On the Seam

The following was delivered as a Shabbat address at Congregation Ohel Avraham in Haifa, and was originally posted on Gateways and Tents.

I want to thank you all for welcoming us here tonight. This past week, we’ve been honored and humbled to be guests in your community, in your school, and in you homes. Thank you.

Our group has seen many interesting things on this trip. We’ve all learned a lot about Israel, about Haifa, about the connection between North American and Israeli Jews, and most importantly, about ourselves. Today, I asked many of the students to tell me: What was a highlight of the trip for you? Each student had a different answer, but there was one thing that almost every student said he or she liked best: the time we spent together on the bus. With all the places we visited, and all the things that we learned, and all the important conversations that we had, the most impactful experience was just to spend time together.

It isn’t easy being a host, and it isn’t easy to be a guest either. These aren’t everyday roles that we’re accustomed to playing. I know that it pushed many of the students to the edge of their comfort zone—and for this, I’m proud of them. I hope it was a growth experience.

During our trip to Jerusalem, we visited The Museum on the Seam—an art museum that focuses on contemporary social issues. (Their current exhibition is on loneliness.) (The museum gets its name because of its location on the pre-1967 border between Israel and Jordan.) I asked myself: What does it mean to be “on the seam?” What is a seam, anyway? A seam is a place where two different things meet. It’s a place of diversity, and also a place of unity. A seam is also a border, an edge—a place that defines the limits of ourselves, the dividing line between the familiar and the unfamiliar, the comfortable and the uncomfortable.

And I think that this is an appropriate metaphor for our trip. We’ve been “on the seam.” The past week had pushed each and every one of us—students and staff alike—to the edges of our comfort zones. It’s brought us right up to the border of the familiar, and asked us to take those first few intimating steps into the unknown. And what’s more, this trip has brought two diverse “materials” in contact with one another, and stitched them together. It’s created a seam, a bond, a point of unity—a realization that despite our differences, our two distinct communities are a part of one Jewish people.

Shabbat shalom.

Journey to Jerusalem

The following was originally posted on Gateways and Tents.

Our last two days were spent in the magnificent city of Jerusalem.

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On day one, we experienced the “Two Jerusalems”—Yerushalayim shel malah (the spiritual Jerusalem of above) and Yerushalayim shel matah (the earthly Jerusalem of below) [an idea from the Babylonian Talmud]—holding in our hands the need to always be navigating back and forth between the ideal and the real.

Our morning was spent with a representative from the legal department of the Israel Religious Action Center (IRAC). She talked to us about the IRAC’s many initiatives working to advance pluralism in Israeli society. She described to us the now-famous work of Women of the Wall, promoting the rights of women to pray at the Western Wall—out-loud, in religious garb, and with ample space. She also described to us IRAC’s efforts to bring vocational training and economic stability to Israel’s rapidly growing ultra-Orthodox Jewish population, as well as IRAC’s work to bring greater civil rights for women in those communities. Our students were highly engaged and agitated after learning about these social justice issues, and many had interesting reflections to share after the meeting. Many of the Americans expressed disappointment at knowing that these kinds of problems exist in a Jewish state, while many of the Israelis expressed discomfort that the Americans shouldn’t walk away with only a negative picture of Israel. In the end, both groups reflected upon IRAC chairwoman Anat Hoffman’s teaching: only by learning about Israel, with all her glories and all her warts, can you ever learn to truly love her.

Our afternoon was spent wandering the Old City, including a tour of the Sharsheret HaDorot Museum, in which we walked through and experienced highlights of Jewish history. We then spent an hour at the Kotel (the Western Wall), in which our students had the chance to offer personal prayers, place notes in the Wall, and take-in this landmark of Jewish heritage and spirituality. Some students shared that their experience of the Kotel was one of Yerushalayim shel malah—an elevated feeling, a connection to God and to history. Other students felt there Yerushalayim shel malah—just a wall, a crowded, albeit an ancient wall. But whatever their experience, our students realized that a person’s relationship with the Kotel is always changing. It is the hope of the staff that the students will be able to return to the Kotel many times throughout their lives, and that each visit will hold new and different meanings.

The American students were very moved to receive the personalized notes from their parents at the Wall. Many said that opening their letters, and feeling the chain of generations that had enabled them to reach this place, was their most powerful moment at the Kotel.

After dinner at our hotel, we met up with other students on an exchange between Congregation Rodeph Sholom in Manhattan and Kehilat Kol Haneshama in Jerusalem. Together, our teens and their teens watched a screening of the documentary The Name My Mother Gave Me. The film documents the trip to Ethiopia of a group of Ethiopian-Israeli and Russian-Israeli teens. Together, they uncover the Ethiopian-Israelis’ family roots, as both groups discover more about their identities in Israel’s ethnic mixed-salad society.

Day one was filled with enriching conversations about what it means to be Jewish, to have a national homeland, and to ever be navigating between the spiritual ideal of Yerushalayim shel malah and the daily realities of Yerushayalim shel matah.

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On day two, we experienced Jerusalem as a city where “truth springs up from the earth, and justice looks down from the sky” (from Psalm 85).

The first part of our morning was spent at the Knesset, Israel’s legislature, where we learned about the inner workings of Israel’s government. We viewed a facsimile of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, and learned how the Declaration represents a blending of the Jewish past, the Jewish present, and the Jewish future. We then viewed the gorgeous tapestries by Marc Chagall that hang in the Knesset’s reception hall. Chagall created these three tapestries also to represent the Jewish past (our biblical roots), the Jewish present (our 2,000 years living in every corner of the globe), and our Jewish future (a day of radical peace among all peoples). We were then welcomed into a Knesset committee room, where we learned how bills become laws, and viewed a short film about the history of the Knesset. Finally, we entered a viewing room overlooking the Plenary Hall, where the Knesset assembles to vote. Here, we learned about Israel’s coalition government, with its opportunities and its challenges.

We then walked to the neighboring Supreme Court Building. The building is designed to be an architectural representation of justice—transparent, accessible, and firmly rooted. We learned about Israel’s three-tiered system of appeals courts and about current cases that are stirring a lot of media attention.

In the afternoon, we took in the sights, smells, sounds, and tastes of Shuk Mahaneh Yehudah (Jerusalem’s outdoor market). In a couple of crowded alleyways, we were able to find everything from nuts and spices, to fruits and vegetables, to tapestries and linens, to Iraqi Kubbeh Soup and gourmet European coffee. We then walked downtown to Ben Yehudah street, where we experienced Jerusalem’s favorite shopping, dining, and people watching.

We ended our stay in Jerusalem with a visit to the Museum on the Seam. The Museum on the Seam is located immediately adjacent to the Green Line (the pre-1967 border between Israel and Jordan). Living up to its location, the museum uses art to explore issues that bring the viewer right up to the edge of his or her comfort zone. The museum’s current installation explores issues of solitude and belonging. Our docent did and excellent job of making this theme relatable to our students by asking: “Does a person with 2,000 Facebook friends necessarily have any friends at all?” After spending an hour touring the exhibits, our students had a stimulating discussion on how they navigate the line between being an individual and belonging to a group.

Day two juxtaposed the inner workings of the Israeli political system with the outward expression of public life in the streets and in the market. Through these experiences, our students discovered themselves “on the seam” between where “truth springs up from the earth, and justice looks down from the sky”—the Jerusalem the exposes us all to the beautiful, challenging drama of being human.

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We’ve now returned to Haifa—tired and enriched. We’re all looking forward to continuing our learning, growth, exploration, and cultural exchange together!!

Moses Learns to Help

This D'var Torah originally appeared in an edition of the Shaaray Tefila e-News.

This week’s Torah portion, Shemot (Exodus 1:1-6:1), opens the book of Exodus. In it, we read of three trials in Moses’ young-adult life—three formative experiences that shape him as a leader and a liberator. Moses, having grown up sheltered in Pharaoh’s palace, witnesses for the first time three cases of injustice. In the first, he sees and Egyptian beating an Israelite slave. Moses’s heart is stirred, but he doesn’t know how to help. Checking to see if anyone is watching, Moses hits the Egyptian and buries him in the sand. In the second trial, Moses sees two Israelites fighting with each other, and again he is stirred by this violence in the world. But again, he doesn’t know how to help—he yells at the Israelites, which only causes them to resent him. Finally, in the third trial, Moses sees a group of shepherds that has come to bother the daughters of the Priest of Midian. Finally, Moses has developed a capacity for bringing justice to an often unjust world: Moses “stood up, and helped them, and watered their flock.”

We learn from Moses that it takes practice to develop a capacity to effectively respond to injustice. Sometimes we may feel like there’s nothing we can do. Sometimes we may feel like we want just want to shout about it. These are good instincts—they demonstrate that your heart is still beating in your chest. With practice, each of us can hone our capacity to do justice, so that when the time comes, we can be like Moses: we can stand up and help.

Word Cloud

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Jacob and Esau: Reconciliation? Or Rejection?

I gave a version of the following drash this morning at Temple Shaaray Tefila.

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This week’s Torah portion contains the famous reunion between Jacob and Esau. I very intentionally choose to label this encounter a reunion, because the word reunion makes no assumption—positive or negative—as to the nature of their encounter. Our traditional understanding of the text might cause us to assume that their meeting is a reconciliation, a peace offering between these estranged twins. But a more careful examination of the text reveals more subtle dynamics at play. A different reading of the text might suggest that their meeting is in fact a rejection, a agreement not to kill one another, but without any subsiding of their long-established rivalry. This is the very nature of a reunion—its outcome cannot be predicted in advance. Prior to the actual moment of meeting, there’s a looming ambiguity as to whether this reunion will constitute a reconciliation or a rejection.

The word panim—Hebrew for “face”—appears repeatedly in this week’s Torah portion. And coming “face-to-face” is exactly what happens in a reunion. The Hebrew word panim is in the plural form—it ends with the yod-mem suffix that indicates the masculine-plural. And a plural form—an ambiguity, an uncertainty—reflects perfectly the uncertainty of Jacob and Esau’s reunion. Which of these plural options will they experience: a reconciliation, or a rejection?

Throughout the Torah, we find examples of how face-to-face meetings can result in either a reconciliation or a rejection. On the one hand, take the famous verse from the Priestly Benediction: “May the light of God’s face shine upon you and grant you peace” (Num. 6:26). This face-to-face meeting clearly indicates a positive encounter—a reconciliation. In a modern idiom, we might call this “face-time” or “dialoguing.” On the other hand, take the famous verse in which God responds to Moses’s plea to see God’s face firsthand: “You cannot see My face, for no person sees God and lives” (Ex. 33:20). This face-to-face meeting clearly indicates a negative encounter—a rejection. In a modern idiom, we might call this a “faceoff” or “going nose to nose.”

In the context of this week’s parshah, we see both types of face-to-face encounters. Upon seeing his brother Esau for the first time in years, Jacob exclaims: “Seeing your face is like seeing the face of God” (Gen. 33:10). Jacob seems to be pleased upon seeing Esau’s face. It provides him joy. This expression seems to represent a reconciliation.

But Jacob also experiences a face-to-face encounter that feels more like a rejection. In the previous chapter, Jacob had wrestled with a mysterious man in the night and had had his name changed from Yaakov to Yisrael. In the morning, Jacob/Israel renames the place in which he wrestled “Peniel,” meaning “I have seen the face of God.” Although Jacob was victorious in his wrestling, he leaves that struggle wounded, his hip having been dislocated by his mysterious aggressor. Jacob recognizes the danger inherent in a face-to-face encounter, specifically in a face-to-face encounter with God, and says “I have seen the face of God, and yet my life is spared” (Gen. 32:31).

So we see that like the word panim, which is in the plural form, the prospect of a face-to-face encounter holds the possibility for multiple outcomes—reconciliation, or rejection.

How does Jacob do at holding this ambiguity? Is he able to embrace the uncertainty inherent in his reunion with Esau?

For evidence, let’s look at another place in this week’s parashah in which the word panim appears many times. It’s the day before Jacob is to meet Esau, and he sends “ahead” of him (lifnei) his servants, all the wealth he has amassed, his sons, and his wives—in an effort, it seems, to impress or butter-up Esau before their meeting. The word lifnei (“before, ahead of”) is very closely related to the word panim (“face.”) The one key difference is that lifnei doesn’t include the final mem, the very letter that makes panim a plural word. It seems that rather than embrace the plurality of outcomes inherent in their face-to-face meeting (panim—plural), Jacob chooses to send ahead of himself (lifnei—singular) gifts to Esau in order to affect the outcome.

Jacob can’t hold the plurality of outcomes, and so he disregards the plurality (the mem of panim) in order to try and affect the outcome in advance (lifnei). This disregarded letter mem has the value (in the system of Gematria) of 40. Forty, in Jewish tradition, is a perfect round number. It is the number of days during which Moses received the Revelation. It is the number of days of the Flood. It represents the World to Come. (There are 39 [“forty minus one,” in the language of the Mishnah] categories of forbidden work on Shabbat. The World to Come will be an even more perfected vision of Shabbat, in which all 39 categories will be condensed into a fortieth category, creating complete harmony and perfect rest.) In dropping the plurality of outcomes (panim)—and hoping instead to affect the outcome in advance (lifnei)—Jacob gives up the letter mem. Jacob gives up the perfect number 40. Jacob gives up Revelation, the cleansing waters of the Flood, and the World to Come.

How does it work out in the end? Although we tend to think that Jacob and Esau’s meeting is a reconciliation (after all, they don’t kill each other, as Esau had threatened at their last encounter) a closer look brings this assumption into question. While they don’t kill each other, they also don’t seem to fully forgive one another. They meet and part ways in the span of just 13 verses. Each brother encourages the other to accept gifts from him, and each brother refuses. Moreover, if you take a careful look at the Hebrew text in the first moment of reunion (Gen. 33:4), you’ll find the word vayishakeihu with six little asterisks written above it. These asterisks indicate the possibility of a textual error, an uncertainty as to the proper vocalization (placement of vowels) of this Hebrew word. The word vayishakeihu is typically translated as: Esau “kissed (nashak)” Jacob. But with different vowels placed underneath it, we could just as easily translate the word to mean: Esau “weapon-ed (neshek)” Jacob. Rashi (citing Midrash Bereshit Rabbah 76:2) says that Esau’s kiss may not have been genuine—that in fact, rather than kissing Jacob, he may have bitten him.

I’d like to suggest that had Jacob not tried to affect the outcome of this encounter beforehand (lifnei)—had he instead embraced the plurality (panim) of possible outcomes—maybe there wouldn’t be those pesky asterisks over the word vayishakeihu. Maybe the brothers wouldn’t have again parted ways after only 13 verses. Maybe the brothers would have accepted one another’s gifts. Then, perhaps, we could with certainty call this reunion a reconciliation and not a rejection.

Ambiguity and uncertainty (panim) abound in our lives. Whether it’s reuniting with a long lost family member, meeting a new acquaintance, setting out on any creative endeavor, giving a presentation to a group, or even just stepping outside the doors of your house—there’s no situation we can face in which we’ll know the outcome in advance. My wish for all of us is that we work to embrace ambiguity and uncertainty in our lives, and focus less on affecting outcomes in advance. Truly then will we be worthy of the name Yisrael—one who struggles with life’s uncertainty.

Shine a New Light

The following reflection was offered at HUC-JIR services this week.

NASA astronomer Natalie Batahlia compares the existence of dark matter in our universe to the existence of love. Dark matter, she explains, is this strange force that scientists can’t quite yet explain, that neither our eyes nor our most powerful telescopes can quite see, but that we know we exists. Dark matter causes galaxies to hold together. It causes planets to move along their orbit. Dark matter moves us, brings us together, keeps the universe from completely falling apart.

And so it is with love. We can’t see it. We can’t quite explain it. But we know it’s real.

Love brings us together. It keeps us moving. It’s the force that keeps our universe from completely falling apart.

Our experience tells us that the dark is bad. The unknown can be scary. The mysterious can be overwhelming.

But Judaism recognizes what Natalie Batahlia recognizes—that there’s One God who creates both darkness and light, both mystery and understanding, “yotzeir or uvorei choshech.”

Our dark matters—our brokenness and our pain—these are the forces that move us, the forces that bring us together, the forces that remind us of our own humanity. Darkness is a source of love.

And this is why we pray “Or chadash al tzion ta-ir—shine a new kind of light on our lives: not the kind of light that washes out the dark, but rather a kind that helps us to discern the force of love in our universe, even when it’s buried in dark matters.

Baruch Atah Adonai, Yotzeir HaMei’orot. 

What Does it Mean to be a Jew? Israeli and American Teens Share their Perspectives

The following post originally appeared on the blog of Gateways and Tents, the partnership between Temple Shaaray Tefila of New York and Congregation Ohel Avraham of Haifa.

This past Sunday morning, the American and Israeli teen cohorts met for the first time via Skype. We spent an hour introducing ourselves to each other and learning about each other’s families and interests. The groups found that they had a lot in common—from their shared interest in dance, music, theatre, and sports, to their shared quest to define their own authentic Jewish identities.

One Israeli teen asked the American group: “So, are you secular?” At first, the American teens weren’t sure how to respond. The meaning of the words “secular” and “religious” are very different in Israel and in North America. For most Israelis, the words religious and secular denote a binary choice—between those who lead halachicly observant lives and those who don’t. In North America, it’s possible to see oneself as both religious (in that a Jew might observe some Jewish holidays) and simultaneously see oneself as secular (in that he or she might spend money on Shabbat).

One American teen responded to the question by explaining that he’s not strictly secular, and he’s not strictly religious either. He explained that he goes to synagogue on most holidays and attends Shabbat services a few times a month, and that he’s active in his Jewish youth group—practices that might be called “religious.” At the same time, he eats non-Kosher food, uses electricity on Shabbat, and spends his free time watching TV or hanging our with friends, rather than engaged in Jewish study—practices that might be called “secular.”

The American teens then asked the Israeli teens if they had all celebrated a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. The Israelis all nodded their heads vigorously. When the Americans clarified their question—Did you read from the Torah on your Bar/Bat Mitzvah?—the Israelis changed their answers: most of the boys had read from the Torah, and had done so in an Orthodox synagogue; most of the girls had only had a party.

And despite their having not read from the Torah on their Bar/Bat Mitzvah, the Israeli teens are in many ways more deeply engaged in Jewish life than the American teens. They study Tanakh (Hebrew Bible) in school. They live on streets with names like Ehad HaAm Road and Abba Hillel Silver Road. They speak, read, and write in Hebrew. Although they don’t wear a Kippah or belong to a synagogue, they engage in Jewish life in countless subtle ways. (For a thought-provoking exploration of this topic, see the film The Transparent Kippah.)

So the question arises: What does it mean to be a Jew?

After this first meeting, my sense is that the Americans and the Israelis have very similar definitions of their Jewishness, even though each uses different language to describe it. Whether “secular,” “religious,” or somewhere in between, both groups are living liberal Jewish lives and wrestling to define exactly what that means.