Open the Door: Doors on Our Jewish Identity

 

Is it a professional hazard, or personal interest, or a bit of both? I am not sure. However, I watch a lot of Jewish YouTube videos. People send them to me in emails and messages, they are found in the scrolling on my Facebook page, and sometimes I seek them out for a program, lesson or sermon. Several years back, around this very time of year, I was sent a Rosh Hashanah YouTube video made by Jewish Impact Films.

Scene one: shows a young man seeking to open his garage door with an automatic door-opener, attached to the sun- visor of his car. He tries and tries, but the garage door refuses to budge. He then takes the door-opener off the sun- visor, pushes the button in the car, out of the car, shakes it while pressing the button, in vain attempts for the garage door to open. Humorously, he tries licking it, banging it on top of his head, and makes noises of frustration. Finally, with a countenance of despondence he seems to be giving up hope.

Scene two: The young man notices a second car pulling into the driveway. In this car, a traditionally dressed Hasid in black garb takes out his Shofar, blows a multi-note Shevarim, and the garage door miraculously opens!

Scene Three: The Hasid drives by the frustrated man, gives him a nod and a thumbs-up. The young man looks perplexed, but gives an acknowledging grateful nod back.

The YouTube flashes then to a caption… “These High Holy Days stick with what works.”

Next scene: the young man is blowing a Tekiah on a large Shofar to open the trunk of his car and smiling with joy at his success!

A banner ends the short movie with the saying “Shofar, So Good.”[1]

Our Shofar Service is one of the highlights of the our Machzor. It is divided into several captions preceding scenes.

Malchuyot, Sovreignty.

Zichronot, Remembrances.

Shofarot, Shofar Blasts.

Each caption is an existential door opening a scene of High Holy Day reflection and prayers, culminating with a Shofar blast, a door-opening reminder to link our reflections and intentions into the scenes of our own life.

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Scene One. Malchuyot. This is the door that opens our relationship to God. The Shofar blast calls us to pay attention to God’s divinity or divine power. This is part of the construct of authority in the ancient world.

A parable from our tradition tells of a King who enters a province and asks: “May I be your King?” The people respond: “What have you done for us that we should have you rule over us?” What did the King do?  He built a city wall, he provided the infrastructure for a water supply, and he fought wars in their defense. Then when the King asked for a second time: “May I be your King?” the people responded “Yes!”

Likewise, the parable concludes: God brought the Israelites out of Egypt, divided the sea for them, sent down manna for them, brought up a well of water for them, provided them with quail to eat, and fought a war with Amalek on their behalf. Thus, when God asked: “May I be your King?” the people responded “Yes!”[2]

Our Malchuyot  prayers ask us to accept a hierarchical relationship with an infallible, divine sovereign who controls all. Yet in most modern countries today, kings and queens are symbolic, or have limited powers. In England, Queen Elizabeth does not dictate laws, Queen Margerethe of Denmark has her role limited by the country’s constitution, as does King Abdullah of Jordan. Moderns balk at a supreme authoritarian construct. It brings discomfort, and is discordant with our conceptions of relationships both human and Divine. Thus, the Shofar calls of Malchuyot are, for many of us, jarring on this day.

Yet there is also opportunity in dissonance. The calls of the Shofar can be reconfigured as the door-opener to struggle with our relationship with the Holy One, and what it means for our lives. As I often teach, we are called Israel, God-wrestlers, for a reason. Let the Shofar calls of Scene One, impel us to question and wrestle with God, like our ancestor Jacob, who famously wrestled with a being Divine.

The first Tekiah of Malchuyot begs us ask the question of ourselves: What is our relationship with God?

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Scene Two is Zichronot, the scene of our service that arouses our historical memory. Our prayers have us reflect on Jewish history. The relationships of God with Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob, Leah and Rachel are evoked. We consider how Moses, and David, and the prophets connected and spoke to the Holy One, and how they evolved their understanding of Judaism and God, through history.

Our Zichronot reflections should have us ask how we are connected to the Jewish story l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation?

At this very moment, my brother and sister-in-law are taking my nephew Jake on a pre-Bar Mitzvah trip to Poland, England and Israe,l to research his Jewish family roots. With a written explanation of the origins of my father’s family, dating back to the time of the Inquisition in Spain, he will relate to his ancestors by viewing a large Kiddush cup once donated to the London Great Synagogue in the early 1800’s, and take part in the search for a Torah that was gifted by my family there.

He will view the denization papers given to my family by King George III, and visit the graves of our ancestors centuries old, and ancestors not-so-old. Including a great-great uncle who was a pilot in the English air-force and downed in World War Two.

Jake will learn details of the lives of his Polish family through letters now featured in the Jewish Museum in Poland, found in the attic of his Australian grandfather, the Polish correspondents who perished too-soon in the Holocaust.

He will visit the Diaspora Museum in Tel Aviv, where pictures of my mother’s Egyptian family are on display – a Seder in Egypt before their 1956 exile.

The prayers of Zichronot, are the door opener asking us to consider making our own connection to Jewish history, theological or actual, whether it be an old or recent, whether it be mythical or documented. The Shofar calls us to consider our rapport to the chain of tradition from its beginning, to our day, and how we can work to continue that chain of tradition in the generations beyond us.

The second set of Shofar calls, Zichronot ,ask us: What stories and history do you wish to perpetuate into the future of Judaism, to ensure that Jewish life is rooted in the past, but remains relevant for today?

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Our final scene, Scene Three, is Shofarot, the call to us to return to Jewish revelation and Jewish practice, part of the process in bringing about redemption.  As Reform Jews, we are asked to consider the Covenant and the Mitzvot, the gamut of Jewish tradition, and work to shape Jewish lives of meaning and relevancy for ourselves, our families, our communities, so that we can look back with a sense of fulfillment.

This requires attention. This requires intention.

“A knock on the door and a man selling Shofars…”[3] begins a story by my friend Mitch Chefitz.

The salesman says to Gabriella, the girl who answers the door: “I have Shofars to sell and Shofars to trade. One to make your strong. One to make you pleasing. One to make you wise. One to draw you out of the world.”

“How much?” asks Gabriella who had just received seven dollars and seven cents for her seventh birthday.

“Seven dollars and seven cents.”

“That’s good then because that’s all I have,” she replies. “Give me a Shofar to make me strong.” And she hands over the money, for what else is she to do with such a strange amount?

The next day Gabriella tries to blow the Shofar and not a peep. But day after day she tries again and again, different angles, different breaths, and eventually eek! A sound is made. Slowly steadily she expands her strength to blow and eventually a squeak becomes a Tekiah! A Teruah! A Shevarim! A Tekiah Gedolah!

As Gabriella grows, her lungs become stronger and stronger from her Shofar blowing. It enables her to become an athlete that can run the field like the wind itself. At seventeen she has a party where she blows out the candles with one breath.

Then, a knock at the door. The man selling Shofars is on the other side. “I have Shofars to sell and Shofars to trade. One to make your strong. One to make you pleasing. One to make you wise. One to draw you out of the world.”

“I remember you,” says Gabriella, “you have not changed.

“But you have changed,” said the man. “You have grown up nicely.”

“So how much to buy a Shofar?” asks Gabriella.

“More than you can spend,” said the man, “but you could trade.”

“Well, I have had this one to make me strong for a long time, so I’ll swap it for one to make me pleasing.”

Gabriella does not try the new Shofar right away, after all she had her blowing technique down! But when she gets around to picking it up, she hears that she had underestimated how difficult a new Shofar could be.

She practices and practices, day after day after day. She finally learns to sound a sweet Tekiah, Teruah, Shevarim and Tekiah Gedolah. She even learns how to fashion her lips to play different notes to create sweet melody. People are fascinated by her skill and come from far and wide to hear the mistress of the Shofar!

She keeps this Shofar safe and clean. Thinking one day soon, she might swap it for another, and learn yet a new skill.

Ten years pass. But the Shofar salesman does not come.

Twenty years pass. But the salesman does not come.

Thirty years pass. A knock at the door.  The man selling Shofars on the other side.

“I have Shofars to sell and Shofars to trade. One to make your strong. One to make you pleasing. One to make you wise. One to draw you out of the world.”

“I expected you to be back years ago,” Gabriella said, “I am ready to trade, I have been keeping this Shofar in good shape for you. This time I want the Shofar to make me wise.”

“Sure,” said the Shofar salesman. “But this Shofar comes with a task! You will need to paint its inside.”

Not so hard, thinks Gabriella. I will just fill the Shofar with paint. And she agrees.

When she finally looks at her new Shofar, she notices it is almost closed at the mouthpiece. She pours in blue paint, but it just slides right out, the horn on the inside still clear of color. The paint store suggests she try different colors, different types of paints, different techniques. Nothing works.

She went to consult a scientist who suggests multiple experiments.

She went to a biologist who examined the horns DNA.

She sought out a mathematician at a college who taught her calculus.

But nothing could teach her how to paint the Shofar with color. She went to all types of teachers looking to learn the answer. Along the way she learned cosmology, relativity, string theory, chemistry, literature and so much more.

Decade after decade passed, and at age ninety-seven, after gathering much wisdom, and trying in vain to color her Shofar, a realization came to her in a flash.

She held the small tip of the Shofar to her mouth. Even a large breath would be too much. Gentle. Gentle. She sighed a sigh through the small opening. Slowly, steadily, her heart and soul, streamed into the horn to color it with her spirit. The Shofar proclaimed more than a sound. It called out understanding and redemption. Love and acceptance. Grace and beauty.

At that very moment, the salesman of Shofars appeared. “You reached me,” he said. “I have Shofars to sell and Shofars to trade. One to make your strong. One to make you pleasing. One to make you wise. One to draw you out of the world.”

“I am happy to see you, said Gabriella, “I am ready to trade up…”

And she held out her Shofar for the next one.

In Scene Three, Shofarot, we are called to shape our Jewish lives through strengthening Jewish skills, by making Jewish life pleasing, by learning Jewish teachings, to create a long-lived Jewish life.  The Shofar calls out to us to recommit ourselves to Jewish doing and knowledge. The Shofar calls of Shofarot, are the door-opener for you to question, what should you be doing to create that Jewish life around you?

With each blast of the Shofar service, we are reminded of the existential choices that form the key elements of our Jewish existence.

In the YouTube short film, the Shofar is blown by a Hasid and opened the garage door. “These High Holy Days stick with what works,” proclaimed the caption. The Shofar is the door-opener that calls to us to ask the questions, to figure out what will work in our modern Jewish lives:

Malchuyot – how do we shape our relationship with the Holy One?

Zichronot – how do we connect ourselves, and generations to come, to Jewish history?

Shofarot –  how do we connect our lives meaningfully to Jewish doing and knowledge?

The Shofar miraculously opens the doors of these important questions for us. We choose whether the Tekiah, Teruah, Shevarim, Tekiah Gedolah, will resound inside of us, speaks to us at this season, if they will be “Shofar, so good,” Shofar calls for good.

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_r27mrH1MU

[2] Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Tractate Bahodesh, Chapter 5.

[3] “Gabriel’s Horn” from the Curse of Blessings by Mitchell Chefitz. It was suggested by the author to use Shofar rather than horn. I have changed the child to a girl for my sense of providing some gender balance to this sermon.

Open the Door: Doors into Loving the Land of Israel

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When you visit Jerusalem, the white limestone buildings of old and new, rise out of the hills of the Judean desert. Buildings that are rooted in centuries of history. That have weathered wind and storm. Buildings that glisten with golden hue in the hot desert sun. Buildings which create a uniform vista of cohesion, that belies the religious and political tensions that have permeated eons.

Amongst the judiciously assembled stone-block upon stone-block, each structure, whether it be a house, a shop, or an office, is bestowed personality by perhaps a few architectural features. To my mind, none are more attractive than the doorways of these edifices.

Jerusalem doors are quite remarkable. Often photographed for their variety and beauty, you can find them on posters, on cards, in travel brochures, because of their individuality and craftsmanship. They are set in door frames – square or domed or arched. Sometimes the entrances are single doored. Sometimes two doors meet side-by-side.

Some doors are plain wood. Others are painted in Mediterranean hues of blues and greens and turquoises. Some are a mixture of middle eastern color.

There are doors adorned with intricate carvings of flora and fauna, others carved with swirls and scrolls, some with the infinitude patterns of Islamic art, others with a biblical scene or story. One passes doorways with simple black or copper metal work. One sees doors with intricate iron patterns and nature scenes, which could only have been welded by an expert craftsman.

There are doorways plastered with posters containing announcements in black Hebrew, Cyrillic, English or Arabic script on white paper– a meeting, a death, a proclamation. There are the metal roller-doors of the Shuk, the market, covered with graffiti and art that close at night to reveal their imprints. And there are wooden doors purposely painted with a picture or pattern.

Such are the beautiful entranceways into the buildings of the capital city of Israel, Ir HaKodesh, the holy city, Jerusalem. Beautiful doors that beckon us entry into their insides, just as Israel has always beckoned the Jewish community towards her midst.

Israel is an inextricable part of the Jewish conversation.

In the Talmud,[1] Rabbi Zera we are told, was desperate to enter the Holy Land, and he searched with no avail to find a ferry to cross a river to make his way there. Finally, he grasped a rope bridge, and crossed the water, in order to reach the land at the center of his soul. Rabbi Abba loved Israel so much that he would kiss the cliffs of Akko. Rabbi Hanina would take time away from his studies to repair Israel’s roads. Rabbi Ammi and Rabbi Assi, when they would learn together, made it their custom to move from the sun into the shade, so they could avoid complaining about Israel’s weather. And, Rabbi Hiyya ben Gamda, rolled himself in the dirt of the land, because he took so much pleasure in her stones and dust.[2]

There are multiple unique doors through which we connect to Israel. Some doors open easily for us. Some doors open slowly for us. Some doors need a good, steady push. And sometimes, a door is so stuck, that we feel it may never open for us, or it would take a miracle to unlock it. These Israel doors line the streets of Jewish experience through millennia, till today.

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For some, the door of love of Israel comes from Religious School or Hebrew School experiences. There we learnt about the land tracing her waterways – the Mediterranean, the Kinneret, the Dead Sea, the Jordan–  marking out her cities – Jerusalem, Haifa, Nazereth and Eilat, on maps we colored. We sang the songs of her pioneers and her musicians, emphasizing the beauty of the land and the specialness of her history. Strains of the melodies of Zum Gali Gali Gali and Yeruslayim Shel Zahav, can be melodically recalled in our musical cortex. Our hands remember building the model Kibbutz out of popsicle sticks, and tasting Jaffa Oranges, and those “foreign” falafel balls. We learned a few modern Ivrit words as a lure to make the Hebrew of our prayers more relevant: Echad, Shtayim, Shalosh…

For others that door of learning about a Jewish homeland, in the black and white, either/or, concrete-operational world of childhood, evoked feelings of disloyalty to the America we loved. Could we be patriots if we felt an emotional bond to a land that was not the United States? The relationship to Israel tore into our young conscience.

45fe1a9f77d1eabeb1dd7d03195da2f2For some of us, a door was opened to love of Israel in youth group activities or camp.  We re-enacted Biblical history alongside our friends.  We played out the arrival of the pioneers, as they fled to Israel’s shores to find freedom. We visited a supermarket using Hebrew words for food items. In youth groups and camps contemporaries learned Israel dances. We built bonfires out of wood collected from the surrounding landscape like they do in the land of Israel on Lag B’Omer. On Tisha B’Av we mourned the historical destruction of Jerusalem.

For other members of the Jewish community, whose teenage years were a time of angst, the enthusiasm of peers relating to a country so far away made them feel all-the-more distanced, not part-of the group. For idealistic teens who held values high, and were being bombarded by stories of an Israel that was not ideal on their TV sets, questions about the land arose, and were struggled with. Could they be in relationship with Israel, a land that did not seem to live up to the ideal of being “a light to the nations”?[3]

20161117_092503-01For some, a door which opened a love of Israel was a trip to the modern State – Birthright, NFTY in Israel, a planned congregational tour, or a visit to relatives. As their plane landed, a demonstrative outburst as El Al passengers clapped, setting the scene for emotional connection. Suddenly they were immersed in the guttural sounds of Hebrew which they vaguely recognized – Shalom! Baruch HaBa!

In the land of Israel, they were surrounded by people who have our body shape and hair and faces, who use Yiddish phrases in amongst the Hebrew, and have a wry Jewish humor. Connection was created with their tour guide, and bus driver, and the young Israeli guards who accompany them.

For others though, such a trip caused hesitation. Jews carrying guns, lots of guns. Soldiers stopping mothers and children at borders. Governments that do not treat the inhabitants in the land with full equality. Witnessing of religious Jews intolerant of secularism or other streams of Judaism. The door opened on difficult scenarios that alienated rather than attracted.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAFor some in our Jewish community, the entrance way to Israel is through the door of history. Israel is replete with where we came from, who we are, values and our conundrums. As we found ourselves at the road dating to the time of our patriarch Abraham, leading up to Abraham’s Gate at Tel Dan, we realize our feet may be standing on the same stones as our father when he was there to rescue his nephew Lot.  In Hezekiah’s tunnel under the city of David, the Siloam inscription provides archaeological proof that David was the King of Israel. At Masada, the Jewish spirit to live a Jewish life with integrity is emphasized in martyrdom. At the tombs of Rabbi Akiva and Maimonides in Tiberias, we know that our rabbinical tradition loved Israel so much, that our rabbis could not bear to be buried anywhere else. In the Ari Synagogue in Tsfat, we understand that the mystics believed they were closer to the Shechina, by relocating to the Holy Land. In the Kibbutzim, we hear the struggle of the pioneers who made Israel bloom again. And in the center of Tel Aviv, we visit Independence Hall, and put ourselves into that historical moment of the UN vote, and the signing of the declaration of the new Jewish state.

For others, that door of history is marred with doubts, because we are unsure about the veracity of biblical claims, we find distaste of the multiple accounts of conquering and reconquering, beginning with Joshua, continuing in the stories of the corruption of the Hasmoneans, and in our learning that the re-establishment of a modern state is in a land, once inhabited by Palestinians and other groups. Do we have rights? Have we been right? Have we done right?

door-old-city-of-jerusalemFor some, a door of myth and prayer is the entrance that opens their hearts to Israel. Our spiritual literature talks of an ideal Jerusalem, Zion. In the Psalms David cried: “by the rivers of Babylon, we sat down and wept as we remembered Zion… If I forget you Jerusalem, may my right hand lose its cunning…”[4] In our daily central prayer we pray for the return to the land of our ancestors, not just a physical return, but a return to a spiritual ideal: “Blessed are You God, who builds Jerusalem.” And Judah HaLevi in his beautiful poem, Songs to Zion, sings out this yearning for return to the Jewish homeland, even if its physical reality is not that hospitable: “My heart is in the east, and I at the furthest west”, bemoaning our exile.

For other members of the Jewish family, these prayers and these mythical yearnings seem like an extension of a story that does not speak to us. Some of us born into Judaism, and some of us who become part of the Jewish community later in life, struggle with such a connection to the homeland. We are willing to forgo this line of thinking because it is not part of the spirituality we innately feel in our own lives. What has Israel got to do with our connection to the Holy? Isn’t holiness everywhere? Surely Judaism, should be more universal, than a particularistic loyalty to a land in this modern day and age?

Some find a door to Israel because it is the native environment for Jewish religious expression. There, in the land, the agricultural resonances of our Holy Days finally make sense, as the first rains fall at Sukkot, or the almond trees blossom at Passover. How wonderful it is to be in a place where everyone celebrates Chanukah with menorahs burning in window boxes by the door. And on no place on earth can you find more of a variety of Jewish religious expression than in the land of Israel, with the multicultural mix of diasporas that fed it, and the richness of the cross pollination of that Jewish expression.

For others, the intolerance of religious pluralism alienates. Where Orthodox does not acknowledge Reform, or Conservative, or Reconstructionism. When women are tormented for wanting to pray at the Wall wearing Tallit and reading Torah. When instruments cannot be played on Shabbat. When restaurants must be closed on sacred days to maintain their Kashrut license. A door is created that is closing or slamming on their connection.

sta50585Some in the Jewish community find their door to Israel through Jewish pride. The amazing technologies that have been developed by our people, such as machines that can extract water from the air, cures for cancer, or upright wheelchairs that allow greater mobility. They appreciate the strategies of the Israeli government and army, that is committed to protecting a Jewish people and keeping Zion safe for all Jews. They beam with a broad smile when an Israeli, Gal Gadot, acts on the screen as Wonder Woman, a symbolic representation of female strength and, (for the Jew) Jewish power in the world.

Yet others see in Israel a door of shame, because the land does not live up to the ideals of humanitarian needs that we would want from a Jewish state.  The Knesset is not always motivated with our ethics. The soldiers of the IDF sometimes act questionably. Our social conscience begs us ask difficult questions about the placement of settlements. Arab towns located within Israel borders do not receive enough money for basic infrastructure such as roads and water and basic health. And we question the oppression of others even though we acknowledge that the safety of each Israeli and tourist is important too.

Some Israel doors open easily for us. Some Israel doors open slowly for us. Some Israel doors need a good, steady push. And sometimes, a door is so stuck, that we feel it may never open for us or it would take a miracle to unlock it.

Through some doors, one of us notices one detail and others of us concentrates on another detail.

As we walk through the alleyways of our Jewish life, what is certain, is that the doors of Israel are ever present. We cannot avoid them in the streets of Jewish life and existence for they are evident at every turn.  They are part of Jewish tradition. They are part of Jewish reality.

As a Jewish community, we need to engage and open the beautiful doors, the scarred doors, the welcoming doors, the scary doors. We cannot choose to ignore the doors for they are a stunning architectural feature of who and what we are.

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At the end of this High Holy Day season, at the final service of Yom Kippur, Neilah, we are told that the door closes on our repentance, yet the door is never truly locked. The multiple, varied doors on our connections and disconnections to Israel should never be locked.

What if we used the opportunity of this season to share the view from our door with others and extend that opportunity throughout the year? What if we were to engage in respectful conversation of the details which we see, and seek to understand the opinion of those who see the details in a different light? What if we were to listen to the multiple conversations outside the door, under the doorframe, and inside the doorways?

The discussion on Israel needs the fullness of each of our stories, each of our views, each of our joys, and each of our concerns. We must be impelled to examine the lines, the carvings, the decorations, the ironwork, the handles, where the doors lead, where the doors shut. And figure out, which doors can we walk through with comfort? Which doors can we walk through with discomfort? What doors must we push open so that the conversation includes all individuals as part of this Jewish conversation? What doors do we need to enter and speak our truths to impel change?

In listening to the fullness of our dialogue, we might just begin to open new doors. New doors for connection to each other and new doors for connection to the state of Israel. Doors which might bring the ideal Israel, closer to actuality, in the world in which we live.

That would be a door worth opening.

[1] Ketubot 112a

[2] Psalm 102:15

[3] Isaiah 49:6

[4] Psalm 137

We Are All Jews By Choice

Sermon Theme for 5775 – Jewish Identity

Rosh HaShanah Morning Sermon

When I first came to the United States as a student twenty five years ago, I arrived as an Australian seeking an American rabbinical education. Throughout my years at seminary, I knew that my rabbinate would be in Australia or New Zealand. First, I was obliged through scholarships to return to my home country or my surrounding region. Second, American culture and Judaism are so different to what I had been raised with that I could never imagine staying in this country. I was an Australian, here for the education – My choice was that I could not and would not belong.

After returning to Australia for four years following my schooling, economic necessity saw the need for me to leave the country of my birth. Reluctantly, I headed to the U.S.A. again, this time feeling I was an Australian in exile, forced to make my new home somewhere else.  While the transition was easier than before, as I knew how the banking system and the healthcare system worked, and what butter and milk looked like on the supermarket shelves, I still felt out of place and that America was not my home.

Slowly over the next five years as I moved from New Jersey to South Florida and worked in two very different congregations, making friendships and connection, acclimatizing to every-day American life, I began to feel like I was a person “in-between”… I could drive on the right side of the road equally as well as I could drive on the left. I could speak both American and Australian slang. I was acclimatized to both the land of my birth and the land where I could find work. I could not make a choice where I belonged.

Following 9/11 the visa situation forced me to return to Australia for a year. That one year of return with family and friends, away from an American culture that had become so familiar, and without financially sustaining work, affirmed for me that I could no longer go back permanently to the land of my birth. I missed the liberty of Jewish life and thought in the US, some favorite stores and radio programs, and I missed being a rabbi. I had transitioned from a temporary student, to an ambivalent resident alien, to someone who finally desired to be fully part of an American life. When I finally returned stateside, I applied for a green card at the first opportunity, and ever since have been working to become a citizen, something I pray will happen before the end of this year. It has taken 25 years but I now realize it is time to become an American, that the U.S of .A. is where I belong.

Every one of us in our lives has stories of not identifying, ambivalent identity and strong identity. And each of us, who sits in this room today, has a Jewish story along this continuum. Some of us feel apart from the Jewish community, some of us feel like we should belong but have not quite found our place in Jewish life, and others of us cannot imagine our lives without the infrastructure of Jewish practice and communal life.

Our rabbis teach that Torah is a blueprint for our Jewish lives.  In the three Torah stories of Rosh HaShanah we can find the blueprint for these different modes of identification. As a blueprint, what do they have to teach us about our own Jewish identities and our own connection to Judaism?

Our first story is not found in the Machzor we hold in our hands. However, it is the traditional Torah portion for Rosh HaShanah morning read in Orthodox, Conservative and some Reform synagogues. It is the story of Abraham’s slave-wife, Hagar and her son Ishmael. To précis:

Sarah has had a fraught relationship with Hagar, the slave-wife she gave to Abraham, and the slave-wife’s son, Ishmael. In this Rosh HaShanah portion, Sarah chances upon Ishmael in inappropriate play with Isaac and convinces Abraham to exile Hagar and Ishmael, much to Abraham’s chagrin. But God tells Abraham to listen to Sarah.

So Abraham sends Hagar and Ishmael off into the wilderness with bread and a water-skin. Once the water is depleted Hagar places her child under a bush and walks away so as not to witness his death. She weeps. Her son weeps. And God hears Ishmael’s cry. God calls to Hagar, reassuring her, asking her to return to the boy, and promises her that her son will be the beginning of a great nation. God then opens Hagar’s eyes to a well in the wilderness so that the boy can drink. He grows up and becomes a bowman, living in the wilderness of Paran, and taking a wife from another culture, from the land of Egypt.

In this blueprint of Torah, Hagar and Ishmael, part of the household of Abraham, born into the family circle, are made to feel by Sarah as outsiders, and through their exile literally become outcasts. Hagar and Ishmael are the template for members of our tribe who through some trigger, or lack of experience, know that they are Jewish, but do not feel the need to belong or be with their people. They are alienated from their people and faith. Some event occurred or did not occur that has put them into exile. They may have found different ways, or reached out to a different culture, in search of a place and space to belong. They may still be searching.

Our second Torah portion for Rosh HaShanah should sound more familiar as we read it here at Beth Chaverim each year. Traditionally it is the second day Torah portion but read in many Reform synagogues on first day. It is the story of the sacrifice of Isaac.

A short recap: God decides to test Abraham by asking him to take his son Isaac to make a burnt offering on Mount Moriah. Abraham leaves early in the morning with two servants, an ass and Isaac, and heads to the mountain. Leaving the servants and ass behind, Abraham ascends the mountain with his son Isaac, who asks a number of questions as they go up, realizing or not realizing that he will be the sacrifice. When they arrive at the place God designates, Abraham binds Isaac to an altar they have built and goes to kill his son as the offering. An angel of God intervenes just as Abraham is about to do the deed. A ram miraculously appears in a bush and is offered as a sacrifice in place of the boy.

In this story, Isaac experiences the event of “near sacrifice” of his person. Many commentators have noted that in the years of post-trauma, the personality of Isaac never fully develops in our Torah text. He is one dimensional. Isaac’s story is motivated by and in response to the actions of his wife Rebekah and the interactions and tensions between his sons Jacob and Esau. He is a minor character in the plot of his wife’s plotting and his son’s squabbles.

Yet still he attempts to pass on his own parent’s traditions, despite his childhood trauma with faith, giving him a place among the patriarchs of our people. Some of us too, live as the anti-protagonist of our own Jewish lives. We let Jewish life happen around us and respond or not. We are not so sure if this faith with which we are identified is for us. We are ambivalent.  Yet we feel a commitment to somehow pass on Judaism to the next generation.

Isaac is the “us” who have a sense that we are Jewish, but have not quite found our own comfortable place in Judaism. Isaac is the “us” that turns up to services out of a sense of obligation – because our parents went on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Isaac is the “us” that joins in on family celebrations but would not make the effort to initiate or know how to host those celebrations on our own. Isaac is the “us” that sends our kids to religious school even though we do not really practice Judaism in our homes, because we want our children to know that which we do not feel comfortable teaching them ourselves.

The third Torah portion of Rosh HaShanah is the foundational story for the holiday. It is not traditional but is offered in Reform High Holy Day prayer books as a creative alternate second day reading. Since Rosh HaShanah celebrates in Jewish lore the creation of the world, the Reform Jewish tradition offers us the opening story of Genesis with which to engage. Genesis teaches us through metaphor how the creativity process works step by step. Those who are regular on Friday night know the steps from the Peter and Ellen Allard  song that we use as Kiddush:

“First day – Day and Night; Second Day – Heaven and Earth; Third Day – Plants and Trees; Fourth Day – Sun and Moon and Stars; Fifth Day – Fins and Wings; Sixth Day – Beasts and Humankind; Seventh Day – Sabbath Rest.[i]

These days are not to be read as miraculous literal happenings as the fundamentalists would interpret it. Rather, they show an evolution of the world coming into being.

The world like a strong Jewish identity is put together step-by-step. The rabbis taught “Mitzvah goreret mitzvah” one mitzvah inspires another.[ii] We learn one mitzvah and then another, and then another, and then another, accruing a knowledge of Judaism. A Jewish identity is formed and molded by our doing Jewish, and learning what this doing means to create a world of spiritual meaning.

In the blueprint of Torah, this story provides us with a how-to plan to inculcate Jewish knowledge and practice in ourselves.  It can be used by us to teach us how-to raise our children with strong Jewish roots.

We may build knowledge, understanding and a spiritual practice of Jewish life, step by step becoming Creator Jews.  Like the creation of the world, we can create and recreate Jewish identity. Creator Jews experiment with Jewish practice and create new Jewish practices. They constantly grow in Jewish identity forming new worlds, new visions of what Judaism can be for each generation. Genesis 1 is the story of the Jew who engages and learns and is involved in their own identity.

Our stories of Rosh HaShanah, speak to different parts of our community and how each identify with faith: by not identifying, approaching one’s  identity with ambivalence, and creative identity. Our past experiences color where we place ourselves along this continuum.

Our present experience, our reflections at this season, are designed for teshuvah, return, to move us to place ourselves somewhere different. One of the great lessons of my immigration experience, is that our attitudes, our sense of belonging, who we are, can change over time. We can move from being outsiders to insiders. We can move from ambivalence of our faith to an understanding of our faith. We can grow in our Jewish understandings.

Many rabbis in the twenty first century have used the phrase that “we are all Jews by choice” so I am not certain of its origins.

We are all Jews by choice. Like Hagar and Ishmael we can be outsiders. But we do not have to stay in that place. The rabbis tell midrashic stories that comment on the wife that Abraham takes after Sarah’s death. The bible names her as Keturah. But the rabbis of the midrash imagine that this is a new name taken on by the exiled Hagar. Troubled by the story that our patriarch threw out a wife and son, they re-imagine that Hagar and Ishmael re-cross the threshold following Sarah’s death.  Keturah-Hagar bears Abraham six more sons becoming more integral to the fold of Abraham’s family. The gates of Judaism are always open.

We are all Jews by choice. We can choose to be in a place of minimal identification or remain ambivalent. Our Torah story from this morning continues with a narrative that tells us that Isaac raised two sons. Born into the same household, with a faith-ambivalent father, with no firm spiritual road to follow, they chose very different paths. Esau rejected his father’s ways marrying women from Canaan. Jacob upheld the tradition of his ancestors. Jacob’s was not an easy road, involving some wrestling with the past/his faith/an angel to become Israel, the one who wrestles with God. When we come from a place of ambivalence or find ourselves in that place we can choose to remain in the no man’s land of Jewish being like Esau, or choose to actively wrestle with our identities like Jacob, increasing our own sense of identity and strengthening the identity of those who come after us.

We are all Jews by choice. There are those of us who actively choose to build a Jewish identity that is meaningful in our lives. Like a world being created, we forge our identity, one building block at a time, to create a Judaism meaningful and renewed. For such Jews, being Jewish is a path of meaning and spirituality, a guide to living and an opening of the soul. It is a choice.

Our identification stories are reflected in the Torah blueprints of this Rosh HaShanah season. Yet which story speaks to our identification with Judaism is ultimately a choice we make. Judaism, the people of Israel lives, when we consciously will it to be so through our choices. Belonging, doing, being Jewish is a choice we can consciously make – immediately, or over a journey of 25 years, or through our lifetimes.

Which of these stories are yours, and which of these stories will you make your own?

My dream: Am Yisrael Chai. May the people of Israel live through your engagement and conscious choices.

Sermon Anthem: Am Yisrael Chai (Katz)

[i] From the song “Seven Days” by Ellen and Peter Allard

[ii] Pirke Avot 4:2

Finding Jewish Treasure

Sermon Theme for 5775 – Jewish Identity

Rosh HaShanah Evening Sermon

Who here would like to find a treasure?

Once a man named Avram lived with his wife and children in Crakow, and dreamt of finding a treasure. One night asleep, his dream whisked him away to the magical city of Prague to the outskirts of the King’s Palace. There he heard a voice that commanded him to dig under the bridge  which led  to the palace in order to find a treasure. But it was just a dream.

However, the next night he fell asleep, and once more he found himself journeying to Prague navigating the labyrinth roads of the city, and by the bridge leading to the King’s Palace he hears a voice “Dig, Dig! A treasure is to be found!” But it was just a dream.

Asleep a third night, he is revisited with the same dream again, the King’s Palace, the bridge, the voice. It was just a dream – or was it? Or was it? Finally, he decided to walk his way to Prague.

Everything in Prague seemed just as it he had imagined in his dreams, Well, perhaps the bridge was a little smaller than he had imagined. And…. he had not foreseen that there would be sentries standing guard at each end. One guard demanded to know what Avram was doing there, and Avram tells him the story of his dream.

The guard laughed and laughed at Avram. “Really, you came here because of a dream? How ridiculous! I have been having a dream over and over about finding a treasure under the stove of a man named Avram who lives in Crakow! Do you see me leaving my post?”

On hearing this, Avram returned directly home to his house in Crakow. He took a spade and dug under his own stove. And what did he find?… He found a treasure… that has been under his feet all along.[i]

Just as the treasure we seek might require a journey, so the treasure we seek might also be under our own feet.

This year I read the groundbreaking book by Andrew Solomon, “Far From the Tree” in which the author tells the story of children with identities different from their parents and how the parents deal with their child’s exceptional differences.  Andrew Solomon identifies two ways we assimilate our identity.

From our parents and family we are given a vertical identity. We are White, Black, Hispanic. We are American, Norwegian or French. We are impoverished or middle class or upper class. We might inherit genetic traits like dimples or the propensity to put on weight or to be skinny. These are markers that make us like our parents and our ancestors.

Yet sometimes we are not like our parents and ancestors. We have identities that differentiate us from them and them from us. We may be gay or dwarves or have Down Syndrome, we may be autistic, schizophrenic or live with multiple disabilities. We may explore a life of crime, be a prodigy or  transgender. This encourages us and our families to connect in a different way with folk that have these different life experiences. These connections, teaches Solomon, are our horizontal identity.

Reading this book got me thinking: Is being Jewish a vertical identity, something we pass on “L’Dor Vor”FROM generation to generation. Or is it a horizontal identity – something we join “B’Dor V’Dor” ENTERING THROUGH a generation and effecting other generations. Is being Jewish a treasure that is directly under our feet, or is it a treasure that requires us to journey?

Those of us born into Judaism might immediately think that being Jewish is a vertical identity. An identity we pass down “L’Dor V’Dor” from generation to generation. Born of a Jewish mother or father or both, we too regard ourselves as Jews. We inherit ways of being and thinking which come to us generationally.

Our family customs make us Jewish. Children are named for someone who has died if we are Ashkenazi, or someone who is alive if we are Sephardi. If our ancestors are Ashkenaz we begin wearing Tallit at our Bar or Bat Mitzvah and if our families are from  Sepharad we may have been given a small Tallit as a child. Our family tradition is to be married under a Huppah if we are Ashkenazi and wrapped in a Tallit if we are Sephardi. We have a commitment to Tikkun Olam/ repairing this world and a sense of moral justice based in the Jewish prophetic tradition because we are inheritors of Reform Judaism.

We eat Jewish food – bagels and lox, herring and lekach, egg and onion. We have special dishes for festivals – bimuelos or latkes for Chanukah or apple cake for Rosh HaShanah or challah for Shabbat. We cook dairy and meat dishes and know that traditionally these things should be kept separate. We pass on our recipes for chicken soup and matzah balls and blintzes. We lament the absence of good Jewish delis in Northern Virginia and discuss which supermarket has the best pesach-dik selection as Passover looms in front of us. We have our culinary traditions!

We recognize Jewish language as “ours”, whether that be a smattering of Yiddish or Hebrew or Ladino. We do mitzvahs, we take a schloof, we sit Shivah. We find our beshert and make Shabbat. We take pride when “Jewish” vocabulary enter the Scrabble dictionary – this year “schmutz,” “schtum” and “tuchas” were added to the words permissible to play. We smile when a non-Jew like Mick Jagger speaks twelve phrases of Hebrew at his concert in Tel Aviv giving the crowd a festival greeting “Chag Shavuot Sameach” and asking “HaKol Sababa?” was everything cool?

But inheriting Judaism and being immersed in Jewish customs is not the only way of being Jewish. There are those who belong to the Jewish people through their horizontal identification. They are part of the Jewish people “B’Dor V’Dor” inserting themselves into the generations and affecting the generations that surround them. They choose to do so because of their own beliefs, or inspired by the Jewish life of the family they are raising, or because they have found within Judaism the questions they seek answers to.

Our tradition teaches that a convert to Judaism is more precious to God than one born into the faith.[ii] Why? Because if you are born Jewish, it is your vertical identity, you have no choice in the matter. Judaism does not even have provision for you  to convert out. It just puts you on the periphery till you come back. But one who chooses to be Jewish, who joins Judaism as their horizontal identity, knowing the good and the bad that has happened to the Jewish people, they are extra deserving of God’s love.

In Lydia Kukoff’s classic work “Choosing Judaism” she documents the testimony of folk who are proselytes to Judaism. For many of them, the process of conversion is not the end but a beginning of their Jewish journey. Lydia Kukoff writes of her own experience: “I suppose I expected a flash from the heavens to give me an instant personal Jewish past at the moment of my conversion. No such luck. It took practice and time, but it happened. And eventually you, too will have a Jewish past of your own.”[iii]

The Talmud contains a teaching which says that at Mount Sinai when the Torah was given, it was bestowed upon the Israelites and the souls of all their descendants, but also the souls of all those who would in the future convert to Judaism.[iv] In so doing, it teaches that those who choose Judaism have not just a horizontal identity but also a subliminal vertical identity.

And many folk who are born Jewish, realize on their own, or as they raise their children, that they still have much to learn about Judaism since their Jewish practice and custom has diminished over assimilating generations. They realize practically that Judaism for them is not just a vertical identity but it is also a horizontal identity they must acquire.

Being Jewish is not as simple as finding a place in a community through vertical or horizontal identification.

A folk tale tells of a Jewish skeptic, a soap maker by trade, taking an afternoon walk with a rabbi. The soap maker asks the rabbi “What good is Judaism? How does Jewish thought and practice make an impact on the world?” The rabbi does not answer but continues to walk contemplatively. They stop and watch some young boys playing soccer on the field. The rabbi turns to the soap maker and asks: “Tell me, what good is soap to those boys dirty from the mud on the soccer field?” “Rabbi”, the soap maker says, “For soap to be effective it must be used.” “Aha”, responds the rabbi, “So it is with Judaism. It must be learned and applied for its impact to be felt.”

Ultimately, whether we are born into Judaism or whether we choose Judaism, we continue Judaism as an inheritance “L’Dor V’Dor”, from generation to generation, and B’Dor V’Dor, needing to incorporate Judaism in our lives and the generations to come. For Judaism to be a valued treasure we must consciously create memories and values for ourselves, as moral and practical exemplars for our children, and for those around us.

There are so many different ways we can learn and grow in our Jewish lives, conscience and practice. We can take a class here at our synagogue. (Our Adult Ed brochures will be available for the taking after the service.) We can participate in family programming through our Religious School. Or use a skill we have in our secular lives and find ways to apply it Jewishly and teach a class ourselves – one of the best ways to learn is to teach.

We can take courses online or use “Rabbi Google” to procure and find information on customs, texts and doing. We can buy Jewish books and media that will give us how-tos and explanations. We can use social media to connect with Jewish organizations, learn from their posts and join in on their offerings. We can make Jewish retreats and learning part of our holiday plans. We can ask our rabbi questions by email or in person.

The name of our movement is Reform Judaism. Often it is mispronounced as “Reformed Judaism” with an “e.d.” We have not ossified our approach and engagement with Judaism. There is no “e.d.” As Reform Jews we are encouraged to continue enlarging our comprehension of Jewish practice and understanding, and find meaningful ways to incorporate it in our modern lives. We are the inheritors of a tradition and the ones who mold its practice.

Our Jewish identity is both a vertical identity, an identity that we inherit from the souls of our ancestors, and a horizontal identity, one that we create by conscious doing. It is a treasure that might require a journey, but it is also a treasure under our own feet.

As we begin this New Year of 5775, let us make the dream of Jewish continuity a reality, let us set out on a journey to find the Jewish treasure that is ours for the taking.

Ken Yehi Ratzon. May this be your will.

Anthem: Here I Am (Horowitz/Baesh)

[i] Tale of Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav

[ii] Midrash Tanchuma, Lech Lecha 6

[iii] Lydia Kukoff, “Choosing Judaism” p.24

[iv] Talmud Shavuot 39a