High Holy Day Sermons 5767/2006
Rabbi Prosnit |
Rabbi Gurevitz |
Erev Rosh Hashanah |
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Rosh Hashanah |
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Erev Yom Kippur |
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Two Kinds of Jews
Erev Rosh Hashanah 5767/2006
Rabbi
James Prosnit
There are two kinds of Jews in the world. There is the kind of Jew who detests war and violence, who believes that fighting is not the Jewish way, who willingly accepts that Jews have their own high standards of behavior...
And there is the kind of Jew who thinks we have been passive long enough, who is convinced that it is time for us to strike back at our enemies, to reject, once and for all the role of victim... And the problem is, most of us are both kinds of Jews.”
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“There are two kinds of Jews in the world. There is the kind of Jew who detests war and violence, who believes that fighting is not the Jewish way, who willingly accepts that Jews have their own high standards of behavior. And not just that we have them but that those standards are our life’s blood. – what we are about.
And there is the kind of Jew who thinks we have been passive long enough, who is convinced that it is time for us to strike back at our enemies, to reject, once and for all the role of victim, who willingly accepts that Jews cannot afford to depend on favors, that we must be tough and strong.
And the problem is, most of us are both kinds of Jews.”
I’ve used those words before to begin a sermon. Twenty four years ago to be exact. September 1982, my second High Holy Day as a rabbi. Israel was involved in a controversial war in Lebanon and I began my sermon paraphrasing those words written by then Moment Magazine editor, Leonard Fein.
It is eerie and a bit depressing for me to think that 24 years later I can begin this night’s sermon with substantially the same quotation and that once again the backdrop of war in Lebanon and a summer of anguishing images of bombing and fierce battle make those words once again ring true. Yes most of us are both kinds of Jews. After our long and grievous history a position of power, a strong army with advanced weaponry is not unappealing to us.
But somehow we still expect our use of power to be more compassionate, more righteous than the next guy. We are called to be a light to the nations and as a result killing, humiliations and the infliction of unnecessary pain are not Jewish attributes. As Jews we would rather live by our wits than by our weapons; we would love to live a vegetarian dream and never have to enter the world of the carnivores.
Sadly the Arab world, with few exceptions has not allowed that to happen. Israeli withdrawal from Lebanon and Gaza was seen as weakness and met by the election of Hamas, the increased popularity of Hezbullah and the renewed influence of Syria and Iran. Talk of a road map to peace, a two-state solution -- Israel and Palestine with Israel willing to make significant territorial compromises was greeted by suicide bombers, and the supplying, stock piling and use of short, medium and long ranged rockets aimed at Israel’s destruction.
The words I used in 1982 do reflect part of our mood tonight, but the reality is different. There are significant distinctions between this war in Lebanon and the last. For me this war is a war for Israel’s survival. And while harsh images of Lebanese lives and infrastructure once again torn asunder are difficult to see and to watch, and are graphic reminders of the horror of war, they are consequences of a government allowing another government committed to Israel’s destruction to function from within its own territory.
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In 1982 outraged Israeli reservists protested in front of Prime Minister Begin’s office demanding to know why they had been sent to fight in what they considered an immoral and futile war. This summer outraged reservists coming directly from the Lebanese front protested in front of Prime Minister Olmert’s office demanding to know why they were not allowed to finish what they consider a moral and essential war.
Jewish tradition understands the difference by identifying two types of legally sanctioned wars. The milchemet resheet and the milchemet mitzvah. The former was a discretionary war one entered with very strict parameters because it was to expand boundaries and to build up the prestige of the ancient kingship. This in ancient days was a legitimate reason to go to war, but the criteria as to how the war was fought were very specific and there were significant limitations on how it was to be waged. In 1982 the Israeli government fought the PLO to the borders of Beirut, enlisted the aid of Lebanese Christian militia and failed to live up to the demands of waging a just war. The milchemet mitzvah is different. It is literally a commanded war. A war to defend oneself against mortal enemies; a war of national self defense.
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Correspondent Yossi Klein Halevi wrote recently in the Times, “Almost all Israelis recognize this moment as existential. Arguably not since the weeks before the 1967 Six Day War, when Arab leaders threatened to drive the Jews in to the sea, has the language of apocalypticism become so much a part of Israeli discourse.”
And perhaps you read a couple of weeks ago in the New Yorker reporter Jeffrey Goldberg’s interview with two Palestinian fathers living in the Gaza Strip. The first, Abu Hassan, a leader of Hamas. “’Yes, we don’t have tanks,’ he said, ‘But we have martyrs…’ He pulled his ninth grade son Hussein close to him. ‘I want him to finish his studies, but if he happens to die I don’t have a problem… so long as he dies as a martyr and on the condition that he takes Jews with him when he dies. I will be happy if he dies this way.’ Hussein ran out of the room and came back with a photograph of himself. ‘This is my martyr picture,’ He said handing it to me. In the photograph he wore khaki shirt and pants and held an AK-47. ‘If I die, this is the photo that will appear on the martyr posters in Gaza.’ All of his school mates have “martyr photos.” ‘We’re happy to sacrifice our families to win this battle.’”
But somehow we still expect our use of power to be more compassionate, more righteous than the next guy. We are called to be a light to the nations and as a result killing, humiliations and the infliction of unnecessary pain are not Jewish attributes. As Jews we would rather live by our wits than by our weapons; we would love to live a vegetarian dream and never have to enter the world of the carnivores.
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The other father, Rafiq Hamdouna was a former leader of Fatah. “My son Basel came to me one day and said he wanted to be a martyr bomber. ‘Basel,’ I said, ‘do you know what happens when you blow yourself up?’ He just looked at me. I said, ‘You don’t go to Heaven. You go into a hole in the ground and you get covered up with dirt.’”
It’s important for us to remember that Palestinians are not monolithic in their views. But it scares me to think that the first father was elected last January along with other members of Hamas and his view is now dominant and in ascendancy. We well know that radical Islam is sweeping the region and Israel is in the line of fire. Its strength and its wisdom in using that strength has global implications.
This reality has silenced and marginalized the peace advocates. Long standing doves in Israel and throughout the Diaspora, myself included have come to understand the significance of the threat and the government’s requirement to protect its citizens, to retrieve it captured soldiers and to defend its very right to exist. To those of you who are about to say ‘Rabbi, I told you so!” -- No I don’t regret past sermons where I have criticized Israel’s occupation and encouraged territorial compromise. To me reflective criticism both inside Israel and without has always been done with an eye toward ensuring a secure Israeli future. Yes I hoped that the rejectionist elements in Arab the world would soften and transform a view that the Middle East is a place for Arabs only. But our post 9/11 reality, this summer’s war and the very real threat of a soon to be nuclear Iran has turned me four square behind Israel’s protective mission.
Hezbullah is not your loosely structured terrorist organization. It is a terrorist army, trained like an army, organized like an army, funded and equipped like an army; with one glaring difference. The main use of its arsenal was terror aimed at Israel’s civilian population while hiding behind Lebanon’s civilian population. Its intent was to cause maximum civilian casualty among both. Hezbullah’s patron, Iran of course is of the greatest concern. An enemy which not only employs a terrorist foreign legion to do its bidding, but pursues nuclear ambitions; all the while its president denies the Holocaust, envisions a world wide Jewish conspiracy and speaks of not only destroying Israel but eliminating Jews.
This summer I was asked to sign on to a rabbinic letter from an organization called Brit Tzedek v’ Shalom (The Covenant of Justice and Peace). The letter questioned Israel’s disproportionate response in Lebanon and suggested that the cycle of violence in the region solves very little. While I have signed such dovish letters in the past, like many, perhaps most, of my colleagues, I could not sign on to this one. While I remain in favor of peace and in favor of justice, I knew that this was not a discretionary war – I believe that Israel had little choice and that when you face an enemy that indiscriminately fires rockets into your cities and towns, kidnaps your soldiers on your territory and wants you and your loved ones wiped off the face of the earth it is difficult to talk about a proportional response.
Correspondent Yossi Klein Halevi wrote recently in the Times, “Almost all Israelis recognize this moment as existential. Arguably not since the weeks before the 1967 Six Day War, when Arab leaders threatened to drive the Jews in to the sea, has the language of apocalypticism become so much a part of Israeli discourse.”
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Israeli rabbi Micky Boyden, whose son Yonatan was killed a in Lebanon a number of years ago responded by writing, “I too share the hope and prayer that hearts that have been closed by hate can turn to compassion. However, I think I can speak for most Israelis when I say that we do not hate the Arabs, we just want them to leave us alone.”
Which leads me to a story. It is also by Leonard Fein and it was written in a book he wrote in 1988. It’s about his fantasy version of the origins of Zionism. He begins:
The year was 1860 or maybe it was 1870. The town was Minsk – or possibly it was Pinsk. Wherever, whenever, there was a group of Jews who would get together for some good talk.
And what did they talk about? Well it was the same conversation all the time. They spoke of Jerusalem. They imagined the city – its climate its culture – every aspect of its environment. They did this with great detail and delight.
Except of course, for one skeptic in the group, Beryl who every once and while would say, “Can’t we please, just this once change the topic conversation. If we’re really serious about Jerusalem we should move there – and see what it really is like. Enough of all this talk.”
The others respond, “Beryl, don’t be naïve. Life here in Minsk (or Pinsk) is much easier, much safer. Think of how hard it would be for us to start all over living there.” Beryl would drop his suggestion for a short time and join in the conversation.
Now the group of Jews was worldly, sophisticated group – and one way that you knew that in 1860 was the fact that they had non-Jewish friends. And from time to time their non-Jewish friends would join in the conversation.
One evening as their guests were leaving, on to the Jews asked one of the gentiles, “What do people like you think of people like us?” And after responding with gracious praise the non-Jew did admit that there was one problem. He said, “With all due respect, your people seem to believe that you’re morally superior to everyone else. Now I don’t think you’re any worse than average, but your moral conceit is frightfully annoying.”
To their credit the Jews did not deny the accusation, but sought instead to explain it.
And they explained it by way of example. They said, “we do indeed think we are your moral better and the reason we is that Jews don’t hunt and that make us better than you.”
Their guests laughed and stormed at them. “You silly, trivial people – of course you don’t hunt! We don’t permit you to own guns.”
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When the guests left Beryl’s friends turned to him and said, “Tomorrow we pack, then we go up to the land to Jerusalem where we shall prove that even with guns we will not become hunters.”
Sadly, we know it was an unrealistic, naïve dream of Beryl and his Zionist friends. And for a long time we lived on it. The battered Holocaust refugee tilling the kibbutz soil and making the desert bloom; the citizen soldier was more farmer than warrior, David with a sling shot more than a fighter pilot. We liked to quote Golda, “I can forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, I can never forgive them for forcing us to kill theirs.” For along time Israel tried to keep its moral chutzpah in tact. But just a half year shy of the fortieth anniversary of the Six Day War we have come to understand that you cannot live on milk and honey dreams for ever. Forty years is a long time to have to exist in an unstable and hostile region.
But you know I can’t leave it there. This may not be the way we would have chosen to enter the year 5767, but we Jews have never chosen the circumstances we have confronted throughout our history. We simply continue to be hopeful, embracing the belief that every day provides an opportunity for change and a radical departure from the tragic events of our own day. To be a Jew someone once said is to be a short term pessimist and a long term optimist. The Hebrew word for “crises,” Mashber; is also the word for a birth stool. I do believe in better days. It is both a matter of faith and a foundation of our history.
When the guests left Beryl’s friends turned to him and said, “Tomorrow we pack, then we go up to the land to Jerusalem where we shall prove that even with guns we will not become hunters.”
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One of my hopes of course, is that we as a congregation never lose sight of that inextricable link between ourselves and the land and people of Israel. Israel is central to our faith, a focus of our prayer and an expression of our yearning. I think we need to work harder in our efforts to support and in our commitment to understand that powerful bond and that crucial connection. We need to be secure enough in our love for Israel that we can respond to our non-Jewish friends and neighbors when they ask questions about proportionality and bristle at the image of Israel’s use of power that pervaded the media this summer. Even for those of us who choose to live here, may the New Year find us educating ourselves in every way, increasing our philanthropy and making plans to visit so we can respond with renewed determination and do all we can to ensure Israel’s vitality and security.
Tonight as we begin this season of reflection and stock taking may we consider well the events of the summer and may we engage in a sincere, thoughtful discussion on which of those two kinds of Jews resonates most strongly in our hearts and minds. A secure, strong state for Jews – a morally secure Jewish state or both kinds of Jews.
With all this in mind, I wish you a peaceful, healthy and fulfilled New Year towards which let us work together. Shanah Tovah.
Life-Long Learning
Rosh Hashanah 5767/2006
Rabbi
James Prosnit
Our Torah Portion began, "And there came a time when God decided to put Abraham to a test." But to me the Akedah is a test of Isaac even more that it is of Abraham. When you consider the story we know Isaac was not a little baby being bound to the altar. He’s a lad, some commentators even suggest he was in his 30’s. He could have run away — bolted before the sacrificial knife came anywhere near. What’s more, after God’s test and Abraham’s willingness to comply, he might easily have abandoned the faith and teachings of his father. "What kind of God would require this?" we could well imagine him cry. But he didn’t. Isaac married, he had children and he passed that fledgling tradition on to Jacob, and Jacob to his sons, and those sons to Moses and so on and so on right down the line. If Isaac had run away like he could have, it all would have ended on that mountain, before it even began. But the amazing thing is — he didn’t. He voluntarily accepted the covenant that God had made with his father and his was a vital link in passing it on to us. And what was true for Isaac was also true for the Jewish people after Auschwitz. So many of those survivors, so many were witnesses to such unspeakable horrors. After liberation, they who survived could have run away. After the murder of a third of the Jewish people by all rights they could have abandoned the tradition, given up the Torah and said it’s just not worth it. Now we have heard and read of some pretty notable cases in recent year, even in recent days (Happy New Year, Senator Allen) where that heritage was hidden from children and grand children. But most – most carried it forward. My son Jacob, along with several of his classmates participated this past year in the adopt-a-survivor program at Merkaz. He learned a survivor’s story and he promised to carry it with him so he could retell it at a gathering in our nations’ capital; scheduled to take place on the hundredth anniversary of liberation in 2045. Abe Baron’s story is truly one of courage and endurance, but most significantly it is a story of faith. After surviving six separate concentration camps, enduring all the deprivations, witnessing so much pain and surrounded by so much death, Abe met his wife Sari at Buchenwald. After her liberation she traveled from camp to camp hoping to find her father. She never did, but she met Abe. He spoke Polish, she Hungarian. They married, came to this country, raised families and stayed committed observant Jews. They refused to give Hitler that posthumous victory by abandoning their faith. Like so many survivors, they lovingly transmit Torah to their children and grandchildren. Contemporary teacher Irving Greenberg has a fascinating understanding of this. He says that during the Shoah, the covenant was broken. God had promised to bless Abraham and Isaac’s descendents if they upheld their part of the agreement and curse them if they abrogated it. The biblical text is very specific in listing the horrible curses that would befall us if the pact were broken. And those biblical curses came true. In fact, they seem benign in comparison to what actually happened to the Jews in Auschwitz and many other places. As a result, Greenberg is left with the startling conclusion that for what ever reason the contract broke. The curses of the last century constitute the proof. But equally startling is the fact that even when Jews thought the Torah had been taken from them, they did not stop believing and they did not stop learning. They continue to recite the Shema and to listen to God’s voice and to respond to the call. They continued to live by the precept “Love your neighbor as yourself,” they learned to defend not only Jews but Judaism. “Was there ever a faith like this faith?” exclaims Greenberg and writes, “I submit that the authority was broken, but the Jewish people released from its obligations, chose voluntarily to take it on.” God no longer was in position to command, but the Jewish people voluntarily chose to carry on the mission of teaching and living Torah. Our presence here this morning, affirms that most of us have chosen to accept that mission as well. We no longer do so because we are yoked to it; nor because we have been branded by it, but we do so as an expression of our freedom and because we yearn to be uplifted. Jews of distant centuries felt commanded. But we do so by choice, as willing volunteers we return to this house of God. (Now, I’m not sure all the teenagers here this morning would agree that they do so, so willingly — but I dare say if you had protested enough you could have won out. I count you among the volunteers who have chosen to be counted and am proud of you for that). We are descendents of Isaac and we are descendents of the six million. Our survival is unique in all of history, our claims to that ancestry, nothing short of a miracle. But it is not just the survival of a genetic pool, a sub set of the human genome that I wish to consider this morning. If we are here we need to be affirming something greater than mere survival, -- there must be content to what we are all about. So I have a challenge this morning; not by way of command – surely I know that a Reform rabbi has no such authority over his or her flock, nor do I want to make a guilt inducing plea. We major in guilt and there’s plenty enough to go around. No it is a challenge that seeks a voluntary affirmation, and that is to put Torah, to put Jewish learning on the agenda for the coming year. Yes, because of our experiences as I discussed last night, we are, we will always be proud defenders of the State of Israel. Yes, we are, we will always be bold and vigilant protectors of Jewish life when anti-Semitism rears its head here or abroad. But at the heart of the Jewish people beats our Jewish faith and at the heart of the Jewish faith pulses Torah. (A word that we use not just to describe the first five biblical books, but a word that implies the entire corpus of Jewish knowledge.) For Jews, faith begins with Torah and Torah is sustained by learning. And I worry that too many Jews have squandered that inheritance. We have strengthened ourselves to defend against the enemies that would do us damage from without. Now let us strengthen ourselves to defend against an emptiness within. Too often, too many of us at our best operate with a 13-year-old's knowledge of Judaism because that was the last time we opened a Jewish book. There is an irony in the Jewish experience that we witnessed this morning. Some of our congregants were called to the bema in honor of the fact that within the last year they became what we call adult bar and bat mitzvah. They did a lot of work – Hebrew learning, additional classes, worship participation – and the catalyst was the fact that they did not become Bar or Bat mitzvah at age thirteen. If they had – I wonder if they would have taken their adult learning so seriously. The sad irony is that for many, having had a Bar or Bat mitzvah, rather than being a commitment to a life of Jewish learning is actually used as an excuse not to continue learning. Bar Mitzvah – I did that at thirteen, there’s no reason for me to attend a class as an adult. That reasoning is as non-sensical as the golfer who says – oh I broke a ninetly when I was a teenager, why would I consider picking up my clubs again. And believe me – studying Torah is far less frustrating than playing golf. A few years back Rabbi Eric Yoffie, President of our reform congregational organization, pointed out another irony. “Too many of us,” he said, “can name the mother of Jesus, but not the mother of Moses (by the way, her name was Yocheved). We know the author of "Das Kapital," but not the author of the "Guide for the Perplexed" (by the way, it is Maimonides). And when we do study, we too often have been satisfied with a kind of learning that is largely cosmetic and which, if you were remarkably stupid, would be edifying. But of course we are not remarkably stupid: we are remarkably smart, many highly educated in various fields, but yet hungry for the intellectual splendor and the deep humanity of our heritage. Wonderfully educated in the ways of the world, we are abysmally ignorant in the ways of our people. "And why is this so important?" Yoffie asks. "Because Torah study is the motor which drives Jewish life and whenever communities neglect it, they have already started on the road to decline. Because you do not wake up one morning and say: 'I'm not going to be Jewish anymore.' Disengagement from Judaism is a process, and it always begins when we turn our back on the study of Torah." We are at our best when we open our books for help in answering the questions we put to ourselves: what do we believe about God? Some people profess disbelief, but more often than not that is because they have not allowed their God concept to grow and mature as they have. There are challenging sophisticated Jewish ideas for the most searching, skeptical of minds. Since God no longer speaks to us audibly, (and if God did I suspect we would have added layers of troubles) the best way for us to hear the divine voice is through our study of sacred texts. Study has long been the prime pathway to spirituality. What has our faith taught us about life after this life? Why is there tragedy and evil in the world? Why do bad things happen to good people? Philosophical questions that may have no definitive answer – but brilliant ancient, medieval and modern thinkers have weighed in with far ranging perspectives that speak to us today. Other questions too. What is our claim on the land of Israel? What are proper reasons for going to war? I touched on that last night, but a solid foundation in Jewish history and an understanding of the “just war” debates of sages like Maimonides informs our opinions on the situation in Israel or for that matter on Iraq today. And there are other contemporary questions that challenge so many of us. What should I do about my frail aging parent who is entering the abyss of dementia? Am I obligated to bring my father into my home? Am I breaking the commandment to honor if I turn to surrogates when caring for him myself overwhelms me? While our sages could not possibly fathom the fast array of medical treatments that today can heal and prolong life a remarkable wisdom exists in some of their concerns. I regularly have conversations with congregants who grapple with decisions on removing or adding feeding tubes and respirators for their loved ones. They don’t come to see me because Jim Prosnit has any more sekhel, knowledge about these things than they. They come to see me because I can share some of the wisdom of Jewish teachings and that can help inform their decisions. Just last week a congregant called. She was contemplating fertility treatments her doctor said could result in multiple births. If that occurred, however, doctors could select which embryo or embryos to eliminate or retain. Could Jewish tradition help her make a decision as to whether or not to go ahead with the treatments? I shared some texts which proved very helpful to her decision. There is a rich reservoir of material that embraces just about everything we embrace as moderns. These are the questions which touch us. These are the questions about which we care. For some there is a need for others there is just a curiosity, but how inspiring it is to take advantage of the wisdom of those who came before us and then to engage in conversation and debate on those holy words. Study and learning is the Jewish way. Wrestling with ideas is the Jewish way. Engaging ourselves with the words of Torah is the Jewish way. After all, according to the Talmud, study leads to precision, precision leads to zeal, zeal leads to cleanliness, cleanliness leads to purity, purity leads to holiness, holiness leads to humility, humility leads to fear of sin, fear of sin leads to saintliness, saintliness leads to possessing the holy spirit, the holy spirit leads to eternal life. There you have it – sainthood and eternal life – just for picking up a book! So, today, this Rosh Hashanah, this new year let us make a resolution and together let us help each other in doing the work necessary to fulfill it. As we embark in a couple weeks on renovating and building this synagogue home we resolve to work on building our Jewish intellects. Every time we enter we will look for learning opportunities. Choir, we’ll ask you to learn not just the melodies and harmonies, but what the prayers you’re singing mean. In that way I think you will take your prayers and ours even higher. Bernie Jacobs, we’ll ask you and the building committee to begin your meetings with a few minutes of study on the dimensions of sacred space. I’m sure you’ll pick up some things that will inspire our exciting new project. Some of our committees already start with such moments of study, all should. Parents when you come to pick up your children from religious school, don’t just stay in your cars. Come inside, sit in the library we have magazines and books and perhaps some interesting conversation with others who are waiting. If you spend a half hour by yourself with a book – you’ll be giving yourselves one of the best treats of the week. Or drop by — Rabbi Gurevitz and I would love to chat and share some words of Torah. I’ve noticed that Rabbi Gurevitz is in the habit of leaving her door propped open when she’s in her office and not all that busy. Get to know her informally or in a class — she brings a lot to the table in terms of deep genuine knowledge. But we also know that in this community it is not just the clergy who have things to teach. We are blessed with some very wise and committed lay people who can inspire and enrich. Not only Ira, the Cantor, Elaine and Gail, but there are many, many others who teach our children -- too many to name in fact; and then there are people like Sylvie Neigher, Bari Dworken, Ralph Carruthers, Richard Walden and Barbara Abraham who have already taken the lead in teaching adult classes. I am confident there are numerous others willing and able to share their knowledge. Take a good look at the booklet that was distributed this morning. Take it home. Put it up over your desk, on your fridge and commit yourself to taking the first step. We’ve tried to set out a calendar and program to meet various times of availability and interests. There are infinite possibilities for entering the world of Jewish learning. It is now our mission to open the doors of that world for you. We are all voyagers along the same road, some further ahead, some behind, but all of us in search. Never a need to feel badly or embarrassed by where we are on the road. Let us just find our way to it. Our pursuit is voluntary –and that may make it harder, but no less essential. For in the words of our morning prayer, Talmud torah k’neged kulam -- the study of Torah exceeds all the other mitzvoth, because it leads to them all. The Yiddish Poet Jacob Glatstein, who died in 1971 wrote many contemporary lamentations about the Shoah. In one he put it simply: “We received the Torah at Sinai and at Lublin we gave it back.” The Torah may have been returned in Lublin, but it will come back; it is coming back. It was returned, because in the words of that poet, “dead men don’t praise God/ the Torah was given to the living.” The men and women of Lublin are dead, but the men and women of Tel Aviv and Toronto, of Jerusalem and Johannesburg of New York and Netanya of Beersheba and of Bridgeport and of a thousand other places are alive. They –we – are bringing the Torah back. Blessed are those engaged in the effort. In the year ahead, may we say many times over whenever we study because it is so, as we say now: "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, "We thank You God for having given us the commandments and commanded us to engage ourselves in words of Torah."
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God no longer was in position to command, but the Jewish people voluntarily chose to carry on the mission of teaching and living Torah..
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| So I have a challenge this morning; not by way of command – surely I know that a Reform rabbi has no such authority over his or her flock, nor do I want to make a guilt inducing plea. We major in guilt and there’s plenty enough to go around. No it is a challenge that seeks a voluntary affirmation, and that is to put Torah, to put Jewish learning on the agenda for the coming year. | ||
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| Too often, too many of us at our best operate with a 13-year-old's knowledge of Judaism because that was the last time we opened a Jewish book. | ||
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