Rooting for Ourselves

August 31, 2012 • 14 Elul 5772

Last night was my fantasy football draft. I did ok...thanks for asking. I was so nervous -- about picking the right players, about not making last season’s mistakes, about winning more games than last year.

I was struck by an article in the NY Times last Friday, entitled “Why Does Anyone Root for Incompetent, Failing Teams?” by Steve Almond. He writes from the perspective of a perennially disappointed Oakland Raiders fan, and he asks: Why? Not why are they terrible, but rather, “Why does anyone follow an incompetent, perpetually failing team?”

In his answer is the kernel of a deeply Jewish idea that might help us prepare for the HHD.

He explains that this unfailing loyalty is part of a code of values and meaning that many adopt. “The code,” he says, “had become my way of holding on to faith in the face of inevitable loss. Because not only had my team lost, but it would lose again, as all teams do, if not immediately then eventually. And this experience forms the unconscious bedrock of our identification.

“After all, we live in a culture that enforces competition and deifies success. We’re relentlessly subjected to winners, when the truth is that most of us spend our entire lives losing, or feeling anyway that we’ve failed to win it all. We squander our talent, we mismanage the clock, we choke in the clutch. Our teams, in other words, enact public dramas that we experience as struggles to transcend our own private defects. They allow us to psychically offload our sense of futility.”

Our New Year and season of repentance encourage us Jews to grapple with our defeats. To relive the dropped passes, the miscalled plays, the times we fell short.

Almond goes on to discuss Sports Talk Radio as evidence of the truth of his assertion about the spirituality of being a sports fan: “Anyone who has listened to this format will tell you that nothing lights up the phone lines like a crushing defeat. And what you hear in the callers’ voices, beneath the bluster and complaint, is actually quite moving: an effort to grapple with defeat.”

And so we do each year, beating our chests as we say, together, Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu... We have all sinned! We have all been self-defeating. We have all missed the mark. And we say, as well, Al cheit shechatanu l’fanecha... For the sin we have committed against you... -- and the list goes on and on!

If one is not careful, the high holidays can be a rather depressing prospect -- kind of like watching a highlight reel of all the worst moments of the past year, with your coach shouting in your ear that it’s only going to get worse. 

But underneath all that talk of defeat, and fragility, and weakness, and even death, there is another message, which is really the point.

Almond’s words again: “So all of us idiots who stick it out with the Chicago Cubs or the Cleveland Browns or the Knicks aren’t just waiting around for a championship banner. We’re also seeking to remain loyal to the parts of ourselves that feel overmatched and doomed to failure in the hope that someday our loyalty — to our teams and to ourselves — will be rewarded.... Lurking within the weeds of extreme fandom is the perpetual seed of hope.”

Hope....

Ultimately, that is the message of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. By wading through a sea of disappointment and defeat, we reach out for the opposite shore where there sits an oasis of hope, and of life.

Toward the end of Unetaneh Tokef, that most brutal of our liturgy ("who shall live and who shall die...who by fire and who by water..." and it gets gorier as it goes on), there is yet hope: U’teshuva u’tefilah u’tzedakah ma’avirin et ro’a ha-g’zerah / "Repentance, prayer, and charity avert judgment’s severe decree."

Indeed, we are taught in our tradition and in our prayers, once we make amends with others, and ask forgiveness from God, it is granted. And indeed it is what God wants -- not the death of sinners, but that we should turn from our ways and live.

So while I’m looking ahead at another NFL fantasy season, with opportunities to shine and to fall flat on my face, so too are we Jews looking ahead now to 5773, another season of our lives -- to reassess, to revisit past defeats, to brace ourselves for disappointments.

But with all of that, it is also a new season for new beginnings, an opportunity to make things better, to improve ourselves, to get more right this time around.

Almond’s article concluded: “I already have that nervous tingle about Sept. 10, when the Raiders open their season against the San Diego Chargers. There is no doubt in my mind that they will lose in some new and innovative fashion, as they did last season, in the final game, to miss the playoffs for the ninth straight year. But I’ll be watching, with the rest of the softhearted goons, hoping for a better outcome, scolding myself for this hope and happily helpless to feel otherwise.”

May the rest of Elul, and this new year, be for all of us a new season for feeling helplessly hopeful, a new year for affirming life.

Shanah tovah, Shabbat shalom!

L'Dor VaDor

We had the privilege of having Jewish composer/rock star Josh Nelson join us in leading Shabbat services on July 13. Here is the sermon in song that I did with him.
..........................

Music has the power to illuminate, elevate, and acquaint and reacquaint us with texts and prayers. It is a way to express our deepest yearnings, hopes, and fears -- our joy and pain.

In the first song you'll hear words from the Modim Anachnu Lach (in the Amidah):

Tzur chayeinu, magein yisheinuatah hu l'dor vador.You are the rock of our lives,
the shield of our salvation,
from generation to generation.

The God image here, as I like to think of it, is the floor we stand on when we get out of bed in the morning. This God is the bedrock foundation of purpose, values, and meaning upon which our lives rest. This God is the center we come back to when we find ourselves scattered, purposeless, lost...



From generation to generation... What is our responsibility to those who came before us? To those who come after?

In Jewish tradition, we stand on the shoulders of giants. This means: we could not be where we are today without the efforts of our ancestors.

But it also means that we can see farther than they could -- into the future, into a new world that they may have have even understood.

In the Torah portion this week, Pinchas, there's an illustrative phrase after the census (Numbers 26:64-65):

Among these there was not one man of the Children of Israel who had been counted [by Moses and Aaron] in the Sinai wilderness. For Adonai had said for them: "They shall die in the wilderness."

So it is for us. Every generation inherits a world scarcely understood by the one before. Isn't it our role, and responsibility, to prepare the next generation to inherit? Their world, their Judaism, will not look like ours, just as ours differs from our parents and grandparents. That is the chain of tradition, from generation, l'dor vador...



SHABBAT SHALOM.

Principled Pragmatism

Rabbi David Segal

Parshat Shelach Lecha

June 15, 2012, Aspen, CO

Unfortunately, the Presbyterian Church is at it again. They'll be considering resolutions later this month at their General Assembly, on phased selective divestment from companies that do business with Israel. And they have another resolution calling Israel an “apartheid state.”

This is in the context of the last half-decade when most mainline Protestant churches have talked about divestment from Israel in one form or another. But strides had been made -- similar resolutions were voted down or otherwise headed off by the Methodist, Lutheran, and Episcopal churches.

Of course, a big part of the answer to this confrontation is continued cultivation of relationships with Presbyterians "in the pews" as well as clergy and leaders. It's slow and steady work, and very important, and I'm proud that the Reform Movement is one of the leaders in this kind of relationship building.

But on another level, this issue got me thinking about how we Jews respond to crises. It begins with fully assessing the problem, and we have an example in this week’s parshah:

Of the 12 scouts sent to survey the land, ten of them return with the following report: 

The people there are powerful, the cities are fortified and large, and Amalek (our old foe!) lives there!

Caleb & Joshua, however, try to calm the people. They give a pep talk: 

We can take the Land, we can do it! Yes we can!

The ten scouts make their rebuttal:

The people there are giants! We must look like grasshoppers to them -- we do to ourselves! Let us not go up against those people, for they are stronger than we are! (Note on ממנו "than we" – it can also mean stronger "than God” -- so Rashi suggests -- making the scouts' lack of faith all the more blasphemous.)

The people lose it. They weeping and raise their voices. They murmur against Moses and Aaron: By God, we wish we had died in Egypt, or at least in this desert! Let’s get another leader and go back to Egypt.

Caleb and Joshua try again with the pep talk:

It's a great land, flowing with milk and honey!

God is with us, we will prevail!

The people's response? They throw rocks.

Clearly, our tradition is biased toward Caleb & Joshua. The other scouts and those who follow them are doomed to perish in the desert with an entire generation. But it would be too glib to say: be more like Caleb & Joshua. Just have faith, God is with us, we will prevail.

That kind of theology is not sufficient in our days. We know too much. We’ve suffered too much, even.

But the story continues, with God making an appearance, finally. God’s glory comes down as the people threaten to stone Caleb and Joshua. God says Moses: “Lemme at ‘em! I’ll destroy them all and make an even better nation of YOU!” (That's paraphrased, of course...)

And it's here, in Moses' response, that I think we find a model for all of us. Moses says:

“God, what will the Egyptians think?

‘You freed this people with many miracles, only to kill them in the desert’?

You’re not powerful enough to bring them into the land, to overcome their obstacles’?

And by the way, God, remember how you said you’re a merciful God, slow to anger, forgiving sin and transgression...?So forgive them, according to your mercy.

AND since you’ve taken this people this far...you can't stop now.”

God’s response is simple and elegant, a powerful line that appears prominently in our High Holiday liturgy:

Vayomer Adonai: salachti kidvarecha / And God said: I have forgiven according to your argument.

This is Moses the principled pragmatist, and we would do well to follow his lead.

Principled. As he urges God to be true to God-self, so should we be true to ourselves as Jews, and work toward better unity as Jewish community, because that’s who we’re supposed to be. A light unto the nations, a people who preserve minority opinions, who embrace disagreement and argument l’shem shamayim, for the sake of heaven.

Pragmatist. Moses also asks God to consider what others will think. Because our reputation matters. If we are busy tearing each other apart rather than embracing dissent and working toward consensus where we can, then what hope do we have of changing the world? How can we fulfill our destiny if we are scattered and estranged from each other?

If we embrace both of these -- principle and pragmatism -- like Moses, then we can speak powerfully and effectively when, like today, the Presbyterian Church threaten our values, or tomorrow, whatever challenges come our way.

So here's something small you can do: when you hear a comment or get an email from a Jew badmouthing or demonizing another Jew who differs on some opinion -- I challenge you, our tradition calls you, our future needs you -- to stand up to it. Respectfully, but firmly, call it out.

The future of the Jewish people and, indeed, Jewish relevance to the world depends on it. Neither the pessimism of the scouts, nor simply the pep talk of Caleb of Joshua. Instead, we need a healthy dose of the principled pragmatism of Moses.

SHABBAT SHALOM.

Preaching Past the Choir -

This week I had the privilege of participating in an interfaith symposium here in Aspen, at the St. Regis.  The theme of the conference was "Responsibility of World Religions in the Age of Genocide." I spoke on a panel on "Interfaith Dialogue: What Should it Look Like?" Below are my remarks, reconstructed from notes to the best of my ability.


Rabbi David Segal, Aspen Jewish Congregation

Panel: Interfaith Dialogue - What Should it Look Like?

St. Regis, Aspen, CO

June 6, 2012

Introduction

Speaking on the last panel in this symposium, I'm reminded of literary critic Harold Bloom’s book The Anxiety of Influence. He suggests that poets are always in a state of anxiety in relation to those who came before them, caught between trying to break from them in originality on the one hand, and inevitably being indebted to them on the other. I’m not anxious, but rather I’m at peace with the fact that just about everything I’m about to say is in some way derivative of what other presenters have said. So perhaps we can reframe that problem by saying: to the extent that I’m original, hooray; and to the extent that I’m derivative, you're welcome -- for summarizing the symposium highlights... 

I'm dividing my remarks in three categories. First, the limits of interfaith dialogue. Second, as a counterpoint to that, the value of dialogue. And third, what dialogue should look like.

1. Limits of Dialogue

First under the limits of dialogue, I identify what I'll call the problem of particularism. It's been well analyzed by others this week, but I'll offer another perspective.  First, a story by the comedian Emo Phillips:

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said "Stop! don't do it!" "Why shouldn't I?" he said. I said, "Well, there's so much to live for!" He said, "Like what?" I said, "Well...are you religious or atheist?" He said, "Religious." I said, "Me too! Are you christian or buddhist?" He said, "Christian." I said, "Me too! Are you catholic or protestant?" He said, "Protestant." I said, "Me too! Are you episcopalian or baptist?" He said, "Baptist!" I said,"Wow! Me too! Are you baptist church of god or baptist church of the lord?" He said, "Baptist church of god!" I said, "Me too! Are you original baptist church of god, or are you reformed baptist church of god?" He said,"Reformed Baptist church of god!" I said, "Me too! Are you reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1879, or reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915?" He said, "Reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915!" I said, "Die, heretic scum", and pushed him off the bridge.

The story doesn't need much interpretation. It's very difficult to cultivate an ethos of being “committed to my truth but open to yours.” Rev. Robert de Wetter said it well at our opening panel: I am passionate about my faith, but emphatically not against the other.

But somehow we humans have a tendency not only to be loyal to our clique, but to further subdivide that group into smaller loyalty circles. Jonathan Haidt, social psychologist at UVA, recently published The Righteous Mind: Why Good People Are Divided by Religion and Politics. He points out that it is good to be loyal to a group, unless that group is too small and that loyalty too absolute, in which case the common good suffers.

Related to this is the problem of evangelism. Case in point, a Christian high school friend told me he was very worried I was going to hell. This came from a deep place of religious conviction, as well as care. If you deeply believe that your fellow’s soul is at stake, doesn’t it behoove you to try and save it? How do you dissipate that kind of evangelical commitment? This is a complex problem that I can't begin to know how to solve

Second, I'll speak about what I'll call the problem of pacifism.  A scene from Woody Allen's Manhattan:

Woody: Hey, has anybody read that Nazis are gonna march in NJ? I read it in the newspaper. We should go down there, get some guys together, get some bricks and baseball bats -- and really explain things to ‘em.
Man in tuxedo: There is a devastating satirical piece on that in the op-ed of the Times. It is devastating.
Woody: Well, a satirical piece in the times is one thing, but bricks and baseball bats really gets right to the point...
Woman in cocktail dress: Oh, but really biting satire is always better than physical force.
Woody: No no, physical force is always better with Nazis...cuz it’s hard to satirize a guy with shiny boots on...

Not everyone wants to talk about differences. Some actually might want to silence you, perhaps kill you. How do you function in a world of violence without succumbing to violence? Put another way, how do you fight a Nazi without becoming a Nazi?

Third, the problem of preaching to the choir. Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, a giant of interfaith dialogue, once said: It doesn’t matter what denomination you’re from, as long as you’re ashamed of it. As Mehdi Aminrazavi said earlier this week, the people who come to this kind of “table” are likely to be self-critical, open, with a sense of humor, etc. So how do you get past this choir of interfaith-oriented members? I’ll try to address that later.

2. Why Interfaith Dialogue Matters

A few months ago, I was asked to speak at Aspen Middle School, along with Rev. Gregg Anderson of the Aspen Chapel, with whom my congregation shares a facility. The 7th grade was starting a new unit on World History and World Religions, and they wanted to hear from the “horse’s mouth” about Judaism and Christianity. Gregg and I summed up Judaism and Christianity in a few minutes...it was BRILLIANT... Gregg made a point, as he does, to emphasize Jesus’ Jewish identity.

During the Q&A, a girl raised her hand. You could see the gears turning as she asked, thoughtfully, “If Jesus was a Jew...then why did the Jews kill him?” My heart sank. I guess I was naive to think we had gotten past that one. And the undertone was that this 7th-grade girl had heard from someone that “the Jews” killed Jesus. Not "some Jews," not "some Jews allied with the Roman authorities"...but “the Jews.” We did explain the nuances of the history, but I was still a little depressed afterward. Bad learning is hard to undo.

A footnote to this story: Sarah Silverman (a Jewish comedienne) tells of being bullied in middle school by Christian kids who taunted her on the playground by calling her Christ-Killer and worse. She responded, “Yeah, see what I did to your savior? Imagine what I could do to you.” This, by the way, is a classic example of Jewish humor borne of persecution and pain...

Perhaps it's some small consolation that this story means that parents and religious leaders do influence people's attitudes. That just as religious leaders and parents can plant the seeds of destructive ideas like this, so too can they be catalysts for good. That said, it also concerns me that, as Khaleel said in the opening panel, fewer people identify as “religious” these days. So what are their sources of influence? Russell Razzaque has written about his experience with radical Islamic recruiters in grad school: students who’d been raised Muslim were more likely to reject extremist radical Islamic Society recruiters than students without a Muslim background. Put in other terms, by GK Chesterton: “For when we cease to worship God, we do not worship nothing, we worship anything.”

3. What Dialogue Should Look Like

Based on these thoughts, I have a few suggestions for what interfaith dialogue could and should look like. 

I think we need to be more committed to bringing in unwilling or “unsuspecting” partners for dialogue on religious questions. Let's not shy away from meeting with the local evangelical pastor (thanks, Carolyn, for bringing me into relationship with one here in the valley) and try not to avoid the difficult topics. Let's ry to turn discomfort into curiosity and learning. Not to mention relationship building. For relationships are more transformative than arguments or ideas.

We need to devote more effort to mining traditional sources for precedents for interfaith dialogue and cooperation. For example, an Orthodox Jewish theologian I've studied, Michael Wyschogrod, does just this. In considering the Noahide (i.e. pre-Jewish) revelation, Wyschogrod reminds those who take the Torah to be the word of God that they must also take seriously that God may have revealed Godself to other peoples at other times. Who are we to speak definitely about how God has or has not acted in that regard, especially considering that the revelation to Noah gives us a clear example of God giving law and teaching to non-Jews? As Dr. Ochs mentioned, the rabbis taught that revelation at Sinai came out in the 70 languages of the 70 nations. There is multiplicity at the core of our traditions, but it is upon us to lift that up.

Interfaith dialogue should be among people steeped in their own tradition. It is pretty weak and shallow if the participants are disconnected or ignorant of their own faith. Otherwise it’s a nice intellectual conversation, but it doesn't facilitate a deeper personal connection.

Finally, I think we should do a better job of exposing religious hypocrisy and scriptural dishonesty. In other words, if you can’t defeat fundamentalists/radicals (i.e. opponents of interfaith cooperation) on your interpretive terms, then defeat them on theirs. Or, at the very least, advocate for intellectual and scriptural honesty.

Consider this episode involving Dr. Joel Hoffman, professor at Hebrew Union College. Hoffman has written about the near impossibility of translating biblical Hebrew without necessarily refracting it through an interpretive and cultural lens (in And God Said: How Translations Conceal the Bible’s Original Meaning). Recently, he wrote a letter to Piers Morgan after an interview with mega-church Pastor Joel Osteen. It's worth reading in its entirety:

Dear Mr. Morgan:  

I believe you have been promoting bigotry and helping to perpetrate a fraud.During both of your interviews with Pastor Joel Osteen on your CNN broadcast, you let the religious leader tell your audience that Scripture calls homosexuality a sin. But you didn't ask him where the Bible says that.

It's both an important point and an easy one to settle. You could have asked Pastor Osteen for the chapter and verse that he thinks calls homosexuality a sin. What you would have found is that he couldn't provide it, because Pastor Osteen was expressing his personal opinion, not quoting the Bible. The Bible doesn't say that homosexuality is a sin.In fact, even though Scripture discusses "sin" a lot, the word never appears in connection with homosexuality. 

Certainly there are passages in the Bible that address aspects of homosexuality, most notably in Leviticus and Romans. But years of interpretation have distorted their original meanings. And there are other passages that may even support homosexuality. 

Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 describe certain male homosexual behavior in the same terms as meals that seat Egyptians and Israelites together (Genesis 43:32). Both are called a to'evah in Hebrew, a term that was apparently meant to suggest something that isn't inherently wrong even though a particular culture frowns on it. The leap from "certain male homosexual behavior" to "homosexuality in general" is a clear mistake, as is the jump from "culturally odd" to "sin." Leviticus doesn't say that homosexuality is a sin. It says that some behavior was unusual. 

Romans 1:24-27 also deals with homosexuality, putting it in the context of a penalty that God doled out in response to human mistakes. That's why Romans 1:24 begins with "Therefore, God delivered them..." Though nothing is specifically called a "sin" in Romans 1, what comes closest is the behavior in Romans 1:18-23 (primarily idolatry), not the punishment for that behavior (homosexuality). Romans 1:24-27 doesn't list human sins but rather God's actions. 

Genesis 2:18, by contrast, suggests that it is "not good for people to be alone." If it turns out that in order to avoid being alone some men have to be with other men, and some women with other women, then Genesis 2:18 may mean that supporting homosexuality (and, therefore, same-sex marriage) is not only permitted by the Bible but in fact required. Obviously, people may expand on Leviticus, Romans, Genesis and other passages in ways that turn homosexuality into sin. But these are interpretations, not "what the Bible says." 

It seems to me that Pastor Osteen, as a religious leader, has a right to believe what he wants and to encourage others to follow. So if he doesn't accept homosexuality, it's his prerogative to spread his anti-homosexuality message. But I think it's dishonest when he pretends that his opinions are those of the Bible. 

Similarly, if you don't like homosexuality, it's your right to say so on air. But I think it's irresponsible of you to let a guest tell your audience that something is in the Bible without even asking where.This glaring omission is all the more surprising in light of your claim to be "challenging." Why didn't you challenge Pastor Osteen on this basic factual issue?  

I look forward to your response. 

Sincerely,Joel M. Hoffman, PhD

It's impossible to read the Bible except through a lens of one kind or another. Those of us who believe in dialogue, in multiple perspectives, and in more than one path to Truth must make it known. We must know the religious sources as well as those who hate interfaith dialogue, those who clothe their hateful and exclusionary opinions in holy garb. We must be able to call them out for hypocrisy, inaccuracy, and scriptural dishonesty. There’s no such thing as reading the Bible literally: all readings are interpretation. (Some are better than others, but all are interpretations.) There is not a loud enough public religious voice on this -- so I ask my colleagues in conclusion: what are we religious leaders waiting for? What are we afraid of? When will we show our communities and the world that there is a different kind of religious reader, leader, and community?

In Praise of Crutches

CLICK HERE to read Rabbi David's most recent column in the Times.
Comments and questions welcome!

Are you the 81%?

Read my column in the Saturday May 5 Aspen Times, in which I make a case for religion that -- miraculously -- has nothing to do with God! (At least not explicitly...)

Click here to read, and please comment or contact me at rabbi@aspenjewish.org.


(P.S. Thanks to Maurice Emmer for sending the Razzaque article my way. And thanks to Rev. Robert de Wetter for the link to the poll on religious affiliation.)

When I’m 64...

When I get older losing my hair,

Many years from now,

Will you still be sending me a valentine

Birthday greetings bottle of wine?

If I'd been out till quarter to three

Would you lock the door,

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

When I'm sixty-four?

...

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,

Who could ask for more?

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

When I'm sixty-four?

Even if the Beatles weren’t singing about it then, this week we celebrated Israel's 64th birthday, as we marked another Yom Haatzmaut. It's amazing to think of it: only 64 years ago, a new country came into being -- really, a "new old" country -- in the ancestral land of the Jewish people. For the first time in almost 1900 years, Jews had a nation of our own, free to rule ourselves, and to live as Jews. Herzl’s dream of being a free people in our land came true.

But nothing is ever that simple, especially not for Jews, and the 64 years of Israel’s existence have been complicated by wars without, and tensions within.

Now, MAYBE, even though we Jews love to have opinions, and love to argue, MAYBE we can take Yom Haatzmaut as a day to JUST CELEBRATE: Israel as a haven for refugees, Israel as a center of Jewish culture, Israel as -- dare we say it -- a light unto the nations.

Is it possible that one day a year, we can put the political fighting and name-calling aside, and instead just show gratitude for the miracle that is Israel? After all, that does leave 359 other days (by the Jewish calendar!) to yell at each other.

In truth, we need a spirit of gratitude and humility to permeate the rest of the year as well. Without letting go of our passionately held opinions, we need to get better at talking about Israel, talking to Israelis, and relating to Israel.

What would that look like?

For starters, we need to address the reality that “ignorance and love are seen as somehow compatible.” We American Jews, left, right, and in between, love to express our opinions about Israel from the comfort of our American armchair. Without understanding Hebrew, without awareness of day-to-day Israeli life, without knowing the vast array of political and social issues that motivate the Israeli electorate far more powerfully than the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, we make it our business to lecture and reprimand Israel and each other.

As we mark another Yom Haatzmaut, let us celebrate the present by committing to a different kind of future. A future in which we aren’t content merely to “love” Israel, but we actually strive to know Israel: land, people, language, culture. A future in which we decide that we have something valuable to learn from our fellow Jews who disagree with us about Israeli politics, even when we continue to disagree. A future in which Israel is not a superficial tool for fundraising or affiliation, but a real place of Jewish learning, of deeper engagement with Jewish tradition, and deeper relationships with other Jews.

One opportunity to celebrate and know Israel better may be coming up next spring. Passover falls during spring break next March, and we are starting to explore a congregational trip to Israel. If you’re interested in going, or helping to plan it, or you just want to know more, let me know right away! As a community, let’s take steps like this to make Israel a real presence in our Jewish lives, not just a rhetorical shadow.

As the Beatles concluded:

Send me a postcard, drop me a line,

Stating point of view.

Indicate precisely what you mean to say

Yours sincerely, Wasting Away.

Give me your answer, fill in a form

Mine for evermore

Will you still need me, will you still feed me,

When I'm sixty-four?

64 years later, it’s worth reexamining how we relate to Israel -- so that in another 64 years, we don’t find ourselves falsely loving a projection of our own fantasies, but rather genuinely in relationship with a complex, vibrant, real place and people.

Am Yisrael Chai, Shabbat shalom.