What's God Got to Do With It?

Drivers Ed, circa 1980.  My teacher delivers the following hypothetical: Suppose it’s night-time and you’re on a deserted highway.  No cops, no one.  You miss an exit.  The next one is 50 miles away.  You can back up a bit and take the exit.  Chances are good that no one will see you.  But you know it’s illegal.

What do you do?

I don’t remember what the answers were.  But I remember that it got me thinking at the time, and I’ve considered the question as part of a larger conversation.

Are we wired to do what’s right or not?  Do we differentiate between different kinds of rules – some affect other people, some seem rational, some seem arbitrary?  How much do we need the cop patrolling to keep us in line?

No Questions Asked

I went to college in New York City and often, on the way to class, was asked for money by people on the street.  Initially I gave without reservation.  Over time, friends and others suggested that I should probably be more circumspect.

After all, I wasn’t sure how the money would be used and I might be giving financial support for self-destructive behavior.

So, following the example of others I witnessed, I began asking those seeking money if I could buy them a sandwich or a piece of fruit.  Some refused, but many accepted.

As a rabbi, I’m often asked to provide money for people in need.  In keeping with the dynamic I discovered as a young man, I respond by giving food cards, no questions asked.

Centuries ago, Rav Yehuda articulated the principle, ein bodkin lim’zonot (Talmud, Bava Batra 9a), meaning that when it comes to providing food, we don’t ask questions.  We don’t examine background, we don’t try to assess motivation.  If someone says he needs food and we are able to provide it, we do so, no questions asked.

I believe this is something that Hatzilu, an organization devoted to providing relief for needy Jews, has always understood.  From the time I moved to Long Island as a rabbinical student, over 20 years ago, I have always been impressed by the intuitive sensitivity that animates Hatzilu’s many volunteers.  The sensitivity emerges from the bedrock understanding that food is a basic human need and hunger is simply unacceptable.

From ancient Palestine to modern New York City and its environs, the words of Rav Yehuda continue to reverberate.  Ein bodkin lim’zonot.  When it comes to giving food, no questions asked, except for one:  How can we continue to help?

Written for the Hatzilu Newsletter, March, 2012

Born Again and Again

Many of us remember the first academic paper we got back from a college professor.  Accustomed to a more glowing reaction from our high school teachers, we may well have sadly surveyed a sea of corrections and a grade that we didn’t rush to share with our parents.   

There are times in our lives when we need to “kick it up a notch.”  Personally and professionally, we are challenged today in ways that defy yesterday’s solutions.  It sometimes feels like we’re in a giant video game.  The moment we think we’ve mastered one level, we find ourselves adrift in the next.

The Torah’s description of the Exodus from Egypt is replete with birth and birthing.  The midwives defy Pharaoh’s orders and save the male children whom they deliver.   The Hebrew word for Egypt, mitzrayim, implies a narrow place.  The Israelites’ departure from Egypt through the Sea of Reeds depicts the birth of a nation.

I don’t think that birthing is a one-time event.  Various life changes require us to reinvent ourselves.  When young children reach physical maturity, when high school students get a rude awakening in college, when a person experiences a change in personal status, when one’s work environment changes drastically, it can call for a kind of reinvention.

Brothers and Sisters

I’m nervous.  Last week, we spoke about an incident where some Haredi/ultra-Orthodox Jews in Israel were harassing young girls walking to school because they felt that they weren’t dressed modestly enough. 

Shortly after that episode took place, in response to demonstrations against their behavior, a small group had their children dressed in concentration camp outfits, including Jewish stars, implying that the Israeli government was persecuting them the way the Nazis persecuted Jews.

Both actions created a negative uproar, as well they should have.  Elie Weisel, quoted in Ha’aretz, said "I never thought they'd stoop to such a low. How dare they? To both desecrate the honor of the State of Israel and the memory of the Holocaust?"

Israeli government officials condemned the behavior, along with many Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox leaders. 

Rabbi Julie Schonfeld, Executive Director of the Rabbinical Assembly, wrote a reaction, as did Rachel Delia Benaim, news editor of the Yeshiva University Observer.  I want to give you the essence of their reactions and my sense of how they can each guide us moving forward.

Bring Back the Mystery

A classic scenario involves a small child watching a sunset.  His eyes widen to embrace the visual symphony of color and shapes.  He sits transfixed for several minutes as the scene intensifies.  As soon as the sun slips beneath the horizon, he starts to clap and calls out, “Again!”

The child is too young to understand that he will have to wait a full day before the performance repeats itself and it will be years before he grasps the scientific underpinnings of what he witnessed.

But a small child intuits that which scientific awareness sometimes dilutes, namely the inherent mystery of the natural world and of life itself.  

I recommend a recent book by Karen Armstrong called The Case for God.  Written in part as a response to the writings of self-described atheists like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchins, it is less a defense of God than an historical overview of trends that characterize how God has been perceived.

The Shortcut Seduction

Israel’s Ministry of Absorption created several ads, aimed at the parents of Israelis living in the United States.  The point of the ads was to convince these parents that Israeli identity will be lost in the US and they ought to bring their children home.  

In one ad, Israeli grandparents are skyping with their children and granddaughter.  

Behind the grandparents is a lit Hanukkah menorah.  Grandma asks the little girl, “Do you know what holiday it is today?” and the little girl says, “Christmas.” 

The girl’s parents look at each other with sadness, and the grandparents look sad as well.  

The unseen narrator says the following:  “They will always remain Israeli.  Their children – no.  Help them return to Israel.” 

Another ad features a young couple coming back from a party.  The man sees his partner sitting next to a lit candle and says to her, assuming she’s interested in a romantic evening, “now I understand why you didn’t want to go to the party.”   Turns out she’s looking on her computer at a display for Yom Hazikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day. 

The unseen narrator says the following:  “They will always remain Israeli.   Their partners won’t always know what that means.” 

The ads caused a lot of controversy in the US. 

Of Forests, Trees and SAT's

Myopia is not just a problem for optometrists.  We suffer from it abroad and in our own backyard.  Among other things, it affects how men and women relate to one another and how children approach their responsibilities.  

I’ll start in Jerusalem and then bring it closer to home.  

There is a new campaign being launched in Israel today by the New Israel Fund.  As described in a recent Ha’aretz article, it seems that there are fewer and fewer pictures of women being displayed publicly in Jerusalem.

It isn’t just a lack of women in bathing suits we’re talking about; it’s fewer and fewer pictures of women altogether as advertisers are increasingly coming under pressure by ultra-Orthodox groups.

So the New Israel Fund decided to launch a campaign.  The campaign is called “women should be seen and heard.”  Specifically, it was started by a group dedicated to maintaining basic equality and tolerance in Jerusalem – a group calling themselves Yerushalmim, residents of Jerusalem.