Navigating with Wisdom and Strength

GPS is very convenient for sure but I joke with our kids that they need GPS to drive from our house to the train station.  Because they emerged as drivers with GPS as part of their reality, they have a poorer sense of direction than they otherwise would. Their internal navigation system is diminished because they don’t have to rely on it so much.

Norbert Friedman (1923-2019)

In general navigation is becoming a lost art.  I’m not thinking now about driving to the train station.  I’m thinking about navigating complex situations.  And while I could give all kinds of examples, specifically I want us to think about how the Jewish community is navigating the realities that we face which include, sadly and ominously, a rise in Antisemitism in Europe and the United States along with systemic infringements on the rights of others.

How do we navigate?  Do we protect ourselves?  Do we protect others?

Do we build walls?  Do we build bridges?  How do we determine who are our friends and who are our enemies?

The same way that GPS for all of its value may be causing our capacity to navigate on the road to atrophy, I am concerned that social media for all of its value may be causing our capacity to navigate complex social and political realties to be less sharp than it once was. 

Just a few days ago, I found out about the death of someone I care about, someone who had a strong impact on me, someone who knew how to navigate life’s complexities.  I want to say a few words about him because he deserves it but also because reflecting on his life, I believe, will be illuminating for all of us.

Norbert Friedman died a few days ago at the age of 96.  He survived the Holocaust and was imprisoned in 11 concentration camps.  He lived for many years in West Hempstead and I got to know him well as his rabbi for 7 years.  

Being Religious

This past Yom Kippur I mentioned a friend whom I envied when I was elementary school.  I envied him because he would get more expensive presents from his parents on Hanukkah than I did.  When I went over to his house once during Hanukkah, he showed me the amazing train set that his parents got him.  He asked me what I got the night before, I mentioned something that I’d gotten - I think it was a book.  And he said, only a book?  And then, to drive the point home, he said to me, “I guess your family isn’t as religious as mine.”

A question that we ask ourselves from time to time is, what makes a person religious?  I’m often intrigued when people tell me, as a rabbi, that they’re not religious.

As in - Rabbi, I don’t like to pray.  I’m not religious.   Or - I don’t keep all the rules.  I’m not religious.

I'm not sure exactly what people intend to convey when they say that.  Maybe they feel bad and are apologizing.  Maybe they are feeling superior, and saying something like, “I’m sophisticated enough not to worry too much about all this stuff.” 

This morning’s Torah portion ends with a description that is often associated with “being religious.”

A group of male leaders up on a mountaintop see a vision of God, complete with sapphire and light.  The Torah says ויחזו את האלהים Vayehezu et ha’elohim.  They saw God.

But I would argue that the rest of this morning’s parasha, most of the parasha, presents a different approach to "being religious" that is at least as significant.  Not up on a mountain trying to envision God, but in the world, trying to do what’s right by God's creatures.  So here are a few examples, as well as a word about the Lubavitcher Rebbe and Ben Franklin who had some worthwhile things to say about the religious enterprise.