Taking Out the Garbage

Ufashat et begadav.  ופשט את בגדיו  He removed the clothing he was wearing. 

V’lavash b’gadim aherim.  ולבש בגדים אחרים  And he put on different clothing.

V’hotzi et hadeshen el mihutz lamahaneh.  והוציא את הדשן אל מחוץ למחנה  And he took the ashes outside of the camp.

The Torah is a profound book.  It talks about the creation of the world.  It talks about creating a just society.  It talks about journeys from slavery to freedom, from wilderness to promised land.

Why on earth does this same Torah tell us, in effect, that the Kohen, the priest, changed his outfit in order to take out the garbage?

Rashi says that the Torah is teaching basic derekh eretz, good manners.  The Kohen didn’t want to mess up the clothing that he used for the ritual sacrifices, so he wore a less dignified outfit.

For me personally, this little action on the part of the Kohen is a metaphor for what we need to do more often than we do, and that is, to step away from business as usual, to dress down if we need to, and to begin to remove the garbage that’s all around us and that sometimes seeps within.

By garbage, I mean unacceptable circumstances that we nevertheless accept, due to factors like inertia, obligation and fear. 

When you see an individual or a nation “put on new clothing” and begin to remove the garbage, it’s inspirational.

I want to share some of the inspiration, and then I want to challenge each of us to look within ourselves.

A few days ago, the acting president of Ukraine, Oleksandr Turchynov, wrote an op-ed to the Times in which he presented a message to the Russian leadership, especially Vladimir Putin. 

Downton Abbey and the Jewish Approach to Change

The fourth season of Downton Abbey just finished.  For those who may not know, Downton Abbey is a TV series about an upper class British family and their servants at the beginning of the 21^st century.

Spoiler alert:  I’m going to frame my comments with two scenes from the final episode of the season. 

There are two "grand dames" in the show – one British, played by Maggie Smith; one American, played by Shirley MacLaine.  They have a relationship that is icy at best.  Maggie Smith is all British restraint, subtle sarcasm, old money.  Shirley MacLaine’s character is brash American, overt hostility, nouveau riche.  In the final episode, they have kind of a showdown where Shirley MacLaine's character accuses Maggie Smith's of being a snob and says, in effect, you are clinging to the past and I am facing the future.

I want to talk about change.  The inevitability of change, our resistance to change, and the wisdom Judaism offers us regarding how to face change.

Of course, change is universal and changing circumstances impact all people, all countries, all cultures. 

Downton Abbey explores it in Great Britain.  Jumpa Lahiri’s novel, Lowlands, traces the arc of change and its impact on multiple generations in India. Khaled Hossein’s And the Mountain Echoed explores is in Afghanistan.

We need to learn how to handle change because it happens – to us personally and to our surroundings. 

The Underside Must Be Understood

Last week, Deanna and I went to see the 9/11 memorial at Ground Zero. 

For those who haven’t seen it, it consists of two enormous square structures that contain the names of everyone who died during the attacks engraved in bronze – one in the place where the north tower stood, the other in the place where the south tower stood.  The memorial structures are also fountains, which empty down toward the center.

We looked specifically for the names of two people that we have some connection to through our personal and professional lives.

The attacks took place over 12 years ago.  That means that the children who are becoming bar and bat mitzvah now don’t remember them at all.

Sometimes, I fear, we have a tendency to minimize the dark underside that threatens us as human beings.  We are devastated when that dark underside comes to the surface and wreaks destruction, but then we settle into our routines.  And we grow complacent in the trappings of civilization that give us the illusion that the dark underside has somehow disappeared.

Judaism doesn’t ignore the underside.  It never did.  From our earliest Biblical tradition, violence, anger and lust (which can be dark or have dark implications) have been acknowledged.

Every Soul in Praise of God: Reflections on a Week in Jerusalem

I spent the past week in Israel with a cohort of rabbis as part of the rabbinic leadership initiative at the Hartman Institute.  We learned, prayed, joked, sang, hiked and jogged together.  I made the mistake of going jogging with a few colleagues who jog every day outdoors.  The first two miles along the old train tracks through the neighborhoods of Baka and Katamon were very pleasant and at one point I realized that we were jogging downhill.  I was happily schmoozing about life and the universe when we turned around and, as I should have intuited, the two miles seemed a lot longer .

The learning was very unique.  The Hartman scholars are chosen from a variety of areas – Bible, Rabbinics, Jewish Mysticism – and the overarching theme that was studied was תקון עולם tikkun olam, often translated as the “repair of the world," though it has a variety of meanings connected with actual creation.

A related theme emerged for me that underscored the formal learning as well as the informal experiences I had with my colleagues in different parts of Jerusalem, a theme that is crucial to my vision of my rabbinate and our community.  Without it, actually, tikkun olam in any of its variations isn't possible.

The theme emerged during a special a special Rosh Hodesh service I attended.

Fortunately, we were in Israel during Rosh Hodesh Adar I, the beginning of the Jewish month of Adar I.  For services that morning, I went with some of my colleagues to join the Women of the Wall, a group of women who for decades have been getting together at the beginning of each Jewish month at the Kotel to pray.

Gathering on the Kotel plaza before the Women of the Wall service began to usher in the month of Adar I.  

Jerusalem From Afar and Up Close

After a six-month hiatus, I'm back with a wonderful cohort of rabbis participating in the Hartman Institute's Rabbinic Leadership Initiative.  It has been a real blessing to reconnect with colleagues in person and to hear about personal and professional developments over the past half-year.  On our first day, we also took some long walks to reacquaint ourselves with certain neighborhoods in Jerusalem.  

Jerusalem in winter has a different feel and pace than Jerusalem during the summer.  The air is crisper and the crowds are much thinner.  Our first official session featured a conversation with Rabbi Donniel Hartman, President of the Institute.  He spoke to us about a project designed to engage adults in conversation regarding Israel's approach to the "two-state solution."  The visionaries behind the project were challenged to identify what values underscore their attitudes toward the establishment of two states for Israelis and Palestinians, respectively.  Rabbi Hartman shared that his support for a two-state solution is grounded in three basic values.

First, our sources from Genesis on urge us to be "part of the world," to be mindful of what those whose opinions we value are thinking.  In this case, argues Hartman, that means recognition of the widespread view that Israel's relationship with the West Bank is one of occupation.  Second, the Kantian imperative of acting in a way that we would want to see become the universal norm compels us to accord the sort of recognition of the national aspiration of others that we would want accorded to our own aspirations.   Finally, the Jewish penchant for justice, which he claims to have an exceptional quality, urges us to go "above and beyond" when it comes to pursuing justice.

He asked us for initial feedback, which a number of us provided. I wondered aloud, for example, if the Institute had considered including Palestinian leaders in their visioning process.  We briefly discussed that, as well as other feedback, with the promise that this conversation would continue and be expanded. 

Our week here will be devoted to the exploration of various aspects of Jewish ethics, including ethical issues implicit in Jewish holidays and in various dilemmas facing contemporary Israel.

Below is a picture that I took today from the Haas Promenade in Talpiyot, a destination of one of our walks.  It features the Old City and the Arab village of Silwan.  From far away, Jerusalem looks so peaceful.  In the coming week, we're going to take a closer look. 

God Can Wait

I believe this is what God wants. 

How many times have we heard some variation on that claim in support of a particular action? How often do we hear individuals, communities and nations invoke Divine support for something they’ve done or intend to do? 

This may sound strange coming from a rabbi, but I think we would often do well to back away from that claim, at least until we have carefully weighed the ethical implications of our actions or action plans.

Better that we carefully consider, before we invoke God, whether or not our intentions are ethical.  Though there are many criteria that one can use to determine that, I’m hard-pressed to think of a more compelling litmus test than the one-liner that Hillel the Elder delivered to a heathen who asked the sage to teach him the entire Torah while he stood on one foot:  “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.” 

Imagine if we used that measure to help us consider a variety of questions, including:  Whether or not to wage a particular war.  Whether to allow full rights to people regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation.  Whether to advocate for a livable minimum wage and accessible health care for everyone.  How to respond to environmental disasters wherever they might occur.

The Power of Small Gestures

Our family visited in the Kennedy Space Center in Florida this past Monday.  It’s a very interesting place, the sight of rocket and shuttle launches for the last half a century and the repository of parts of the actual aircraft and detailed pictures and explanations about space exploration.

It’s extraordinary in so many ways.  For example, when you consider how rudimentary computer technology was when the Apollo rocket was launched, it’s especially remarkable that all of the calculations necessary for a successful launch and landing added up.   

We saw an IMAX movie about the Atlantis shuttle, which was launched on a mission to repair the Hubble space telescope in May of 2009. As I think I’ve shared, I have some discomfort with heights such that I would not be considered as, say, the resident chaplain for a shuttle flight crew.

But I found it amazing to watch as the crew of the Atlantis left the shuttle and, while tethered to it, emerged into the weightlessness of space to repair the telescope, which had, among other things, been photographing the births of stars on galaxies millions of light years away.

One of the astronauts on that mission described how he refastened a portion of the telescope, which required him, suspended in space by a tether, to remove multiple small screws and then refasten them.

He said that in order to be successful, he just focused with zen-like precision on the task at hand.

I thought about the paradox here, that someone surrounded by the enormous cosmic grandeur of space would focus on such tiny gestures. 

And it seemed worth a few moments for me to encourage us all to consider the significance of small gestures in light of realities that can seem overwhelming right here on earth.  In this regard, I want to consider the Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt and, in a more contemporary vein, a recent book about the State of Israel by noted journalist, Ari Shavit.