Empathy Holds Us Together: a Message for Yom Hashoah and All Year Long

On March 21 of this year, Rabbi Herschel Schacter died at the age of 96.  Rabbi Schacter had a long career as a pulpit rabbi in the Moshulu Jewish Center in the Bronx.

But he is even more widely known as the first Jewish chaplain to enter Buchenwald following its liberation by General Patton in April, 1945. 

When he entered, he asked if there were any Jews still alive and was taken to a barracks of Jewish inmates, lying on planks.  They looked down at Rabbi Schacter, in military uniform, and they were frightened. 

He said, Shalom Aleichem, yidden.  Ihr sint frei.  Greetings, Jews.  You are free!

And slowly, slowly, people began to absorb the significance of what had happened.  And some started to join Rabbi Schacter, going from one barracks to the other, telling one another that they were now free.

Weeks later, it was Pesach Sheni, the second Pesach, the day set aside in ancient times for those who were unable to celebrate Pesach during its ordinary time.

According to an account by a prisoner of the camp, Shiku Smilovic, Rabbi Schacter brought matzah and distributed it to everyone.  He started to deliver a sermon to all of the recently liberated prisoners.  At one point, the rabbi said, “We know what you have gone through” and a former prisoner started to scream.

Opening Doors: A Special Passover Appeal to the Younger Generation

 

In keeping with the speech that President Obama delivered recently in Jerusalem, addressed to the younger generation of Israelis, I want to speak in particular to the younger generation here.  If you are young enough that your whole life unfolded since the advent of the Internet, please listen carefully.  (And everyone else can listen, too.)

I want to emphasize the importance of opening doors.  Toward the end of the Seder, following the meal, we pour a cup for Elijah and we open the door to our homes.

We connect the two customs today; however, they emerged at different times, for different reasons.

The pouring of a cup for Elijah is an early modern custom – as Elijah is associated with redemption, the “fifth cup,” connected with redemption, became known as the Cup of Elijah.

How about the custom of opening the door?  That custom precedes the Cup of Elijah by several centuries.

Rabbi David Silber offers that it may have been a way to emphasize the imperative to invite all who are hungry to eat; it may also have been a way to invite everyone to praise God during Hallel.

Opening a door requires risk.  At the very least, you throw off the carefully controlled temperature inside. 

And who knows who may come in if you open the door and how it might change the dynamics within?

But since we’ve been opening doors for at least 10 centuries, maybe there’s something to it.  Something to the balance between risk and hope that opening a door represents.

So if you’re young enough that you don’t think that “retweet” is someone saying the word “retreat” with a speech impediment, I’m about to ask you to consider opening some doors.

Ancient Priests, New Pope: Where Judaism Coincides and Differs

Mr. Goldberg was bragging to his boss one day, "You know, I know everyone there is to know. Just name someone, anyone, and I know him."

Tired of his boasting, his boss called his bluff, "OK, Goldberg, how about Tom Cruise?"

"Sure, yes, Tom and I are old friends, and I can prove it."

So Goldberg and his boss fly out to Hollywood and knock on Tom Cruise's door and sure enough, Tom Cruise, shouts, "Goldberg! Great to see you! You and your friend come right in and join me for lunch!"

Although impressed, Goldberg's boss is still skeptical. After they leave Cruise's house, he tells Goldberg that he thinks Goldberg's knowing Cruise was just lucky.

"No, no, just name anyone else," Goldberg says. "President Obama," his boss quickly retorts. "Yes," Goldberg says, "I know him, let's fly out to Washington."

And off they go. At the White House, Obama spots Goldberg on the tour and motions him and his boss over, saying, "Goldberg, what a surprise, I was just
on my way to a meeting, but you and your friend comeon in. Let's have a cup of coffee first, and catch up.”

Well, the boss is very shaken by now, but still not totally convinced. After they leave the White House grounds, he expresses his doubts to Goldberg, who again implores him to name anyone else.

"The Pope," his boss replies. "Sure!" says Goldberg. "I've known the Pope a long time."  

So off they fly to Rome. Goldberg and his boss are assembled with the masses in Vatican Square when Goldberg says, "This will never work... I can't catch the Pope's eye among all these people. Tell you what, I know all the guards so let me just go upstairs and I'll come out on the balcony with the Pope."

Passion is Not a Dirty Word

A few years ago, Bill and Jerry Ungar, longstanding leaders of our congregation, were honored in the city and I was asked to introduce them, which I was happy to do.  Jerry passed away a few years ago and Bill, who wrote two books about his survival of the Shoah and his experience in America, recently celebrated his 100^th birthday. 

I was so honored to be able to introduce them that I got very excited when I was speaking.  

I finished my intro and walked off the stage when I heard a voice saying, “You spoke with great passion!” 

It was an unmistakable voice and it took me a moment to process.  I looked and saw Dr. Ruth Westheimer, looking up at me.

I thanked her quickly, walked back to my table, and immediately texted my wife, Deanna:  “Just received an unexpected compliment from an expert.  Details to follow.” 

With subjects like Bill and Jerry Unger, it’s easy to get passionate, so easy that you overcome whatever natural reticence you might have.

I believe that in general, we are hesitant to show people that we’re really “into” something.  For children and teens, even for adults, there is a certain pressure not to go “over the top” in all kinds of situations, not to appear “too excited” about things, to more or less keep things cool.

This morning, with reference to leaders past, and bar mitzvah boys and girls present and a few others, as well, I want to make the case that we need to try to overcome our inclination to keep things cool.

Passion is not a dirty word.  We need more of it, not less.

Climbing Teen Mountain

Moses is up on the mountain for forty days and forty nights.  He comes down once with a set of tablets and smashes the tablets because the people have not lived up to his expectations.  He goes back again and acquires a new set.

But while he’s up there the first time, the people get nervous.  They get restless.  They ask Aaron to make them a god כי זה משה האיש אשר העלנו מארץ מצרים לא ידענו מה היה לו ki zeh moshe ha’ish asher he’elanu me’eretz mitzrayim lo yadanu meh haya lo

"As for this man, Moses, who 'lifted us up' from the land of Egypt, we don’t know what happened to him."  (Exodus 32:1)

I want to propose an analogy.   You have a small child, sweet and delicious, the child gives you so much pleasure, lifts you up out of your inchoate fear that your impact on the world will not last, gives you a glimmer of immortality.

And the child grows and starts to become more complex, more sullen, less transparent, and you say, this sweet little kid who laughed and sang and told me everything – meh haya lo?  Meh haya la?

What happened to him?  What happened to her?

The onset of adolescence, teen-hood, whatever we want to call it, is off-putting and sometimes downright frightening.

And sometimes we crave short-cuts.  If only we could do this, or do that, chag ladonai machar.  Tomorrow, we can have our delicious child back again.

But it’s not so simple.

Last week, Rabbi Adelson spoke about the lunch and learn program at Torah Ohr which takes place during Great Neck North High School lunchtime.  And some people said, “Good for you!  We need to fight back!” and some people said, “Why are you so upset?  It’s not their fault, it’s OUR fault!”   And some people said, “How DARE you criticize another rabbi and another synagogue?”

Many people had strong reactions.   Fueled in part, I believe, by the reality that the “time up on the mountain” that adolescence represents can be terrifying for parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, teachers, high school principals, and even rabbis.

It’s terrifying ‘cause we don’t know what’s going on inside the child the way we used to a few years back.  It’s terrifying because we don’t know what tablets our children and grandchildren will come down with, or in what fashion they’ll come back down to us at all.

Ed Koch and the Lost Arc

I imagine many of us took the opportunity to watch portions of the funeral of Ed Koch, the outspoken, good-hearted, former mayor of New York.

Mayor Bloomberg made a number of insightful comments in his eulogy.

He pointed to Koch’s advice to him when he first started out in politics.  Say what you think and don’t worry about what others think.

He observed that Koch had the confidence and courage to believe that problems could be solved.

And he said that Ed Koch restored the arc of our city’s history, commenting on how he began to rescue the city from decline.

Former President Clinton admired how Koch continued, until the very end, to concern himself with the public good.

One thing he said in particular struck me, and I want to expand upon it.

Clinton said of Koch that he always concerned himself with the impact that government would have on real people’s lives.

Right, Left and Together

The Israeli elections surprised virtually everyone.   The expectation was that the extreme right wing in Israel would gain greater strength than they had before, and lo and behold, a centrist party under the leadership of a charismatic politician, journalist and actor named Yair Lapid, gained more seats than anyone expected.

I’d like to take us on what I hope will be an enjoyable and enlightening ride.  I want to talk about what motivates left-wing and right-wing thinking.  And the 10 commandments.  And the importance of unity, given the reality of diversity.

But first, I want to say a few words about ketchup, that delightful sauce that we squeeze onto hamburgers.