Parashat Chayei Sarah 5769 - Forgiving

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Chayei Sarah, we mourn the deaths of both Sarah and Abraham, parents of the Jewish people. This week, I am drawn in particular to the scene of Abraham’s burial. The Torah explains:

This was the total span of Abraham's life: one hundred and seventy-five years. And Abraham breathed his last, dying at a good ripe age, old and contented; and he was gathered to his kin. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamrethe field that Abraham had bought from the Hittites; there Abraham was buried, and Sarah his wife (Genesis 25:7-9).

On the surface, this is a routine, if not touching, burial scene: Abraham’s sons Isaac and Ishmael bury their father. And yet, the depth of this passage is actually much greater. For, you see, this is the first time Ishmael is facing his family since he and his mother were banished from their camp (described in last week’s Torah portion Vayeira in Genesis 21).

The great Medieval Torah scholar, Rashi, suggests, “From this [scene] we gather that Ishmael repented of his evil ways and yielded the precedence to Isaac.” But, I cannot see this scene through Rashi’s eyes. I believe that Rashi, attempting to elevate Isaac’s status even further, fails to perceive an even greater lesson in Ishmael’s actions. Ishmael had no evil ways from which to repent, at least no evil ways described in the Torah. As far as the Torah presents it, Ishmael is a victim, parented by Abraham and Hagar, Abraham’s Egyptian slave.

What are we to make of Ishmael’s life? At the hands of our ancestors, he was a victim of jealousy and pain, of anger and pettiness. But, there is purpose to all in Torah. I believe that we are to see in Ishmael a model of unique proportions. Ishmael, in this week’s parashah, transcends the hurt and pain caused by his parents and his birth family. Ishmael, despite all that had happened in his life, returned to honor his father’s memory. Despite what was done to him. Despite the details of his origins.

Each one of us privately holds our own hurts. Each one of us has been wronged, offended, or mistreated by others. Just as much as life is defined by our joy, it is also defined by our pain. Forgiveness is a deeply difficult task. On Yom Kippur we are asked to focus ourselves on apologizing to those we have wronged. But, I believe, the real work of Yom Kippur, and of our daily lives, lies not only in asking for forgiveness, but also in forgiving those who have wronged us, even when they don’t ask for our forgiveness. Abraham never asks for Ishmael’s. Nor does Sarah. Nor does Isaac. And yet, Ishmael returns. He returns to pay honor to his father and to stand side by side with his brother. And, maybe, Ishmael returns, as well, to begin his own healing.

On this Shabbat, I pray that each of us may take a few moments to consider those hurts we still carry with us. May we explore our own capacities for forgiveness. May we be inspired by the image of Ishmael, standing by his brother, mourning his father. May we imagine in Ishmael’s silent prayers words of honor and blessing.

In Response to Proposition 8

The Psalmist declares, “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy” (Psalm 126:5).

In May 2008, we knew joy. And, in November 2008, we once again knew tears.

But, our tradition reminds us that nothing is static.

Ecclesiastes tells us, “A season is set for everything, a time for every experience under the heaven,” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

Those who supported Proposition 8 told us your time is never. But, there were millions of Californians who told us otherwise.

And, I say: The time for equality is now.

“One may lie down weeping at nightfall; but at dawn there are songs of joy” (Psalm 30:5).

Now, we must act. We must not lose hope. We must continue living.

“A time for silence and a time for speaking,” (Ecclesiastes 3:7)

Let us not lose voice. Let us join as one voice.

Martin Luther King, Jr. proclaimed, “The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice...”

And so, we will continue to seek, continue to demand, continue to act for justice.

Parashat Lech L'cha 5769 -- The Land must support us all

This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Lech L’cha, begins with God’s famous call to Abram, “Go forth from your land” (Genesis 12:1). God promises Abram that his name will be great and that he will father a great nation. With these promise-filled words, Abram sets off toward Canaan with his wife Sarai and his nephew Lot.

Let us imagine this ancient entourage, making its way through the desert toward their newly defined destiny. Let us listen in on their conversations, tinged with excitement, anxiety, and fear. Let us smell their animals, clobbering along, and envision their amassed possessions, folded smartly into canvases. This is the image of our people’s beginnings!

And yet, what is hard to imagine, or maybe not that hard to imagine, is the speed with which our pastoral image cracks. There is a famine in the land. There is a scarcity of resources. Our ancestors fear for their safety. They encounter strangers with new customs. There is strife between uncle and nephew. The Torah teaches, “Now Lot, who had gone with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents, so that the land could not support them both” (Genesis 13:5-6).

This is a story as ancient as any. The land could not support them both. And so, Lot takes off in one direction and Abram in another. And God tries again. “And Adonai said to Abram, after Lot had parted from him, ‘Raise your eyes and look out from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west, for I give all the land that you see to you and your offspring forever” (Genesis 13:14-15).

Our Torah is trying to teach us something, here. Conflicts are not solved by mere separation, by simply turning our backs to the problem, by simply sending it away. As hard as God tries, as hard as Abram tries, sending the problem away does not make it disappear. The land could not support them both. These are dangerous words; the Torah seems to warn us. Lot and Abram separate, but the story won’t end.

Just one chapter later, Lot and his family are taken prisoner and Abram rescues them. And in next week’s Torah portion, Lot and his family find themselves embroiled in a dangerous, terrible moral drama. Abram is once again face to face with his nephew.

No! Our Torah seems to cry. The land must support us all. We cannot solve the difficult, especially the most fundamental of differences, by ignoring them, turning our backs on them, or banishing them. Today’s Torah portion reminds us that healing is needed in the face of conflict. Healing comes when we seek to understand, when we seek to solve.

On this Shabbat, each of is called upon to consider the ways in which we simply turn our backs on that which feels too much for us to confront. Torah tells us, we are all made from dust of the same earth and we are all destined to live upon it together. The land must support us all. And, we must learn to live on it.

Parashat Noah 5769 -- Vote!

It is fitting that, this year, we will read Parashat Noah on the Shabbat before Election Day, November 4. I say “fitting” because this week’s Torah portion provides us with a lesson in civic involvement. We can imagine that Noah, whose name means “pleasantness,” must have looked out at his world and seen something quite the opposite. In his age, Noah was surrounded by corruption and lawlessness. God, as the text tells us, witnessed this corruption and told Noah “‘I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with lawlessness because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth” (Genesis 6:13). Noah was spared this end. As the Torah tells us, “Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his age; Noah walked with God” (Genesis 6:9).

Let us imagine Noah’s reaction to God’s dire pronouncement. Surely, even before God spoke to him, Noah must have feared that the troubles of his time were so great that the very fabric of society might rip apart around him. Surely, Noah had been expecting something terrible to happen. Surely, Noah knew that the created world was headed on a course to disaster. But this course? And, at the hands of God? Was Noah, this man of pleasantness, expecting God to destroy the world?

It is hard to say.

Noah, the blameless man, never gives us any indication of his feelings. God tells Noah, “Make yourself an ark,” and Noah sets about doing so (Genesis 6:14). He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t mourn. He doesn’t try to change his society for the better. He doesn’t say anything to forestall the destruction. He doesn’t do anything to stop God’s plan. He simply builds an ark.

In today’s world, we too are surrounded by global issues that threaten our society’s destruction. At home, we are concerned with financial crisis and healthcare, with war and unemployment. Globally, we are faced with poverty and climate change. Just to name a few concerns…

Yes, we might say, every generation faces destruction. But, age after age, we avoid that destruction. Destruction is avoided only by the actions of strong willed individuals, burning with a sense of moral outrage. Destruction is avoided when people care not only for themselves, but for the present and future of their society.

Destruction is avoided when people stop building their own arks and start changing the world around them.

Noah is an appropriate parasha for Election Day because it shakes us with this fundamental truth: It is not enough to be blameless. It is not enough to build our own arks. It is our responsibility to care for the entire world. Would Noah have gone to the voting booth on Election Day, or would he have busied himself with gopher wood?

On Election Day, it is not enough for us to build our own arks. We must add our voices to the multitude who are trying to stop the flood. We stop the flood when we exercise our civic duty by being agents of our own destiny. This is what being a contributing citizen is all about.

Parashat B'reishit 5769

In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat B’reishit, we encounter the beginnings of our world. We are called upon to envision the process of turning chaos and void into earth and life. This week’s parasha, though, speaks not only of creation, but also of the fundamental definitions of what it means to be human. Being human means struggling and learning; it means falling and forgiving. Humans, we learn from the first stories of Torah, are creatures capable of violence and compassion, of good and evil.

In Parashat B’reishit, we read “God created the human beings in [the divine] image, creating [them] in the image of God” (Genesis 1:27). In this oft-cited verse, we learn that all human beings are considered equally close to the divine, regardless of our particular attributes or differences. We are taught that the first human being, adam, was created out of the dust of the earth, adamah, teaching us that we have a fundamental connection not only to all of humanity, but also to all of creation.

The question of what makes us essentially human has been on my mind since this past Sunday, after I listened to the National Public Radio program Speaking of Faith with Krista Tippett. The program, which airs locally on 89.3 KPCC at 4:00 pm on Sundays, explores issues of faith in meaningful and provocative ways. Speaking of Faith is my weekly post-religious school treat and I listen to it (pardon the pun) religiously!

This past week, the show was entitled “Being Autistic, Being Human.” (you can download the mp3 if you are interested). During the broadcast, Tippett’s guest, Paul Collins explains, “...Autism is an ability and a disability: it is as much about what is abundant as what is missing, an over-expression of the very traits that make our species unique. Other animals are social, but only humans are capable of abstract logic. The autistic out-human the humans and we can scarcely recognize the result.”

And I wonder again: What are the traits that make us essentially human? At the World Science Festival, held this past June in New York City, a panel of scientists gathered to discuss this very question. According to the Wired Science Blog, one participant, Marvin Minsky, an artificial intelligence pioneer, suggested that “We do something other species can’t: We remember. We have cultures, ways of transmitting information.”

And I think: Remembering. Yes! Is this not the ultimate purpose of Torah? Torah is meant to remind us that we have common origins. We read Torah to remember that we are all created in the same divine image. We read Torah to remember that we are called upon to be a just and compassionate people. We read Torah to remember that even before we were Israel, we were humanity. We read Torah to remember that being human means more than just existing.

We become fully human when we recognize the humanity of others. And, this I believe was the purpose of Tippett’s recent reflections. When we look to those around us and see them not as “less human,” but “more human,” we are able to elevate all of existence.

What does it mean to be human? It means to remember. And to remember carefully. For how we remember shapes who we are and what we will become. My blessing for us all on this Shabbat is that we remember and we remember well. May our foundational memories, retold to us this week, shape our actions toward good in this world.

Sukkot 5769

We find ourselves in the middle of the holiday of Sukkot. Sukkot is called Z’man Simchateinu, the Season of our Joy, for, on Sukkot, we are commanded to be joyful. Interestingly enough, on Sukkot we are also instructed to build sukkot, or temporary structures and to read the book of Ecclesiastes, a book filled with images of impermanence. And I wonder: What does our tradition want with us, leaving us with this odd mixture of joy and impermanence?

I believe that our tradition teaches us something profound this week: Our people have long recognized that moments of pure joy can be difficult to reach and recognize. We must treasure the moments of joy in our life and create space for them. Sukkot tells us: Once this elusive emotion is grasped, take pleasure in its coming and don’t worry about how long it will last.

In one of my favorite biblical passages, The Psalmist sings, “One may lie down weeping at nightfall; but at dawn there are songs of joy (Psalm 30:5). Life is full of moments of pain as surely as it is filled with moments of simcha. This is a time for seizing joy! As the poet Robert Graves explains, seizing it “despite and still.”

On this Sukkot, I pray that each of us takes time to reflect on the m’korot simcha, the sources of joy in our lives. May we draw these centers of joy close to us. As we take our lulav and etrog and eat our meals outside, let us remember that quiet skies follow even the windiest of days. As we gaze up through the roofs of our sukkot at the now waning moon in the sky, let us remember that everything that wanes will once again wax. “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy,” (Psalm 126:5). Let us all reap in joy in the days to come!

Exodus 33:12–34:26 is the special Torah portion this week. We read this portion on the Shabbat that falls during intermediary days of Sukkot.

Yom Kippur 5769 -- Love Your Neighbor as Yourself

My Yom Kippur Sermon on Marriage Equality begins...

A month after I was ordained as a rabbi, I found myself walking into a country club, signature black leather briefcase in hand, ready to officiate at my first Jewish wedding. Moments later, I looked down at the first California Marriage License I would sign as a solo officiant. My hand shook as I tried to make sense of the official document before me. I took a deep breath and brought to mind the calming words of Rabbi Cohen: Whatever you do, just don’t mess up the marriage license!

Click here to read the rest of the sermon.