me that we all were created in God’s image and therefore can “see” God’s face in our encounters with other people. This summer, I encountered another face of the Holy One. And it moved me deeply.

I spent the summer on sabbatical, dedicated as a Shabbat, an opportunity to retreat, reflect, refresh. While our daughter was a CIT at the URJ Camp Newman in Santa Rosa all summer, Michelle, the boys and I “mini-vanned” across America. We stayed at 3 Jewish Summer Camps; visited 9 Baseball Parks; boated in 6 waterways; danced at 5 amazing concerts; meandered through 10 American history museums; wine-tasted throughout the Northwest; and snapped over 3,000 digital photos. During our summer odyssey, we drove over 6,000 miles, visiting 20 States in 31 days in our own Odyssey minivan.

Most memorable of all were the 14 amazing National Parks. There, we were overwhelmed by America’s natural beauty. Its spacious skies and amber waves of grain. Its purple mountains, majestic; those low-lying, fruited plains. Wherever we drove, from the mountains (in Colorado) to the prairies (in South Dakota) to Oregon’s oceans white with foam, I kept encountering… HaMakom.

Of the 70 names for God referred to in Torah, HaMakom, meaning “The Place”, stayed with me during the sabbatical. Why do we call God THE Place, HaMakom? It’s a metaphor. As physical beings, we sometimes best understand difficult concepts from a physical frame of reference. If you think about the meaning of a “place”, you may agree that it is more than just a geographical location. A place is a space which is capable of containing something else. When we call God HaMakom, we mean that everything is contained within God, while God is not contained in anything. As our Sages say: “God does not have a place, rather God is The Place … of the Universe.”

My heart first opened to HaMakom, “God as Everywhere”, as Michelle and I meandered for two days up the gorgeous Oregon Coast. Each scenic overlook brought us to a view more breath-taking than the last. Have you ever been so overwhelmed by the beauty of nature surrounding you that you lost track of time, of priorities, of yourself? Every inch of the Oregon coast was so darned beautiful. It was God’s country. It is God. HaMakom.

I felt a little like Adam in that first week following his creation. After the work of naming the animals, and the fun of dallying with Eve, what did Adam do? Midrash Tanhuma, a fifth century collection of rabbinic stories, tells us that Adam spent his free time admiring the glory of creation. Overwhelmed to his very core, Adam stood silent on the shores of the sea, contemplating the majesty around him. Then he lifted up his voice to extol God, saying: “Mah rabu ma’asecha Adonai – How great are your works, O Eternal Creator!

Imagine that! The first human being, Adam, the first to behold God’s creation, was so inspired that he became Creation’s first poet. Adam responded with astonishment, and with deep appreciation. Then he became philosophical. In both the simple beauty of the ocean and in the world’s complexity, Adam saw evidence of the Holy One.

Philosophers call this panentheism, with the world being in God and God being in the world.

The kabbalists, Jewish mystics, call this Ein Sof, that there is no end to the Holy One. God is everywhere. I just call it HaMakom.

Like Adam did, so often this summer I perceived signs of HaMakom, God’s Presence: in the ocean, in the mountains and the sky. My ears began to hear the praise-songs of nature. My heart, inspired beyond its usual capacity, began to burst.

Often we, who live closed off in cities, drive around in climate-controlled cars, work in climate-controlled offices, forget to take notice of the glorious splendor which surrounds us: California mountains and Pacific seashores, desert palm trees and picturesque sunsets? We make ourselves too busy, too stressed, too worried about money, or time, or our jobs, to see the wonder. We use every excuse to remain in our homes, walled off in our cars.

That was me. For most of my life. As many of you remember, I used to live with my gaze firmly locked on my CrackBerry. I used to walk around with my head down. Then I finally understood just what the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Chasidism, was trying to say all those years ago: M’lo chol haaretz k’vodo, the whole earth is filled with God’s majestic creations, yet we humans take our hands and cover our eyes. Except during isolated moments, my hands blinded me to the beauty around us.

And then we visited the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. And then my eyes were truly opened wide.

And then I was awed into silence by the grandeur of Creation. It was like I was seeing clearly for the first time.

We were driving north by Jackson Lake, planning to scout out Yellowstone in the north. (Anyone been up there? Gorgeous, no?!) I had to pull off to the side of the road because I could not catch my breath. My family thought I wanted to take pictures. My son wondered if I was praying. Like Adam, I was just overwhelmed by the beauty. I needed to stop moving, and just take it in. I needed to find words to express the inspiration I felt.

This time the blackberry served a holy purpose. I took it out and wrote about my experience of wonder. I had to write something. The yearning was so powerful. The need to praise brought tears to my eyes.

In Torah, we read that when the Biblical scouts returned from scouting out the Holy Land, argue as they might about the Israelites’ ability to take possession of the land, they nonetheless wholeheartedly agreed in their praise of the land. They called it eretz zavat chalav u’dvash, a land flowing with milk and honey. I imagine how they must have welled up with emotion as they recounted discovering Israel’s beauty.

In the Grand Tetons, in the Louisiana Bayous, and all across this beautiful country of ours, I too welled up with intense emotion. America, every inch of it, is flowing with its own flavors of milk and honey. Some of us see it. Many of us miss it. The eighth century prophet Isaiah said it best: m’lo kol haaretz kvodo, the whole world filled with the Creator’s magnificence. God created. God sustains. God is. Here. In this place. The Place. HaMakom. This is God.

There once was a time when we Jews were inextricably tied to the land. Back in biblical times, we farmed and we harvested. Our holy days – Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot – were dedicated to celebrating the agricultural cycle- planting, reaping, harvesting. Following Israel’s 20th century rebirth, the poignancy was that we were once again reconnected with the earth. But for most of us here in America – few of us farmers – the distance between our lives and any land is vast and growing. But it wasn’t always that way.

I discovered, for example, that the humans, who have inhabited southern Utah for over 10,000 years, were integrally connected to a mysterious canyon, we now call Zion Canyon National Park. Originally it wasn’t to hike or take pictures, like we do. Or to rock climb or rest. They came for food and water… it was as simple as that. Human survival meant gleaning from the land its scant harvests. Archaic peoples, Ancestral Native Americans – Pueblo Dwellers and Southern Paiutes – had extensive and intuitive knowledge of the plants, animals, and seasons. They would hunt, fish, and gather. They grew modest crops, and, like Jews do on Sukkot, would harvest only after they offered thanks for the generous bounty.

Of course, this ancient way of life is gone now. Today, when most of us travel on vacation, our temporary home isn’t a brush shelter, but a hotel. Our water source comes from a tap, not the natural springs in the rocks. We don’t need to forage in order to live. Still, we turn to the land to harvest its gifts. What might our harvests be? For many National Park travelers, we come to collect not things but knowledge, not resources but memories, not trophies but satisfaction.

And so it was for us when we hiked through Zion Canyon National Park. The sun warmed the earth. Buds blossomed and birds soared. A quiet liveliness rustled through the park. And I encountered something else. In the sound of the song of a river, as a canyon wren scolded us, amidst the giant cliffs that made me think big and feel small. I stood silent, mouth agape; eyes open wide at the astonishing landscape. Despite unsettling changes in our world, while standing there and gazing deep into the soul of that canyon, I found contentment, a place of peace.

That, my friends, is the encounter with holiness, with kedusha. That is what our ancestor Jacob experienced when he sensed a ladder rising up to the heavens and sensed God standing beside it. In the middle of nowhere, he realized, Achen yesh Adonai Bamakom Hazeh vanochi lo yadati – Wow, God is in this place and I did not know it. He identified where he stood: Mah norah haMakom hazeh – How awesome is HaMakom, this place. Ein zeh ki im beit Elohim v’zeh sha’ar hashamayim – This is a house of God, a gateway to the heavens. HaMakom. God. In this place. Everyplace. A gateway to heavens. Everywhere. Yeish. God’s here. There. Everywhere.

Of course, this contentment and peace so often eludes us. Whether driving around the city, journeying through the High Holy Days, or stumbling through our lives, we easily miss the serenity within our reach. So how can we encounter HaMakom, the Divine right here?

My story: It was a hot, August Sunday, just before our cross country travels were to come to an end. Michelle, Daniel, Noah and I set out to hike up the Virgin River, a beautiful, flowing tributary that bisects Utah’s Zion Canyon National Park. Two hours into the hike, we entered the Narrows, so called because of the narrow space created by the towering canyon walls as they leaned in. Though awesome sights encircled us, rocky obstacles lurking beneath the water’s surface sought to trip us up. Walking sticks were needed to probe the path ahead for underwater holes.

Here one must tread carefully. Too much attention focused on the surrounding beauty, and a foot misplaced on the slippery upcropping of underwater rocks sends you splashing into the river. This is a lesson of everyday life. Pay attention or you might get tripped up.

At the same time, don’t miss out on what’s right before your eyes. The Narrows also taught us that when we spend too much attention focused on each individual step – so afraid of stumbling and getting soaked – we might miss the grandeur of creation: cascading waterfalls, multicolored rock shelves, turquoise blue skies. We might walk right past Jacob’s ladder, sha’ar shamayim, the gateway to heavenly inspiration.

It’s right there. And here. And everywhere. HaMakom. We work hard to maintain balance and find equilibrium. Sometimes we have to play it safe and walk with conservative care.

Yet other times, we can take a risk. Look up and around, open up to the splendor. As the mystics remind us, Ein Sof, there is no end to God’s Holy space.

So remember that HaMakom, The Place, God’s Place, is right here. At the Agoura Hills-Calabasas Community Center. This afternoon, at Paradise Cover in Malibu. And on Sukkot, around a campfire in Old Agoura. Yes, HaMakom is up top of Big Bear. In Malibu Creek State Park. On the hiking trail out behind your back gate.

In these difficult times, life’s pressures threaten to push us over the edge. But we can still go find the Holy One. There you just might find that contentment and peace you seek. On a walk with a friend around Calabasas Lake, watching the stars with your kid up on Mulholland, sharing a cup of coffee with a loved one in the back yard. It’s a tried and true path to spirituality. As Naturalist John Muir said: “…break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend [time] in the woods. [You will] Wash your spirit clean.”

That’s the secret to finding God. Remembering that it’s all HaMakom, a sacred place. This whole world is Kadosh, holy. The prophet Isaiah proclaimed it. The psalmist Doug Cotler sings it: M’lo kol haaretz kvodo, the whole world filled with the Creator’s glory. “[And] Even when it’s hard to hear, Surely God is always near For everywhere we stand is holy ground.” Kadosh.

Song: Cantor Doug Cotler and Or Ami Chorale sing Cantor Cotler’s Kadosh

Day 2: Masada, Meaning and Questions that Matter

Someone once told me that anywhere else in the world, a tourist travels through a country, but in Israel the Jew journeys toward meaning. Up early (4:09 am – the result of too much jet-lag induced napping), with the hotel window open, a cool breeze and the sounds of the Holy land awakening, provides me with the chance to reflect back on yesterdays meaning-making on Masada and beyond.

Ultimate Questions

This morning’s ultimate question: If placed in the shoes of another, would we make the same choices? We hired a larger taxi for the day, to take us down south to Masada (the Dead Sea and Ein Gedi too). It was good to get out of raining Jerusalem, though who knew what kind of weather we would find beyond – divine blessing, it seems, at least in terms of weather. Clear, albeit cold, skies, and some strong winds met us on the mountaintop, making it sometimes chilly, but dry enough to walk around. Thankfully, the threat of ugly weather kept large numbers away from Masada, so we had this historic hilltop much to ourselves. We meandered, explored, took in the precious panorama surrounding us.

Much has been written about the difficult choices Masada’s first century Jewish residents had to make. Forced to flee Jerusalem under the Roman onslaught to King Herod’s Masada Palace retreat, they holed up, lived life, and prepared to fight the ever intensifying onslaughts by the Romans against Israel’s Jewish residents.

The new Museum at Masada offers a wonderful way to enter this ancient event. Jerusalem Post wrote about the Museum’s opening:

The visitors’ museum experience begins in the lobby, where they receive audio headsets. They then pass through nine rooms, each of which features artifacts placed in three-dimensional scenes that depict facets of the Masada story.

In the Herod room, for example, visitors enter a display of black, statue-like figures at a banquet scene. Spread amongst these figures are artifacts such as a stone table, amphoras which held Herod’s provisions, and terra sigillata ware (the finest dishware of the time.) As visitors move from room to room, their headsets automatically begin the narration for the corresponding space. The first eight rooms delve into the worlds of the Jewish rebels, the Romans, and Josephus Flavius, while the final room pays homage to Yadin’s work.

Later, ascending by tram, we were walking in the footsteps of the Jews on Masada. Even as we were enthralled with the beautiful 3-D vistas from the upper palace level looking over the whole desert, we faced with were their impossible choice: to live life as the slave – property – of the Romans, or to proclaim their freedom by self-determining that their lives must end while they are still a free people. (Full Masada story here).

Masada forced us 21st century Jews to consider: besides freedom, what do we value so highly that we will take strong measures to protect it? Eschew the Masada option if we like, but still we are left with the question: what do I value? Family, yes. Love, sure. Country? Homeland? Could we endanger our families for the sake of an ideal, or to save another? Would we today, for example, be willing to hide our generation’s Anne Frank? For what greater value would we step out and stand up? We American Jews are rarely forced to contemplate such questions.

Less important on the spectrum of ultimate questions was the decision to walk down the mountain, but to take the tram up. We decided that being exhausted and sweaty would impede the poignancy of the Masada experience up top. We saved it for the end, and after an energizing but exhausting descent, we regained our strength (and dried out our sweaty shirts) over lunch in the restaurant.

Wadis Go Wild
What do you do when things don’t turn out as expected? Get frustrated? Cry out in anger? Find new visions worthy of blessing? When do you realize that some things are just beyond your control, and it is time to “go with the flow?”

We intended to drive north to float in the (currently) frigid waters of the Dead Sea. Yet the rain had other plans for us. After fielding conflicting reports about whether the road north was open or closed, we drove up to see. Just before En Gedi, we witnessed something few chance upon safely. Hikers in Israel are regularly warned about the dangers of flash floods in the dry wadis of the Negev. Now, under clear skies, we were able to witness one ourselves. A wadi (dry canyon riverbed) had flooded, sending thousands of gallons of muddy water across the road. Just 200 feet separated the dry land on both sides. We waved to people on the other side. Yet, the police had stopped traffic, after a 4×4 got stuck in the muck. This could have been a buzzkill. Instead, like for Israelis and others in love with their land, the roadblock did little to douse spirits. People on both sides of the blockage parked, and hiked up the sides of the wadi. Some took out beach chairs and boiled water for Turkish coffee; others took to the heights to watch with amazement. I remember learning that perhaps the Israelites crossing the Red Sea could be explained right here: that a wadi flooding, just as suddenly runs out of water allowing the Israelites to cross, until just as suddenly a flash flood of muddy water catches and drowns the pursuing Egyptians. Whichever, it was majestic.

Letting go of the plan to swim in the Dead Sea (now a swirl of brilliant aqua and muddy chocolate brown), we decided to leave early to take the long route back to Jerusalem. This southern, western roundabout route would claim up to 3 hours to get back. Still, nothing ever works perfectly. Some roads were blocked off, forcing even more detours. Sometimes the rain came down in buckets, creating slippery conditions. Other times the fog decreased visibility so much that traffic slowed to a trickle as we could only see the road and the car in front of us. One travel companion wondered when the next plague would strike. Then came the hail, small mini-balls of ice, pelting the group around us at a traffic stop. We Jews sing Shir Hama’alot, a song of ascension, upon ascending to Jerusalem. I hummed the tune to myself in thanks for finally arriving back in Jerusalem after a much longer journey than expected.

Love of Spouse and Belief in God: Twin Claimants of that “Leap of Faith”
Ultimate questions of belief poked their heads out again at night as we shared dinner together in the hotel. Between bites of tuna sandwiches, penne and red sauce, sophisticated-sounding salads, and some bottled water, we shared stories of our engagements to our wives, regaling each other with the fun details of deciding and planning to ask. Here, a ring was hidden in a tie tack jewelry box. There, a Valentine’s Day gift box from Victoria Secret enclosed a promise of a future (clearly, a shiny ring beats new pj’s any day). One invited a girlfriend on a business lunch, exchanging the frustration of being “stood up” by the “business associate” with the joy of a proposal to make a life together forever. A picnic during a long sought performance at a Shakespeare festival provided the backdrop for another proposal. I shared our joyous moment in Yosemite, where I offered her the lights of Orion’s belt as a testament to my forever love of her (resizing her great grandmother’s ring would come later, as would the 5 stoned ring we later picked out – one stone for each member of our yet-to-be-created family). My 20 year old niece Yonina promised to share her engagement story with us eventually, when the right guy comes along. We also talked about who asked the father-in-law for permission ahead of time; when and how family was included in the announcement. (I remember hanging out in a Marie Callendar’s restaurant, nervously trying to eat a patty melt, as we waited for my future in-laws to finish work so we could share the exciting news with them.)

All that wonderful talk about love provided the perfect backdrop to an unexpected yet equally delicious discussion about truth and belief and Torah and science. Being surrounded by ultraorthodox Jewish families whose lives are proscribed by Talmudic law, and whose relationships to each other (the roles of men and women) and daily life (prayer, study, work) are often so different from our own, questions of faith get magnified. So we talked. Is there a midpoint between literalism/fundamentalism and blind belief? Can Judaism make room for Darwin and dinosaurs when Torah offers a very specific God-centric story about six days of creation? If aliens from five different worlds simultaneously were to make their presence known to us, how would that affect Jewish belief in the creation of humanity? Is God the proprietor of a divine candy shop, distributing sweets (blessings, goodness) to us whenever we wish? And what does it mean when our prayers are not answered?

Some worried that such questions might offend me, their rabbinical traveling companion. I relished the discussion. (Only a bite of the rugaleh from Marzipan, sitting up in my room, could have made it even sweeter.) You see, it’s my life’s work to push people beyond the literalist reading of Torah, to open them up to meaning and Torah’s search for ultimate meaning. That truth need not be historical; that science need not be seen as being in opposition to religious belief. That the foolish acts of fundamentalists (and their cynical misuse of religion to kill and maim) does not negate the possibility that God exists and is benevolent.

I endorse the eighteenth century Chassidic rebbe who said that anyone who reads Torah only (primarily?) as p’shat (on its plot level) is a fool. Torah is about life lessons, not historic truths. It answers the question “why” to complement science’s question about “how.” Its sometimes stark stories of creation, primitive medicine and miracles are on their surface merely the experience of a people in its infancy. Just as my children once viewed me as all powerful, all knowing but as they have grown have developed a more nuanced view of their all loving father, so too must we mine meaning from Torah – through study, midrash and more – to discover insights (and answers perhaps) to ultimate questions.

As I age, and realize how little control I truly have over things in life, I become increasingly aware of realities that are unquestionable: the love I share with my wife, my love and devotion to my children, and my experience that we are all connected in a Oneness others call God. I cannot prove the love of my wife by an empirical means any more that I can prove that God exists. A cynic could ascribe ulterior (non-love) motives to the former; the non-believer finds comfort in our ability NOT to be able to prove God. But love and belief go hand in hand. Both require a leap of faith. And I lovingly, though not blindly, leap forward. Can you?

Oh, how I loved that nighttime conversation! They say Jerusalem’s air is intoxicating. I’m more than ready to get high on such heady discussions again and again.

Its 5:50 am. Time to wake up. Breakfast and modern Jerusalem calls. I wonder what questions she will ask us today!?! Oy, gotta run. I’ll try to embed more pictures later. Check the new ones here.

Aliyat haNefesh, My Soul Ascends to Jerusalem

I’m in Israel now (though I wrote this on the plane trip over). This might be a good time to reflect upon the purpose of this trip. Israel Adventure 2009 has three purposes:

  • To attend the convention of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (Reform Movement rabbis) who meet once in seven years in Israel;
  • To help guide a small group of Or Ami people (Mark Wolfson and his current/future sons-in-law) through Israel;
  • To make my annual Aliyat haNefesh (spiritual ascent) to our Jewish holy land.

What is this Aliyat haNefesh? On Shabbat and Holy Days, when we marched with Torah we sing a verse from Tanach: Ki mitziyon tetzei Torah, u’dvar Adonai mirushalayim – From out of Zion comes forth Torah and the word of God from Jerusalem. Purposely placed in the middle of the prayer service, this song trumpets our Jewish reality: that on some cosmic (metaphysical?) level, we are all connected as Jews to Zion, to Israel, by an unseen umbilical cord. We Jews are called from deep within to reconnect to the womb.

Back on Yom Kippur 2007/5768, I spoke to Congregation Or Ami about deepening our relationship with Israel. I paraphrased the writings of my colleague (the rabbi of my youth, one of my role models) then President of the Association of Reform Zionist of America, Rabbi Stanley Davids, who called for an aliyat hanefesh, a spiritual aliyah. (My sermon also draws from the writings of Rabbi Robert H. Loewy.)

Today, on Yom Kippur, I call for a new kind of connection to Israel, an aliyat hanefesh, a spiritual aliyah. Aliyah, from the root, Ayin-Lamed-Hey means to
rise up. When you move to Israel, like my (then) 19 year old niece Yonina did,
we say you make aliyah. When traveling in Israel, and you go to Jerusalem, even
if you are in the north traveling down south, we say la’alot lirushalayim –
that you make go up to Jerusalem, rising up to our spiritual center. When you
ascend the bimah to bless Torah, we say you have an aliyah, rising up to that
spiritual plane.

I ask you all to consider making it a religious duty to participate in an “aliyat hanefesh, a spiritual aliyah.” Let it be “a soul-driven aliyah that places love for Israel near the center of our lives. Aliyat hanefesh could be expressed by visits for study and for vacations, by extended sabbatical stays, by making certain that our children and grandchildren have extensive personal experiences of Israel, by becoming informed advocates for Israel and by personally making certain to celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut as a religious holiday each May.”

Today, this Yom Kippur, I call for each of us to recommit to the covenant with God by committing to travel to Israel soon and again. Let us walk the streets of our holy land once every 5 to 10 years. Let its holiness wash over our souls…

For me, once every 5 years is not enough. It is my hope, my goal, to lead a group of Or Ami congregants to Israel once every 12 to 18 months. So while our Or Ami Summer 2009 trip was canceled – the economy took its toll on everyone’s travel plans – this CCAR convention, and Mark’s desire to take his sons-in-law for a week of touring, provided me with the opportunity to fulfill this year’s aliyat hanefesh.

Living Inspired: It is about Moving From Miraculous Moments to the Details

Ever been so inspired that you are ready to change the way you live your life, only to then get lost in the details? About this week’s parasha (Torah portion) Mishpatim, Exodus 21:1 – 24:18, my colleague Rabbi H. Rafael Goldstein writes: This week we see how we can go from the most significant event in our lives to living every day – by taking care of the details. We see that there’s a message here in moving from the BIG issues to the almost mundane ideas of how we are supposed to behave towards one another. We elevate the mundane into something sacred. Read on:

Last week we read the Ten Commandments. Everything in the Torah led to this incredible moment – our people standing at the foot of Mount Sinai, feeling the ground tremble beneath the Presence of the Holy One. Our people stood and freaked out as they heard the words of G!d not in the thunder, or in the blaring of the shofarot (rams horns) or in the pounding of their own heartbeats. They heard G!d’s voice telling them the Ten Commandments in a whisper, directly into each and every person’s own ears. G!d’s voice was the sound of almost hearing, as personal as a whisper. What an incredible moment!

That personal whisper into each person’s ears is the closest, most intimate, extreme, spiritual, and climactic moment of the Torah. How do you follow that most amazing of experiences? Although the words of the Ten Commandments are repeated, the experience was exclusive, once and only once. And it begs the question, “now what?” Where do we go from here? The rabbis didn’t want the Ten Commandments to be holier or more significant than all of our other mitzvot, to be the only rules people might observe. All of the Torah is holy, and all of the mitzvot are important.

We can find the rationale for this approach in this week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, which seems to be a completely different experience. We have a compendium of about 50 laws. We have the judicial rules for how to handle and free our slaves and our enemies, manslaughter, kidnapping, insults, goring oxen, damage to livestock and to crops, arson, loans. We have rules for sorcery and for idolatry, and proper care for the needy, widowed and orphaned. This list is far from exhaustive. So, this week we go from our most holy moment at Sinai to what seems like a random list of rules.

But it’s more than just a list. It’s the details. This week we see how we can go from the most significant event in our lives to living every day – by taking care of the details. We see that there’s a message here in moving from the BIG issues to the almost mundane ideas of how we are supposed to behave towards one another. We elevate the mundane into something sacred. That’s not foreign to us at all as Jews. We’re used to taking the simplest acts – eating, drinking, seeing beautiful or ugly things, even going to the bathroom – as opportunities for praising, acknowledging or blessing G!d, ways to see the holy in our daily lives. We have blessings to help us see how holy the ordinary can be.

Sometimes we forget the importance and significance of the small stuff, the simple acts that might make real differences to others. Sometimes we miss the holiness in our own lives. We get so caught up in our routines that we forget that our time is holy, our acts can be holy, our lives can be filled with the spirit of G!d. The minutiae of this week’s Torah portion is a reminder that after the miracle of Sinai we have to pick up our stuff in the morning and go back to our daily lives, and what we do now is even more important, after Sinai, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first.

According to Rabbi Shraga Simmons, Maimonides explains this metaphorically as follows: “Imagine you’re lost at night, trudging knee-deep in mud through dark and vicious rainstorm. Suddenly a single flash of lightning appears, illuminating the road ahead. It is the only light you may see for miles. This single flash must guide you on through the night. So too, says Maimonides, one burst of inspiration may have to last for years.”

We fill our minds with Sinai, with the miraculous moment, as a light to guide us through the rest of our experiences. The peak moments are supposed to do that for us, to enable us to go on through the proverbial mud we find ourselves mired in. We can appreciate the light, the guidance, the flashes of insight we might get from the special moment, and we can turn our minds back to those moments to guide us and to bring us hope and courage when we need them most. All of us have those special moments that we cherish that have the power, in their recalling and retelling, to transform and guide us on our personal journeys.

May it be Your will, Holy One of Blessing, that we take the moments to find holiness in our day-to-day life, and to be aware of our blessings daily. May we find inspiration for today, and dreams for tomorrow, as we recall the most special moments in our lives. May the special moments help us get through our darkest hours. May the flash of Your light guide us on our journeys through life.

When Hope in America Inspires Dreaming in Jerusalem

Gershom Gorenberg writes in South Jerusalem:

Watching a videocast from Washington last night, it seemed to me that half of what seemed impossible when I wrote this has come true: Across the ocean, where hope was written off like a bad debt, it has been reborn.

Here, in Jerusalem, one still has to dream of the very possibility of dreaming. The pseudonymous and very wise Jeremiah Haber chides for even considering the possibility. But I know of no biological difference that allows Americans to imagine a better future and prevents us from doing so. With some trepidation at daring poetry in a blog, I’m posting this.

Desiderata

I am hoping for the rebirth of hope
I am waiting for the beat of wheels on steel, the railroad drumbeat rhythm,
I am waiting for the long-distance heaven express.
I believe its time to lay tracks up to heaven
I am waiting for Jimi Hendrix to rise and climb on, for Phil Ochs to declare he’s retracted his resignation,
to rise all bones and anger banging a guitar and climb on,
I am waiting for the kids in the high schools to lay down their guns and climb on
I believe the generation born dead, raised dead, schooled dead in the malls’ mausoleum marble will pass
I believe with an imperfect faith, cracked but still serviceable, that a generation will be born that knows how to hope.

I am waiting for new songs unto the Lord.
I am waiting for new psalms,
I am waiting for a pied saxophonist to march through suburbs outside Jerusalem, leading away the houses with red tile roofs and the grownups, and leave children and rats on green lawns
I am waiting for heavenly choruses to lean down, lean down, and with each note the guns in the hands of the green boys on the streetcorners of Jerusalem will grow wings and fly off, long grey dragonflies, toward the sun setting in white foam off Ashkelon
I am certain the stillborn generation can come alive
I believe with imperfect faith, used, dented, two cylinders skipping, low on brake fluid but still driving, that a generation can be born that knows how to sing.

I believe that Moses, Blake, Abe Heschel and Reb Nahman are not dead, they are tuning their guitars in a back room and will be back on stage for an encore any moment, for the real show,
when the rabbis will shed their black coats like old snakeskins, the monks and the sheikhs of jerusalem’s alleys will dance half-nude on Jaffa Road, roaring the choruses, reaching up drunk and trying to pull heaven down,
I believe a seven year old girl with umm kalthoum’s reborn voice, voice of clouds and fire, is even now singing in a room without chairs without schoolbooks in south Jerusalem, there are no lights in the staircase, there is broken glass in the street, there are skeletons on the park benches, bones without number, dead men in the buses, dead women whispering next to the empty notice boards next to the empty storefronts
her song will reach out the windows, it will seize the bones, they will grow flesh, they will fold up the housing projects like card tables, they will dance in the fields, they will build a new jerusalem out of clouds and fire,
they will be a generation that knows how to hope.

I believe dreams sleep but do not die
I believe songs are hiding in the wind
I believe that the drumbeats of hope are curled up in the couches of our hearts and will awaken, must awaken
I believe the tanks will turn into hippopotamuses and lumber out of their bases looking for rivers
I believe we are only waiting, only pausing to take a breath, before a generation is reborn that knows how to hope.

Blessings for Today: A New Day in America

What an inspiring week. Another peaceful transition from one president to another. An affirmation of equality, of hope, of our belief that b’tzelem Elohim, we were all created in the image of God. At times like these, Jews seek words to express the holiness and the hopefulness of the moment.

Janethewriter posts Blessings for Today: A New Day in America on RJ.org, the Reform Movement’s blog.

We Jews have blessings for all occasions: for bread, for wine, for joyous times, for sad times, upon seeing a rainbow, for flowers and herbs, for social action… the list goes on. Each morning we thank God for returning our souls to our bodies and for a host of other daily miracles: enabling us to distinguish day from night, opening our eyes, freeing the captive, lifting the fallen, and so on. In our minyan this morning, we added three more blessings for the day: Baruch atah Adonai, asher sam chelki b’medinah chofesheet v’democratit.
Praised are You, Adonai, Who has allowed me to live in a free and democratic country. Baruch atah Adonai, asher tzivanu lirdof acharei ha’tzedek tokh milui chovoteinu ha’ezrahiyyot.
Praised are You, Adonai, Who commands us to pursue justice through the fulfillment of our civic obligations. Baruch atah Adonai, asher tzivanu la’asok b’ma’asei tikkun ha’olam.
Praised are You, Adonai, Who commands us to engage in acts of repairing the world. I would add a fourth: Baruch atah Adonai eloheinu melech ha’olam shecheyanu v’kiy’manu v’higyanu lazman hazeh.
Praised are You, Adonai, Sovereign of the universe, for giving us life, for sustaining us, and for enabling us to reach this time of joy. Amen.

Prayers for Peace


As the war in Gaza intensifies, let us offer these prayers. Each comes from a colleague in Israel:

The first, from a colleague in Israel, Moshe Yehudai, Raanana:

Dear Friends,

Regardless of your political views, I call you at this moment, a few hours after the beginning of the ground incursion to Gaza, as ever, to be sensitive to human life, who are now in such a tremendous danger.

Jews and Arabs, men and women, young and old, soldiers and civilians – they are all created in the image of God. – This is my fundamental belief, and my fundamental prayer is that the bloodshed will be minimal.

Oseh shalom bimromav, hoo yaaseh shalom aleynu, al kol israel, al kol Yishmael ve’al kol bney adam. May the One who makes peace in the High Heavens, bring peace to us, to all Israel, to all Yishmael (Isaac’s step-brother, the father of Muslims) and to all people.

Another prayer:

A Prayer for Times of War
by Rabbi Yehoram Mazor, Av Beit Ha’Din of MARAM, Israel

May the Everlasting One who blessed our ancestors Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah bless all the soldiers of the Israeli Defense Forces and all those who are protecting our people. May the Source of Blessing protect them and free them from all trouble and anxiety, and may all they do be blessed. May God send safety and redemption to all our soldiers in captivity.

May the Eternal have mercy on them and bring them from darkness to light and from enslavement to salvation, give them strength and save them. May the Eternal listen to all the prayers of our people.

Merciful God, may Your compassion be with us, and remember Your covenant with Abraham. May you spread the covering of Your peace over the descendants of Ishmael, son of Hagar, and over the descendants of Isaac, son of Sarah, and may it be fulfilled that they shall hammer their swords into spades and their spear into plowshare. Nation shall not lift up sword against nation and they shall learn war no more. And each shall sit under their vines and their fig trees and none shall disturb them.

And let us say: Amen

#6: Candle of Fulfillment (Or Review Your Chanukah “To Do” List)

Chanukah Candle #6. Sheish(Hebrew), sittä (Iraqi Arabic), settä (Moroccan Arabic), genep (Sudanese), six. Happy Sixth Night of Chanukah.

Blog Thots: As the Festival of Chanukah moves toward its eighth day culmination, it behooves us to take a moment to double check that we have fulfilled all of the mitzvot and customs of this Festival of Lights. Living in a culture marked by the commercialization of the “holiday season” and its simplification of all holidays into “it’s all about good will to all and giving presents”, we want to be doubly sure that we have created for ourselves and our loved ones a meaningfully Jewish festival.

So review your Chanukah “to do” list. Ask yourself if you have fulfilled your Jewish responsibility. This Chanukah, did we:

  • Tell: Told the Chanukah story at least twice (if not, click here)
  • Sing: Sang Chanukah songs at least three nights (if not, click here)
  • Bless: Blessed the each night (click here)
  • Light: Lit the Chanukah candles each night (click here)
  • Be Thankful: That your list doesn’t include “clean the garage” like mine does!
  • Play: Played Driedel at least once (if not, get rules here or play virtual dreidel here)
  • Learn: Learned something new about our Festival of Lights (if not, click here or here)
  • Give: Given tzedakah (donation) to a charitable organization or cause (at least one night instead of presents) (Perhaps choose one of these)
  • Eat: Eaten potato latkes or sufganiot (if health and dietary restrictions allow for it)
  • Diet?: Why is all this Jewish holiday food so fattening? (New ideas for healthy-er Hanukkah latkes and Ima on and off the Bima’s Baked Sufganiot/doughnuts).
  • Honor: Honored parent(s) if alive by dedicating at least one night to giving them presents and/or by calling them and telling them you love them (What does Torah mean by honoring parents? Click here)
  • Contemplate: Contemplated the meaning of the candles? Of Religious Freedom?
  • Remember: Remembered (and shared with others) memories of Chanukah celebrations as a child or from previous years (view Or Ami’s memory pictures here and here).
  • Thank: Offered thanks for the blessings you most appreciate in your life
  • Comment: Shared a comment on Rabbi Kipnes’ 8 Blogs for 8 Nights (of Chanukah). For each comment left on the blog, Rabbi Kipnes will donate tzedakah to a worthy cause (see below).

If you missed any of these mitzvah and kodesh (holiness) opportunities, dedicate yourself to doing so tonight or in the next two nights.

Or, if in Southern California, come to
Congregation Or Ami’s
Multigenerational Chanukah Celebration tonight
(Friday, December 26, 2008) at 6:30 pm.
Come early; it will be standing room only!

Blog Tzedakah: Running total of Blog Comment Tzedakah: $153.00
The five of you who left comments yesterday ensured that collectively, we donated $15 of my money the Madraygot (12 Step) Addiction Prevention fund, which offers drug and alcohol addiction prevention education and counseling for grades 4 through 12, creates tools for parents through an online resource, and develops Jewish 12 Step support groups. Learn more about its activities here. Today’s Tzedakah: Leave a comment today (below) on this blog to shine the light. For every comment made today, I’ll make a tzedakah donation to help foster kids seeking a brighter future. Learn more about its activities here. To donate yourself, click here.

Chag Chanukah Samayach – Happy Chanukah!

#4: The Candle of Contemplation

Chanukah Candle #4. Arbah (Hebrew), cuatro (Spanish), maha (Tahitian), chwar (Kurdish).
Happy Fourth Night of Chanukah.

Chanukah Blog Thots:

A Story
Learned from Rabbi Cheryl Peretz
There is wonderful Hasidic story, told of a conversation between the rabbi and a member of his community. The man once asked: “Rabbi, what is a Jew’s task in this world?” The rabbi answered: “A Jew is a lamp-lighter on the streets of the world. In olden days, there was a person in every town who would light the gas street lamps with a light he carried on the end of a long pole. On the street corners, the lamps sat, ready to be lit. A lamp-lighter has a pole with a flame supplied by the town. He knows that the fire is not his own and he goes around lighting the lamps on his route.” The man then asked: “But what if the lamp is in a desolate wilderness?” The rabbi responded: “Then, too, one must light it. Let it be noted that there is a wilderness and let the wilderness be shamed by the light.” Not satisfied, the man asked: “But what if the lamp is in the middle of the sea?” The rabbi responded: “Then one must take off one’s clothes, jump into the water, and light it there!”

“And that is the Jew’s mission?” asked the man. The rabbi thought for a long moment and finally responded: “Yes, that is a Jew’s calling.” The man continues – “But rabbi, I see no lamps.” The rabbi responds: “That is because you are not yet a lamp-lighter.”

So, the man inquires: “How does one become a lamplighter?” The rabbi’s answer this time? One must begin by preparing oneself, cleansing oneself, becoming more spiritually refined, then one is able to see the other as a source of light, waiting to be ignited. When, heaven forbid, one is crude, then one sees but crudeness; but, when one is spiritually noble, one sees the nobility everywhere.”

How can We Prepare Ourselves to be Lamp-lighters?

First, see the candles for what they may represent:
Rabbi Dan Ehrenkrantz teaches:

Traditional Chanukah lights had three elements: oil, wick and fire. The fire ignites the wick, and the oil (or, today, the wax candle) provides fuel for a continuous flame.

To succeed in any endeavor, we need the same three elements: The creative spark (the flame) , that must be given form (the wick), and the form must be given sustenance (the oil or wax).
The Hebrew words for flame, wick and oil are נר (ner), פתיל (petil) and שמן (shemen).
Taken together, the first letters of each word—נ (nun), פ (phey) and ש (shin)—form the Hebrew word נפש (nefesh), or soul.

A candle is a symbol of the soul. To prepare ourselves, let us pay attention to each element as we kindle the Chanukah lights: the creative spark of the flame, the wick that gives form to the flame, and the oil that keeps the flame alive.

Next, Be Attentive to the Soul Within
Rabbi Jonathan Slater teaches:

The miracle of Chanukah – according to the Talmud, and as emphasized by Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev – was that the single cruse of oil lasted for eight days. Those ancient Maccabees looked at the container of oil and, based on their previous experience, decided that it was sufficient for only one day. They decided that there the container did not have the capacity to keep the flame burning for more than one day. Then they experienced its persistence as a miracle. They learned of the power of the Holy One in that manner.

Similarly, we look at ourselves (and others) and, based on previous experience – based on personal preference, fear, bias, hope, anxiety, or need – we determine what we (or they) can or cannot do. Then, something else happens, beyond what had been expected, and we learn of God’s power.

Similarly, when we light a candle, we expect it to stay lit as it burns, and we expect that it will finally burn out. What we often fail to notice is that in each moment that it is burning, something is actually happening. We note the beginning and the end, and say “Well, we lit it and now it’s done” yet we miss the middle, the time when its existence, when the interaction of wax, wick and flame produce light and heat, demonstrates God’s sustaining, enlivening power. And, so too do we miss so much in our lives.

Take Time to Contemplate

Tonight, take some time after you light the candles to examine then. Use this time to notice each miraculous moment of their existence. Hold your attention in them as they burn. Attend each moment. Notice each flicker, each crackle, each plume of smoke. Then open yourself to the possibility that there are miraculous moments within your own existence as well. In this way, you become your own lamp-lighter.

This Chanukah, may your soul shine brightly in all the in-between moments. This Chanukah, may your life become a candle that illuminates the miraculous in your world.

Blog Tzedakah:
The nine of you who left comments yesterday ensured that collectively, we donated $27 of my money to the Or Ami Matching Grant Fund, meaning that it was worth $54 of tzedakah. Our tzedakah ensures that the light of this special community – my congregation – shine brightly for those in need. Or Ami reaches out to people dealing with cancer and other illnesses, struggling to recover from drug and alcohol abuse, finding joy in the face of disabilities, living in foster families, seeking the light of spiritual wholeness and more. Through the generosity of two families, all donations to the Or Ami Matching Grant Fund will double in value. (Over three days of Chanukah, your comments have led to $96 in tzedakah). Tonight’s tzedakah will also go to the Matching Grant Fund. So if you leave a comment, my tzedakah donations are doubled. If you want, you can donate yourself. If you donate $18, it is worth $36. If you donate $100, it is worth $100. We have until December 31st to raise $61,000 to receive the full matching grants. We are over $43,568.00 toward that goal. If you want to donate, click here.

Chag Chanukah Samay-ach * Happy Chanukah.

#2: The Candle of Confusion………………. (Over How Much to Celebrate Chanukah)

Chanukah Candle #2. Shtayeem, dos, du, shay-nee, ʼiṯnān (Arabic), dua (Indonesian), ʻe-lua (Hawaiian, for the new President-elect), twai (Gothic), yerkou (Armenian), two. Happy Second Night of Chanukah.

Blog Tzedakah:
The five of you who left comments yesterday ensured that collectively, we donated $15 of my money to the Adopt a Child Abuse Caseworker (ACAC) program that helps foster children. Read more about that program here. If you want, donate yourself there.

Now leave a comment (below) today and I make a tzedakah donation to the Brandon Kaplan Special Needs program, which ensures that kids with special needs and their families receive the support they need within the Jewish community. Learn more about the program here and here. If you want, donate yourself there. Remember, though, for every comment made today, I’ll make a tzedakah donation to help special needs kids seeking a brighter future. So just make a comment below.

Chanukah Blog Thots:

My colleague Rabbi H. Rafael Goldstein, Spiritual Life Coach, wrote words that speaks to everyone who struggles to find direction celebrating Chanukah during the Christmas season. His conclusions are wonderful.

This time of year is one of major conflict for me. I don’t like having to defend Jewish tradition. I don’t like having to say that Hanukkah is not a big deal holiday and that we have to resist the temptation of our society’s to turn it into the Jewish American Christmas. This has always been my least favorite time of the year. I’m on the defensive no matter what I say. If I say it’s ok to celebrate the secular festival of American consumerism, I am putting down Christmas. If I say that it’s not very Jewish to celebrate the season with all the gifts and decorations of Christmas, I’m taking away all the fun of the party.

But I heard a story a while ago that I find really useful for framing my discomfort and the resolution of it. It took a couple of years to come to terms with the story. Here’s how it goes:

This old guy is about to die. He is very uncomfortable about his impending death, worried about what will happen to the Jewish people. He goes to his rabbi. He complains bitterly of his worry and his need to hang on to life until or unless he can see that the future of the Jewish people is secure. In his magical wisdom, the rabbi brings him to the eighth year of the second Christian millennium, to the last month, and here he sees the Jewish people making a huge deal out of Hanukkah, an admittedly minor, insignificant holiday. He sees children getting gifts every day, celebrating with great joy this very minor holiday. He hears incredibly insipid songs dedicated to spinning tops and potato pancakes, can’t figure out their meaning, but at least he recognizes the happiness and warmth of the songs. Finally, after taking in this spectacle, he says to the rabbi, “If this is how they celebrate such a little holiday like Hanukkah, I can rest assured. Think how they must be observing the important holidays, like Sukkot and Shavuot, or even Shabbat!”

Many other rabbis who tell this story go on to lament what they see as the irony of this story – that we have lost sight of our authentic Jewish holidays and have focused a lot on a minor holiday. I differ with them here, and I base that difference on the very story of Hanukkah. Hanukkah celebrates a military victory that has little or no spiritual or religious value. The historical accounts of Hanukkah do not include the story with the cruse of oil lasting for 8 days. That story was attached to it much later, in Talmudic times, around 400 years after the battle was won but the war was lost. In other words, our ancestors saw miracles in the story in which G!d was not at all Self-evident, attributing the military victory to G!d. They then further added G!d into the Hanukkah story, making it a spiritual event, with the device of the “miracle” of the oil.

G!d doesn’t appear in burning bushes, in splitting seas or earthquakes, thunder or lightning in the Hanukkah story. In fact, G!d isn’t even mentioned much. The Maccabees are praised for their bravery in winning the battle, and there is a sense of awe attached to the legend of the oil, but I don’t remember anyone saying it was G!d’s direct hand that kept the oil burning for the 8 days, just a very strange experience, a miracle. That G!d doesn’t appear in the story, doesn’t mean that G!d is not there, just that it’s our job to understand that G!d can be in the little things, in the unbelievable victory of the small over the mighty, in legends of rededication that we tell ourselves in order to sense the closeness of G!d in the less than spectacular. The rabbis turned to the legend of the oil when memory of the military victory was fading, when they were oppressed, lost, down and out, and needed to find G!d, to find miracles, to find holiness in what they had left.

That’s a Hanukkah lesson I am comfortable with: that G!d is present to us, in the miracles of our daily lives, if we see G!d in the smaller, non-spectacular stories of our own lives and our times. Recognizing when we need to turn to G!d, and finding the Holy One right there with us, as we struggle with our own battles and our own losses. Hanukkah is a way of rededicating ourselves to seeing the light of G!d where G!d’s Presence may be most needed, most welcome, most missed. Hanukkah is a reminder that G!d’s light in our own lives is the miracle, and it lasts way more than 8 days!

So, in thinking about it, I’m not all that disturbed by that which other rabbis might find lamentable – that in our society we have elevated a minor holiday into major proportions. It means we’re still a dynamic religion, still growing, developing and changing. It means that the Judaism we celebrate today continues to have creative energy. May we learn, as our ancestors did, to infuse that creative energy with G!d’s Holy Presence, making more obvious to us the miracles of G!d in our own lives each and every day. May the candles we light this Hanukkah remind us that the light from G!d will never diminish, and may we enjoy the glow way after Hanukkah is over.

Chanukah Resources: Concerned about the non-historical origin of the eight days of oil story? Read here. Need Chanukah resources: songsheets, candle blessing instructions, a copy of the story? Go here.

Happy Chanukah! (Check back tomorrow to discover which is the correct way to spell the holiday’s name: Chanukah, Hanukkah, Hanuka, Hanukka or…)

Kids Say the Most Amazing Things: Confirmation Class 2008

Question: What do you get when you take four most thoughtful, compassionate, committed Jewish teens, with whom I have studied Judaism for eight to twelve years, and put them together up on the bimah at Erev Shabbat services?

Answer: A very moving Confirmation Class service.

Congregation Or Ami’s service last night was deeply meaningful. Our Confirmands – Alex Krasnoff, Ross Meyer, Jonny Wixen, and Sarah Wolfson – led the prayers and in between, offered their reflections on a series of questions:

  • If asked by a non-Jewish person what you cherish about Judaism, what would you say?
  • What do you believe or think about God?
  • Having studied Judaism for 10-13 years, what ideas or parts of Judaism are most significant or meaningful for you?
  • What has Judaism taught you that will help you later in life?
  • How do you feel connected to Israel?
  • When have you felt the most Jewish and why?

Some of their responses include:

If asked by a non-Jewish person what you cherish about Judaism, what would you say? I would talk about Tikkun Olam, or fixing the world. What is most important to me about Judaism is that Jews care about more than just our community but also the world. At every Jewish camp or temple I have ever attended, there has always been an emphasis on community service. Community service is something that I love and my passion for helping others is influenced heavily by the Jewish community and Judaism. It is great to be a member of a faith that is comprised of a community that cares about others.

If asked by a non-Jewish person what you cherish about Judaism, what would you say? I cherish Judaism because it provides me with a moral code about how to live my life. Judaism teaches that if I follow its laws, then I will live a productive and happy life. Judaism also allows me complete spiritual freedom. I do not have to be spiritual to be Jewish. I do not have to believe in that the biblical times were historical, and yet I still am able to gain so much from Judaism. Judaism has not taught me one particular thing that will help me later in life. Judaism has shaped HOW I live my life. Many of my most defining characteristics are either due to Jewish teachings or from my experiences in my Jewish community. I live a Jewish life. I learned many of my morals and beliefs through Jewish teachings, and I strive to life my life as Judaism teaches me.

One of the most meaningful things I have learned throughout my studies it to be accepting of others. It is important to accept other people for who they are and what they believe in. Not only does it help to prevent problems, by not dwelling on peoples differences, but also you might become friends with them. Another thing I have learned it to help those in need. One of the reasons helping those in need is important is because if you were in need, you would want someone to help you. The reason I like to help those in need is the wonderful feeling I receive from helping someone else.

What has Judaism taught you that will help you later in life? Judaism is full of life changing ideas and lessons. I know that I will use my studies later in life to help me make large decisions and live a fulfilling life. Judaism teaches us to be patient with one another, which I feel is really important if I want to go far and be happy. The idea of repentance on Rosh Hashana is an extremely important idea to me. I feel that it is crucial to reflect, but not regret, and then in a healthy way move on. If I can live these values, which Judaism has taught me, I know I will go far.

Having studied Judaism for 10-13 years, what ideas of Judaism are most meaningful for you? Judaism, at least Reform Judaism, has adapted to modern times. We are not forced to follow traditions just because that is how it has always been done, when those rituals have no relative meaning to modern times. Also, Judaism allows me to choose what I believe in and yet still provides a way to live my life to its fullest. This is what I love about Judaism the most, that Judaism instructs on how to live a successful Jewish life, yet does not require you to believe in every aspect of Judaism.

Rabbi Kipnes teaches that the strength of Judaism is its teaching that every aspect our Torah and tradition is open to questioning and challenge. Even the existence of God…

What do you believe or think about God? I do not believe that God exists. I prefer to believe that in a society as advanced as ours, people can be weaned off of the opiate of the masses. I do think that there is a place for religion without God. I think that religion is a great place to build a safe community, and to teach valuable morals and lessons. It is not that I ever lost my faith in God. It is that I never had it. To be frank, I think that science makes a much more logical and compelling case for creation. I believe that history makes a better case than the bible, although I think that neither science nor history account for life’s little unexplainable miracles.

What do you believe or think about God? Deism is the belief that God created the world but has no business in it today. I do not believe that God is someone that directly controls our daily lives. I believe more in free will instead than destiny. My understanding of God is slightly different from the God in which most people seem to believe. I believe that God is what you make for yourself.

In what ways do you feel connected to Israel? I wish I had a stronger relationship with Israel, the Holy Land. I feel connected in the sense that it is our ancestor’s land and that I have read and been taught many wonderful things about it. But I have never been. I want to go to Israel very soon. If I am fortunate enough, I will go on my birthright trip within the next few years to deepen my connection.

In what ways do you feel connected to Israel? I never really felt a connection to Israel until I visited Israel with Congregation Or Ami’s first Family Trip two winters ago. I found Israel to be a magical, beautiful place. I developed a connection to Israel the more I thought about how Israel was a nation that had risen from a horrible tragedy, existing among unfriendly neighbors. There is something very powerful about having a Jewish state in such an unfriendly and extremist area. I think that Israel is something that we need to protect for not only historical reasons but also because regardless of its past, today it is a Jewish state with Jewish families, people who have made their lives there. That right to exist must be protected. It is in that cause that I feel most connected to Israel.

I feel connected to Israel not only through the fact that I am Jewish but also through the friends I made that live in Israel. The first time I went to Israel I was too young to really appreciate it. Then in the 6th grade, I went back to Israel to visit my Great Grandmother and it was so meaningful that I do not know how to explain what I felt when I was there. Then last summer I was a counselor at my summer camp and became friends with a group of Israelis. Now I am trying to find time to go back to Israel so I can visit them and see the sights once more.

When have you felt the most Jewish and why? I felt most Jewish a few summers ago as I stood before a row of cribs in South-east Vietnam. I had traveled there with my parents and other Or Ami members on Or Ami’s Humanitarian Mission to the Orphanages in Vietnam. I felt most Jewish not just because I was with a group from the temple, but because of the emotions that I felt during those three weeks. I knew that being there was crucial to my growth and development as a boy becoming a man. That experience showed me that there are so many things to be thankful for and that it is our duty to give back whatever and whenever. It illuminated for me the Jewish ideal of Mitzvot, that we all have the responsibility because of our good fortunate to give back to others.

When have you felt the most Jewish and why? I felt most Jewish when I hosted a foreign exchange student from Spain and she attend a High Holy Day service with me. Before the service, I had to explain Judaism to her. Although I do not believe in God, I found in explaining Judaism to her, that I do have an extraordinary connection to the community and the lessons of our religion.

“When Money is Sucked from a Community, What’s Left is Community”

Worried about your portfolio, your mortgage, your kid’s college, or your own retirement? Where do we turn? The quote of the week, from Jewish Journal Editor Rob Eshman, hits the nail on the head.

When the money is sucked from a community, what’s left is community. Sure, there is less for now to sustain services it provides, but the bonds of acquaintance, friendship and family abide. When your real estate business skids, when Zell’s L.A. Times defers your buyout payments indefinitely, when a trusted friend loses your millions, there are still friends to go to for support, for commiseration. Stripped of its financial successes, the community Jews have built here is revealed for what it is: bonds among people, not among donors.

This is what our community, Congregation Or Ami, is all about. People supporting people, through good times and bad. Not talking about being a community. But living it. Its about Henaynu, being there for each other. Everyday. All the time.

Said differently:

We learn geology the morning after the earthquake, Emerson wrote. I suppose we’ll learn the richness of community now that much of its wealth is gone.

Henaynu: Check out how we do it

Torah Alive!

My friend, Rabbi Arnie Sleutelberg of Shir Tikvah in Troy, Michigan, reports that his congregation is about to celebrate the completion of a Torah they commissioned to have written. How amazing is that? According to the Detroit Free Press:

The project, called Torah Alive!, was started last year and includes the contributions of 500 people from the 750-member congregation; with the help of another artist, the individual members helped write part of the new scroll with their own hands, guided by his expert hands.”It’s an absolute joy to be part of this,” said Michael Silverstein, a Shir Tikvah member and co-chair of Torah Alive!

All involved say that scribing a Torah was both beautiful and meaningful:

“Her calligraphy happens to be outstanding,” said Sleutelberg, often called Rabbi Arnie. “We are receiving a phenomenal Torah scroll filled with grace, beauty and content.”

The Dec. 13 ceremony will feature many of the traditions seen at Jewish weddings. The scroll will be brought in under a canopy known as a chuppah, and there will be wedding music, the signing of a wedding document, the breaking of 35 glasses — even a wedding cake.

“We’re a very creative congregation,” said Rabbi Arnie. “The overriding intent is to create a holy convocation, both solemn and festive.”

How cool is that!?!