Learning from our "Sparring Partners"

One of the most moving tributes composed for the late Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia was written by Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.  By now it’s well-known that they were friends.  They socialized, went to the opera together – even road an elephant together while visiting India. 

As part of her tribute she wrote:

“From our years together at the D.C. Circuit, we were best buddies.  We disagreed now and then, but when I wrote for the Court and received a Scalia dissent, the opinion ultimately released was notably better than my initial circulation.”

When she was writing a landmark case in the area of gender equality in 1996, Scalia gave her an advanced copy of his dissent which enabled her to refine her arguments.  

She said that Scalia “nailed all the weak spots — the ‘applesauce’ and ‘argle bargle’ — and gave me just what I needed to strengthen the majority opinion.”

Rabbinic Judaism has a concept that I want to explore – it’s called בר פלוגתא bar p’lugta.  A bar plug’ta is like an intellectual sparring partner – so the Mishnaic sage Hillel was the bar pl’ugta for Shammai and vice versa.  The Talmudic sage Abaye was the bar pl’ugta for Rava, and vice versa.  

A bar p'lugta is someone who often has a different ideological perspective or orientation than you, but who you are in conversation with, and ongoing conversation leads you and your bar p'lugta to a sharper iteration of whatever the issues are.  Interestingly rabbinic texts point out that many of these pairs did actually socialize.  They didn't go to the opera together, but we are told that Hillel and Shammai ate together and married off their progeny to one another.

I see this concept in my parents’ generation more than in my generation.  In this synagogue, I see my parents’ generation far more willing to have vociferous debates across ideological lines and far more likely to have friends across the ideological spectrum.  There seem to be a bunch of reasons for this which can be the topic of another conversation.   

For now, I want to use myself as an example of how we might learn from people who see things differently than we do.  

The Crucial College Years

On Thursday, February 11, Temple Israel of Great Neck hosted Rabbi Julie Roth, Executive Director of the Center for Jewish Life (CJL) at Princeton University.  Given the many reasons why Jewish life on campus is important to understand as deeply as we can, I’d like to provide a summary of her comments in this forum for those who were unable to attend.

Rabbi Julie Roth speaking at Temple Israel

Rabbi Roth addressed four major issues as they've been approached on the Princeton campus:  BDS (Boycott, Divest and Sanction), Jewish pluralism, relations with other faiths and the mental health of college students.

During the past academic year, the Princeton CJL leadership opposed a divestment effort launched by a member of the faculty.  Rabbi Roth summarized the main developments, including the divestment proposal, the opposition of CJL to the proposal, the criticism leveled toward the opposition and the response of the CJL at various junctures.  Two main outcomes resulted.  The divestment proposal was ultimately defeated.  In addition, the CJL established a new student group called Tigers Together, described as "a coalition of Princetonians committed to promoting trust and partnership between Israelis and Palestinians by supporting projects that both build mutual trust and make immediate impact on the ground today. "

Rabbi Roth addressing a group of students at CJL

The CJL actively seeks to foster a spirit of pluralism among Jewish students, one which affirms and actively creates context for a wide diversity of religious observance.  In keeping with universal Hillel practice, religious services routinely include Reform, Conservative and Orthodox options.  Rabbi Roth shared a specific example about how the recitation of Friday night kiddush is conducted so as to accommodate a range of practices and beliefs.  

Rabbi Roth is involved with the Office of Religious Life, which oversees programming for individual religious groups and actively promotes opportunities for interfaith dialogue and engagement.  Among other interfaith initiatives, she and the Campus Imam recently led a group of Jewish and Muslim students on a trip to Spain.  She shared with us that while dialogue with Muslim students so far has largely avoided political discussions by design, she hopes that there will be constructive ways to include politics in the conversation moving forward.

Lastly, Rabbi Roth identified the increasing role that Hillel professionals at Princeton and elsewhere are playing in responding to students' mental health needs.  As she indicated, the college environment places significant stress on students as a result of academic and social pressures.  More and more, she and her colleagues recognize the importance of providing a comfortable space for students to unwind and to speak openly about issues of personal concern.  

We are well aware of the significance of the college years in helping to form identity, hone intellectual skills and establish patterns of behavior that will likely have lifelong implications.     For Jewish students, the college years provide an opportunity to broaden and deepen Jewish identity and commitment.  

Considering the many challenges that Jewish students face and the remarkable potential that exists, it is gratifying to know that Hillel professionals of the caliber of Rabbi Julie Roth are committed to their sacred task.

Originally written for the Temple Israel Voice, February 2016

Many Waze to Join the Story

I got back from a week in Israel a few days ago and I’m going to reflect on that but first I want to share something that happened to me a few weeks before I went.

Platform for Egalitarian Prayer at the Kotel

I had finished officiating at a funeral and got in my car to drive from the chapel to the cemetery ahead of the funeral procession.  While in the HOV lane of the Long Island Expressway, I saw the tire air pressure light go on and heard noises.  For no great reason I decided to ignore both indications until the noises grew significantly louder.  I then pulled all the way over to the shoulder, got out and realized one of my tires was completely shredded almost down to the rim. 

After I called the hearse driver, after the entire funeral procession pulled over so he could pick me up, after the sad burial, after I called AAA, after a very nice AAA guy came to replace the tire with the donut, after I called an auto shop in Great Neck, I plugged the address of the auto shop into Waze, the awesome GPS app pioneered by Israelis that tracks traffic, police activity and stalled vehicles and could probably also order you a felafel on the way.

As I prepared to leave the shoulder, the automated narrator on Waze said, in her characteristically measured tone, “stalled vehicle on the side of the road.”

I know this may sound strange to you, but I got a little nachas when I heard that.  I was like, “wow, that’s me!  I’m the stalled vehicle!”   I mean, I’ve always heard about other stalled vehicles but I’ve never actually BEEN the stalled vehicle.  She was talking about me, by golly.  I was a part of the story.

I hope you’ll forgive the somewhat unconventional introduction to my topic. 

Inflated or deflated, streamlined or sidelined, we want to feel like we’re part of the story.

        Minha with colleagues in a park opposite the Shalom Hartman Institute

For a Jewish person, the need to feel part of the Jewish story is larger than we tend to imagine and we often rush to critique people's motivations before we try to understand them.  

I’d like to share a few examples from my recent, brief time in Israel that illustrate the intense, creative approaches that Jews of a variety of backgrounds, with a variety of ideological perspectives, are using to help them feel authentically a part of the Jewish story.

First example.  I spent my time as part of a cohort of rabbis studying, praying, discussion, schmoozing at the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, a creative, pluralistic organization seeking to transform Jewish life. 

We Don't Need Pied Pipers

When schools or houses of worship are looking for someone to work with their children – teachers or principals, for example  - you’ll hear people say, “We want to find a pied piper.”  

What they usually mean by that is, someone charismatic who will inspire children.   When we think of the “pied piper,” we imagine someone playing a flute and all the children are mesmerized and following behind.

The actual story is quite a bit darker.  There are several versions of it that originate in medieval Germany but the gist of the story is that a man is hired by a village that is overrun by rats to get rid of the rats.  He starts to play the flute, all the rats are attracted and mesmerized by the sound of the music, they follow behind the man.  He leads them to a river where they all drown.

The mayor of the village doesn’t "pay the piper."  He reneges on the original agreement.  So the piper seeks revenge.  He plays a different tune on his flute which attracts all of the children, who line up behind him and skip along.  In one version he leads them to a cave, in another into a river, but they are never heard from again.

Charisma is a quality that we often associate with leadership and a quality that we like to see in our leaders whether they are working with adults or children – who wants a shleppy leader?   Appropriately channeled, it can be a positive part of successful leadership.  But charisma can be dangerous.  And I would argue that it should not be the primary quality we look for when we consider leadership.

Online and print media have been abuzz with discussion about Marc Gafni, a spiritual leader who first received Orthodox ordination and subsequently was ordained by the Renewal movement. 

Changing Unhealthy Patterns

I imagine you have heard the joke I’m about to share, but please bear with me since I’m sharing it for a higher purpose...

Joan lives at home and has been looking for the right man to marry, but time after time it doesn’t work out because her parents don’t approve of whomever she brings home.  She goes to her friend for advice, the friend says – “Joan, find someone just like your father and bring him home for dinner.”  Which Joan does.

The next day, Joan’s friend asks how it went and Joan says,  “It was terrible.”  “What happened?”  “Well,” Joan says, “My father loved him.”  “So what was the problem?” her friend wonders.  And Joan says, “Unfortunately, my mother couldn’t stand him.”

In case you were wondering what happens when you Google “marrying someone like you father,” now you know...

To a large extent, for a host of reasons, we tend to maintain the same patterns of behavior, generation after generation.  Even when we want to act differently, even when we are convinced that we should make changes, we tend to replicate certain patterns. 

Suppose we truly want to make progress?  Suppose we recognize that we absolutely must address areas that are problematic?

The extended narrative we’ve been reading in the Book of Genesis about several generations in the life of a family may be instructive.  This is a family has had its share of tsorres, its share of aggravation.  

Murillo, "Joseph and his Brethren," c. 1670

And it also has an array of interesting personality traits and patterns.

This is a family that keeps secrets, where people aren’t always truthful to one another, where people keep animosity inside until it ruptures and causes them to act in treacherous ways, where siblings compete with one another with results that are often tragic.

That’s certainly true of the generation of Jacob.  And what about the children, Joseph and company?  Perhaps not surprisingly, you see some of the same traits.

But the book of Genesis offers the possibility that the current generation can break free of some of the negative patterns of the previous generation and also maintain the positive.  

An Important and (Sadly) Controversial Visit

Naftali Bennett’s recent visit to the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan was eagerly anticipated by the entire school community.  After considerable planning, Bennett, who serves as Israel’s Minister of Education and Minister of Diaspora Affairs, spent several hours at the Schechter School on December 1. 

Minister Bennett visiting the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan on December 1, 2015

I received a full description of the planning and the actual event from my wife Deanna, who is the school's coordinator of learning support and serves on its Educational Leadership Team.  Among other things, Bennett had conversations with middle school students and adults and shared stories and songs with the entire school.  A video showed him sitting on the floor with the children and singing along to some popular Israeli tunes.

That same day, along with the video, Bennett tweeted the following message, in Hebrew, to his approximately forty thousand followers:  “Meeting with the students of the wonderful Conservative Solomon Schechter School in New York.  Such love of Israel.  Such love of Judaism.”

Naftali Bennett, who personally identifies as Modern Orthodox, had unabashedly revealed the school’s affiliation and indicated how impressed he was.  Deanna informed me that the students and parents were likewise impressed by Bennett’s down to earth manner and ability to engage.  So far, so good.

Subsequently, however, several people castigated Bennett for having visited the school.  Among his critics was Chief Ashkenazi Rabbi David Lau.  According to Israeli newspaper Haaretz, Rabbi Lau said in a radio interview,  “you should not go to a place that explicitly belongs to groups that you know don’t respect klal yisrael (the Community of Israel).” 

In response, Naftali Bennett’s office issued the following statement: “Minister Bennett believes that public leaders in Israel need to bring Jews closer and not alienate them, and he views comments that alienate rather than bringing people closer with major concern.”

I especially appreciated a letter written to Rabbi Lau by Daniel Labovitz, former president of the school, in which he wrote, “You insulted me directly and personally, Rabbi, when you said that this school, of which I was president for four years, and which has educated both of my sons to love Israel, explicitly belongs to groups that you know don’t respect klal yisrael.  You insulted me directly and personally, Rabbi, when you said that my son, who sat next to Minister Bennett on the floor and sang, "yachad, lev el lev niftach b'tikva,” (“together, we will open each other’s hearts with hope”) doesn't respect klal yisrael.  You insult me personally because two of the graduates of Schechter Manhattan are currently serving in the IDF, defending klal yisrael, something that most of the Haredi men their age aren't doing.”

On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we sing the prayer, hayom t’gadleinu.  Today, make us larger.  On Hanukkah, we follow the opinion of Hillel by increasing the number of candles we light each night so that we can increase holiness in the world.  How sad that Rabbi Lau chooses to reduce rather than enlarge, to be incapable of seeing an abundance of holiness even when it is coursing through the hearts and souls of children and the adults who love and guide them.

Fortunately Naftali Bennett knows better, and so do we.  At the Solomon Schechter School of Manhattan, at Temple Israel of Great Neck and at numerous other places across the globe, we understand that there are multiple paths toward embracing the beauty of our heritage and enhancing the glory of klal yisrael. 

Originally written for the Temple Israel Voice, December 18, 2015 edition

Where Everyone is Really Welcome: a Vision for Temple Israel of Great Neck

Thousands of years ago, our ancestors told a story about a man who was afraid to reunite with his brother after a rift that had occurred several decades prior.  He took a variety of precautions, sent his family along ahead of himself, and was left all alone.  Another man appeared and struggled with him until dawn. 

 Jacob Wrestling with the Angel by Marc Chagall

These moments in the life of our patriarch Jacob, moments of isolation and struggle, are not hidden from us.  They were described and recorded and, not only that, they became essential to his identity and to his new name, Israel, ישראל Yisra’el.

Which became the name for the nation, ישראל yisra’el, who are known as בני ישראל b’nei yisra’el, the children of Israel.

I have some questions for all of us on this beautiful Shabbat morning of Thanksgiving weekend. 

Given that our ancestor was Yisrael – who struggled, prevailed, complained and prevailed again.  And that our people bear his name.  And that our synagogue bears his name.  

Why do we exert so much energy pretending that everything is just fine when it’s not?  

Why are our synagogues, this one included, places where by and large people feel uncomfortable sharing anything beyond, “I’m fine, thank you”?

Why is it that in 2015, people whose life circumstances are other than happily married with high-achieving children sometimes wonder if they are fully welcomed here and in other synagogues?

How did the children of Israel – tormented dreamer and struggler, Israel who has good days and lousy days, Israel who sometimes supports his children and sometimes messes up spectacularly with regard to his children, Israel whose roller-coaster of a life is captured in unflinching detail in our Torah, Israel who is asked at the end of his life how he’s doing and says, “badly, thank you for asking” – how did the children of Israel come to believe that they are being measured, explicitly or implicitly, against certain narrow expectations and that they have to come into God’s house appearing to have it all together even when they don’t?

It’s exhausting.  It’s debilitating.  And the craziest part of it is that it isn’t even authentic to our tradition.