In my relentless time-wasting internet activities, I have discovered the absolute coolest way to learn about the weekly parsha:
http://www.g-dcast.com/
This is a short animated video about the parsha that will feature a different guest each week. This week's guest is Rabbi Lawrence Kushner.
Showing posts with label Torah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Torah. Show all posts
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Dancing with the Torah, and Hearing the Voices from Behind the Curtain
Simchat Torah. It's probably my favorite Jewish holiday - a holiday devoted to the great joy and love our community has for its central holy text, a rollicking physical tribute to the joys of literacy, and the deep and urgent love our tradition has for the Torah, such that we cannot do without reading it and must start from the beginning as soon as we end it. Also, an acknowledgment of the liminal space between finishing the book and beginning it - in those moments between the readings of Deuteronomy and Genesis, who are we? The people who read Torah - and we are done with the Torah? It's scary, terrifying really, this crisis of identity, this moment of the unknown, when we are faced with the reality of our own times without the guidance of the wisdom of the past. I love it because of its recognition of the Torah as a finite book with a beginning and an end, along with its simultaneous assertion that Torah has no boundaries and is not like other books - it continues even when it ends and we don't need to start a new book, because everything is in this one text. I love it because usually we treat the Torah like royalty - turning toward it as it processes across the sanctuary, rising as it enters, etc., but on Simchat Torah we let our guard down and dance with the Torah like an old friend, and everyone can take turns holding the Torah and sharing the intimate physical experience of dancing with the holiest of objects in their tradition. I love it because it is fun - a different kind of fun from many Jewish rituals, not the fun of reading an interesting text or eating a good meal but the fun of movement and energy of beauty and silliness, of togetherness and individual expression. There's a really good explanation of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah at the Shalom Center's website, and if you want to read more about, I recommend starting there.
For our Simchat Torah celebration, Daniel and I joined a large group of HUC students to go to Kibbutz Gezer, a kibbutz that was founded in 1974 by a group of olim (immigrants) from Habonim-Dror, a Zionist youth organization. It fosters liberal Judaism and social justice projects, including bringing in new immigrants from Peru each week to celebrate Shabbat in a liberal Jewish way, leading educational programs for Israeli and American groups, and holding educational and spiritual activities for inmates of Ramle prison. We arrived shortly before the services which were to be held in their outdoor synagogue, and were given a brief tour of Pinat Shorashim, their educational park. We walked around a bit and appreciated the educational tools at the park, which were perhaps not meant for students of our age but are interesting and effective ideas for the teaching some of us might be doing some day whether as Rabbis, Cantors, Educators, or simply Jewish parents. We made our way back to the prayer space, which was overflowing with guests - small children nestled in their parents' arms, nuns and priests, a contingent from an American Reform youth group, people speaking Russian, Hebrew, Spanish, and English. After the service which was led by a charming but somewhat long-winded Rabbi, a klezmer-style band started playing for the seven hakkafot. Frankly, we felt that not enough people danced, and that the dancing didn't last nearly long enough, but for what it was, we managed to have a good time, and to experience the joy of the holiday. We were all quite hungry afterwards as we didn't realize that there wouldn't be dinner at the celebration, so we went out to eat at Spaghettim, a restaurant near our apartment, with a large group from HUC.
This morning, we went to services at Har El, the Reform synagogue around the corner from our apartment, which is an unendingly warm and welcoming congregation. The services were quite full, and after prayer led jointly by the chazzan from Har El and a cantorial professor from HUC, we went out into their front garden to dance with the Torahs to music played by HUC students. The songs were short and the dancing mostly consisted of walking slowly in a circle, but the mood was joyous and the weather was lovely. I carried the Torah for a bit, and found it to be a powerful moment - holding something so holy, and that was for so long not accessible to women, the physicality of my closeness and access to the Torah so that I could feel the stiffness of the parchment through the decorative mantle just as though I were embracing a loved one and feeling his flesh and bones through the fabric of their clothing. After a short while we returned indoors for the Torah reading, the Haftorah reading, the prayer for the rain, and so forth. (SIDE NOTE: It looks, incidentally, like the rain will start soon, just on schedule. This is extremely important, as last year the Kinneret reached its lowest level in five years. The Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) is Israel's main source of drinking water, and Israel is dependent on the rainy season to produce the water that the country needs. Israel currently has two desalinization plants, and will have a third by 2013, and they do make a big difference, but nevertheless, prayers for rain are certainly prayed with urgency.) In the middle of the Torah reading I looked up to find an Orthodox man in the doorway, his dark brown peyot perfectly curled and reaching the tops of his shoulders. I'll admit, his presence scared me a little: was he here to interrupt our service by yelling at us and telling us we were profaning the Torah? Or worse? Would he steal the Torah? Throw something? In retrospect I am ashamed of these fears - he stood in the doorway for about a minute, and when a woman began to read the Torah, he walked away, presumably because he believes that it is forbidden for a man to listen to a woman singing. Perhaps he was just curious, like we are when we visit Orthodox shuls. I should have felt only excitement and joy to have someone else share in our prayes, and I felt fear. For this, I am ashamed. The service went on into the early afternoon, and so after chatting a bit after services, we returned home to eat lunch and then to write about our experiences.
_____________________________________
Simchat Torah wasn't the only interesting thing we've done lately. On Saturday night, Lauren (a cantorial student and friend) and I went to see a show produced by the BaMatMaBat Theater Company and the Professional Women's Theater, titled "Voices from Our Side of the Curtain." (You can read the blog version of the production here) It was an English language production, and all of the participants seemed to be American Jews, living in Israel, many of them about my age. The performance was by and for only women, the idea being that in Orthodox Judaism, many people feel that it is inappropriate for a man to hear a woman's voice, citing a Talmudic prohibition called Kol Isha. The Orthodox women in this production are concerned with issues of modesty but nevertheless feel that they deserve a forum to share there talents and their own stories.
The play was modeled off of the Vagina Monologues - a series of monologues in which women shared their personal stories. Each story helped me to better understand the American Orthodox world, which is in some ways (though not all) very different from the American Reform world, and helped me to respect and understand choices that women make to participate in a society in which they have differing roles from men. I think sometimes I lose sight of the fact that for many Orthodox women, they don't feel that they are being forced to wear "modest" clothing, sit in a separate section, etc. but are actually acting out of their own will and for their own reasons. In my own discomfort that these expectations might be forced upon me, I project this sense that these strictures are a hateful burden onto those who willingly participate in the system of which they are a part.
The first monologue, titled "Bald in the Land of Covered Hair" was an extremely evocative piece about a woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer and has to undergo chemotherapy and have a mastectomy. She is horrified at the notion of losing her hair and her breast, despite the fact that she already wears a wig and clothing that does not emphasize her body. Despite her modest clothing, she has always associated these parts of her body with her femininity. She comes to learn, with the help of an extremely supportive and loving husband, that femininity is something that is within her, and that her body parts are not what make her a woman, or a beautiful person. I suppose that an argument for modest dress is that by de-emphasizing the body, it allows the woman to be more than just her body parts - an argument that I can definately understand, especially having just graduated from university, where many women feel compelled to dress scantily when they are in social settings, as though their body is what they need to emphasize in order to make men interested in them. Nevertheless, I am uncomfortable with the notion that clothes - tight, short, loose, or long - should be important in establishing that a woman is more than her body. And I don't think the clothing solves the problem - is a woman seen less as a womb, a pair of breasts, or smooth legs, whether or not she covers them up? But I'm not writing this post to disagree or to agree with the atitudes in the play - I knew that I was attending a performance about a lifestyle very different from my own, and I was pleased to feel that I understood it as well as I did, and emphasized as well as I did. Although I don't wear clothes that are modest according to an Orthodox definition, I don't tend to wear tight, short clothing or emphasize my body, and yet if I were to lose that part of my body I think I too would undergo a crisis about whether I felt like a whole and complete woman.
The second piece, "Mourning Lullabies," was about an Orthodox couple that is infertile. Initially the woman thinks that it is her own fault, but eventually her husband gets tested and finds out that he is infertile. He offers his wife a divorce, but she tells him that she loves him and that even though it had been both of their dreams to build a family together, she wants to be with him even if it means being childless. This story would have been very different, I think, in a different cultural context - where having children is less at the center of the culture, where artificial insemination by a donated sperm was an option, etc. I wonder if adoption is an option in Orthodox communities - I assume it is, but I'm not sure. In any case, it was very moving to hear a woman speak about giving up her life's dream, to have children, because of her love for her husband.
I won't go through all the pieces in detail, because it occurs to me that this post will then go on for waaay too long and you will stop reading. So briefly, they included a piece about an abusive husband who refused to give his wife a divorce, a piece about a girl who didn't want to be part of the Orthodox world, a piece about a woman who feels that the Orthodox community is failing to retain its children, a piece about a girl who wants to be the perfect Jew but finds this impossible, a piece about an abused wife who doesn't want to leave her husband, a piece about a girl who is attracted to women but cannot act on it because of her Orthodoxy and resolves to be alone for life, a stunning piece about the transformative and communal power of the mikvah, a piece on feminism and it's role for Orthodox women, and a group dance piece about dancing for the sake of loving yourself, and not to attract or please someone else. They were all very beautiful and powerful, and the acting was quite good as well. I hope I'll have a chance to see more of their work this year.
________________________________
In the meantime, I continue to study for the GRE and work on grad school applications. The semester starts pretty soon and in the meantime I am working hard, and making a lot of progress. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
For our Simchat Torah celebration, Daniel and I joined a large group of HUC students to go to Kibbutz Gezer, a kibbutz that was founded in 1974 by a group of olim (immigrants) from Habonim-Dror, a Zionist youth organization. It fosters liberal Judaism and social justice projects, including bringing in new immigrants from Peru each week to celebrate Shabbat in a liberal Jewish way, leading educational programs for Israeli and American groups, and holding educational and spiritual activities for inmates of Ramle prison. We arrived shortly before the services which were to be held in their outdoor synagogue, and were given a brief tour of Pinat Shorashim, their educational park. We walked around a bit and appreciated the educational tools at the park, which were perhaps not meant for students of our age but are interesting and effective ideas for the teaching some of us might be doing some day whether as Rabbis, Cantors, Educators, or simply Jewish parents. We made our way back to the prayer space, which was overflowing with guests - small children nestled in their parents' arms, nuns and priests, a contingent from an American Reform youth group, people speaking Russian, Hebrew, Spanish, and English. After the service which was led by a charming but somewhat long-winded Rabbi, a klezmer-style band started playing for the seven hakkafot. Frankly, we felt that not enough people danced, and that the dancing didn't last nearly long enough, but for what it was, we managed to have a good time, and to experience the joy of the holiday. We were all quite hungry afterwards as we didn't realize that there wouldn't be dinner at the celebration, so we went out to eat at Spaghettim, a restaurant near our apartment, with a large group from HUC.
This morning, we went to services at Har El, the Reform synagogue around the corner from our apartment, which is an unendingly warm and welcoming congregation. The services were quite full, and after prayer led jointly by the chazzan from Har El and a cantorial professor from HUC, we went out into their front garden to dance with the Torahs to music played by HUC students. The songs were short and the dancing mostly consisted of walking slowly in a circle, but the mood was joyous and the weather was lovely. I carried the Torah for a bit, and found it to be a powerful moment - holding something so holy, and that was for so long not accessible to women, the physicality of my closeness and access to the Torah so that I could feel the stiffness of the parchment through the decorative mantle just as though I were embracing a loved one and feeling his flesh and bones through the fabric of their clothing. After a short while we returned indoors for the Torah reading, the Haftorah reading, the prayer for the rain, and so forth. (SIDE NOTE: It looks, incidentally, like the rain will start soon, just on schedule. This is extremely important, as last year the Kinneret reached its lowest level in five years. The Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) is Israel's main source of drinking water, and Israel is dependent on the rainy season to produce the water that the country needs. Israel currently has two desalinization plants, and will have a third by 2013, and they do make a big difference, but nevertheless, prayers for rain are certainly prayed with urgency.) In the middle of the Torah reading I looked up to find an Orthodox man in the doorway, his dark brown peyot perfectly curled and reaching the tops of his shoulders. I'll admit, his presence scared me a little: was he here to interrupt our service by yelling at us and telling us we were profaning the Torah? Or worse? Would he steal the Torah? Throw something? In retrospect I am ashamed of these fears - he stood in the doorway for about a minute, and when a woman began to read the Torah, he walked away, presumably because he believes that it is forbidden for a man to listen to a woman singing. Perhaps he was just curious, like we are when we visit Orthodox shuls. I should have felt only excitement and joy to have someone else share in our prayes, and I felt fear. For this, I am ashamed. The service went on into the early afternoon, and so after chatting a bit after services, we returned home to eat lunch and then to write about our experiences.
_____________________________________
Simchat Torah wasn't the only interesting thing we've done lately. On Saturday night, Lauren (a cantorial student and friend) and I went to see a show produced by the BaMatMaBat Theater Company and the Professional Women's Theater, titled "Voices from Our Side of the Curtain." (You can read the blog version of the production here) It was an English language production, and all of the participants seemed to be American Jews, living in Israel, many of them about my age. The performance was by and for only women, the idea being that in Orthodox Judaism, many people feel that it is inappropriate for a man to hear a woman's voice, citing a Talmudic prohibition called Kol Isha. The Orthodox women in this production are concerned with issues of modesty but nevertheless feel that they deserve a forum to share there talents and their own stories.
The play was modeled off of the Vagina Monologues - a series of monologues in which women shared their personal stories. Each story helped me to better understand the American Orthodox world, which is in some ways (though not all) very different from the American Reform world, and helped me to respect and understand choices that women make to participate in a society in which they have differing roles from men. I think sometimes I lose sight of the fact that for many Orthodox women, they don't feel that they are being forced to wear "modest" clothing, sit in a separate section, etc. but are actually acting out of their own will and for their own reasons. In my own discomfort that these expectations might be forced upon me, I project this sense that these strictures are a hateful burden onto those who willingly participate in the system of which they are a part.
The first monologue, titled "Bald in the Land of Covered Hair" was an extremely evocative piece about a woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer and has to undergo chemotherapy and have a mastectomy. She is horrified at the notion of losing her hair and her breast, despite the fact that she already wears a wig and clothing that does not emphasize her body. Despite her modest clothing, she has always associated these parts of her body with her femininity. She comes to learn, with the help of an extremely supportive and loving husband, that femininity is something that is within her, and that her body parts are not what make her a woman, or a beautiful person. I suppose that an argument for modest dress is that by de-emphasizing the body, it allows the woman to be more than just her body parts - an argument that I can definately understand, especially having just graduated from university, where many women feel compelled to dress scantily when they are in social settings, as though their body is what they need to emphasize in order to make men interested in them. Nevertheless, I am uncomfortable with the notion that clothes - tight, short, loose, or long - should be important in establishing that a woman is more than her body. And I don't think the clothing solves the problem - is a woman seen less as a womb, a pair of breasts, or smooth legs, whether or not she covers them up? But I'm not writing this post to disagree or to agree with the atitudes in the play - I knew that I was attending a performance about a lifestyle very different from my own, and I was pleased to feel that I understood it as well as I did, and emphasized as well as I did. Although I don't wear clothes that are modest according to an Orthodox definition, I don't tend to wear tight, short clothing or emphasize my body, and yet if I were to lose that part of my body I think I too would undergo a crisis about whether I felt like a whole and complete woman.
The second piece, "Mourning Lullabies," was about an Orthodox couple that is infertile. Initially the woman thinks that it is her own fault, but eventually her husband gets tested and finds out that he is infertile. He offers his wife a divorce, but she tells him that she loves him and that even though it had been both of their dreams to build a family together, she wants to be with him even if it means being childless. This story would have been very different, I think, in a different cultural context - where having children is less at the center of the culture, where artificial insemination by a donated sperm was an option, etc. I wonder if adoption is an option in Orthodox communities - I assume it is, but I'm not sure. In any case, it was very moving to hear a woman speak about giving up her life's dream, to have children, because of her love for her husband.
I won't go through all the pieces in detail, because it occurs to me that this post will then go on for waaay too long and you will stop reading. So briefly, they included a piece about an abusive husband who refused to give his wife a divorce, a piece about a girl who didn't want to be part of the Orthodox world, a piece about a woman who feels that the Orthodox community is failing to retain its children, a piece about a girl who wants to be the perfect Jew but finds this impossible, a piece about an abused wife who doesn't want to leave her husband, a piece about a girl who is attracted to women but cannot act on it because of her Orthodoxy and resolves to be alone for life, a stunning piece about the transformative and communal power of the mikvah, a piece on feminism and it's role for Orthodox women, and a group dance piece about dancing for the sake of loving yourself, and not to attract or please someone else. They were all very beautiful and powerful, and the acting was quite good as well. I hope I'll have a chance to see more of their work this year.
________________________________
In the meantime, I continue to study for the GRE and work on grad school applications. The semester starts pretty soon and in the meantime I am working hard, and making a lot of progress. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The value of being Jewish.
.ערך קיום יהודי
Jessica briefly mentioned in her previous post that she was instructed to get a letter from an American rabbi attesting to her Jewishness in order to receive a student visa. The whole notion is absurd because one doesn't need to be Jewish to be a student in Israel, and the fact that it would even come up is troubling and frustrating to Jessica and me. That the officer at the Ministry of the Interior would even think to ask for such confirmation (even in error) belies the gross neglect of religious freedom in this country. Sure, if Reform Judaism is treated as a separate faith (as suggested by Rabbi Yisrael Rozen), we could have equal rights, but so long as we claim Judaism as our own, progressive Jews in Israel will continue to face religious and legal barriers that fly in the face of Deuteronomy 16:20's invective, "צדק צדק תרדף" (Justice, justice shall you pursue).
This is because, if the Ministry really wanted to push the matter (which I don't expect), the authority of the American rabbi that Jessica finds would have to be examined. Perhaps Jessica's pedigree would be up for discussion. Of course, Jessica is unquestionably Jewish even by the most orthodox standards, but someone who (A) didn't have a rabbi, (B) didn't have a Jewish mother, or (C) wasn't Jewish would certainly have a hard time receiving this visa! I can't believe that even here this letter is required, but that it's asked for is indicative of a pro-Jewish bias that exists in Israel to such a large degree that it can't even be seen.
And what's it based on? Israel was founded as a Jewish country and has been struggling with that title for the past sixty years. People have been asking, "What does it mean to be Jewish?" for a very long time, but I doubt the question is often raised of, "What's the value of us being Jewish?" If a magic genie gave me the option of making Israel a true model of civil liberty, a bastion of peace in the region, an anti-war advocate, and a democracy that values the voices of the few and seeks to bring peace and security to the whole but lose its Jewish identity, I don't know what I would do. Is being Jewish so important that I would choose it over an automatic guarantee of ethics?
On the one hand, I believe that Judaism is a gateway to ethical living and that the Torah is a medium through which we can gain wisdom and Truth. On the other hand, I don't believe that Judaism and the Torah are unique in these roles but rather are specifically efficacious and beneficial to those who identify with them. Why are there Jews? I don't know. But I believe that it's good for the Jewish people for us to be Jewish, and insofar as the Jewish people has a strong track record of "getting it right" in terms of ethics and spirituality, I'm proud to espouse the values of my religion. Yet being Jewish is neither necessary nor sufficient to being ethical, and if ethics are my ultimate priority (and my support of Judaism is a support of unification and ethical living among and outside of our people), should not ethics (or, religiously speaking, perhaps even "pure" spirituality?) outweigh Jewish identity?
I don't know.
Take the example I laid out during Wexner Post 3 about giving money to the questionably Jewish organization that I believed in. Why does Judaism have to enter into the equation at all? We might cede that Jews have a tendency to be more likely to be involved in social action/progress than a non-Jew (though I'm far from claiming that as an existential truth), but nevertheless, I would never feel comfortable making such a decision based on religion alone.
And yet, I also struggle with the notion that not only Israel's orthodox Judaism has an obvious, occasionally unjust bias towards Jewish identity. Also our very own movement has struggled and continues to struggle with this concept, as do I. Take marriage between Jews and non-Jews as an example of assumptive priority of Jewish identity. As of right now, the "official" position of the Reform Movement is as follows:
"The Central Conference of American Rabbis, recalling its stand adopted in 1909 that mixed marriage is contrary to the Jewish tradition and should be discouraged, now declares its opposition to participation by its members in any ceremony which solemnizes a mixed marriage. The Central Conference of American Rabbis recognized that historically its members have held and continue to hold divergent interpretations of Jewish tradition.
In order to keep open every channel in Judaism and Kelal Yisra-el [the Jewish People] for those who have already entered into mixed marriage, the CCAR calls upon its members:
1. To assist fully in educating children of such mixed marriage as Jews;
2. To provide the opportunity for conversion of the non-Jewish spouse; and
3. To encourage a creative and consistent cultivation of involvement in the Jewish community and the synagogue."
However, a statement given by CCAR president Harry Danziger in 2006 at the CCAR convention complicates the Reform movement's stance:
"I look back thirty-three years to the Atlanta convention of 1973, called by some the Battle of Peachtree. There after years of debate and too often acrimony, a ten line resolution was passed opposing officiation at intermarriages. Pamphlets and articles attacking one side or the other abounded. There were even threats of a split in the Conference as there had been before over Zionism.
Five years later, in 1978, Alex Schindler, zichrono livracha, proposed a comprehensive outreach program through which we turned our attention, not only to weddings – the beginning of a new household – but to outcomes – the nature of the family thus created.
In 1983, there were passionate divisions in this Conference over the proposed resolution on children of intermarriage, what has been termed “the patrilineal” resolution. The debate was intense. At the end, we broke new ground in response to new realities, and we proclaimed that, for us, the gender of the Jewish parents would not be the determinant of who is a Jew. Most of us came to live by it. Some still question it. That is part of who we are.
Move forward yet another eleven years. In 1994, in Philadelphia, I was invited to be part of a major program at the convention. Two rabbis and two lay leaders spoke. I was invited to speak on why and how I do in fact officiate at intermarriages. And the president of the Conference at that time, Shim Maslin, who deserves great credit for that program, was a leading proponent of the 1973 resolution. Beit Hillel – They studied and listened to the views of the other side.
This week we have workshops and programs that deal with how we respond to intermarriage, how we engage and involve, yes, and honor, the non-Jewish partner who lives as a Jew albeit without conversion – what some of us call a ger toshav – what I sometimes call a “common law Jew”. The official position may continue to be a ten line resolution in Atlanta, but the practice has become a consensus that there is more than one respectable way to deal with those issues."
So, in combining these two sources, we find that the Reform movement "officially" discourages interfaith marriages and, in the case of an interfaith marriage, encourages the raising of Jewish children, participation in the Jewish community, and the conversion of the non-Jewish spouse. Individual rabbis (including the president of the CCAR) may (and many do) disagree with any of these points and act according to their conscience. So there's an internal struggle in the movement about whether it's of existential value to marry a Jew.
What seems to be agreed upon is that a rabbi should encourage participation in a Jewish community and, ideally, the raising of Jewish children. A point of contention is whether a non-Jewish spouse should be encouraged to convert. Rabbi Richard Address, who was at the Wexner institute last month, told me that sometimes he's had non-Jewish members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address was pushing them to convert; and he's also had members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address wasn't pushing them enough to convert. Even on a personal level, this is a tricky situation.
But my question is: If a couple is raising their children Jewish and participating in the Jewish community, what value is there to the community for the non-Jewish partner to convert to Judaism? Obviously, if a person discovers a personal meaning in converting to Judaism, she should follow her convictions on whether to convert. But communally, what statement are we making by saying that, all other factors being equal, Jew A is more valuable to us than non-Jew B?
I can't ignore the fact that a Jewish identity is neither sufficient nor necessary for active participation in Jewish family or communal life. Nor can I ignore the fact that Jewish identity makes that participation significantly more accessible (or that an active non-Jewish identity can disrupt a family's Jewish participation). So, is emphasis on conversion a numbers game? "Sure, we agree that a non-Jew can raise Jewish children, but since a Jew is more likely to do so, we want as many Jews raising children as we can."
But that brings us right back to the original question (and please forgive me for traveling in circles; if it's not clear, this forum is largely an opportunity for me to work through complex issues) - Why be Jewish in the first place? Israel, the Jewish state, has done some terrible things. Jews all over the world act immorally and non-Jews act morally. What's the big deal?
Let's cut to the chase: I think that there is a big deal, but I can't back that up. I don't know where the feeling comes from, but I recognize that Jewish history is full of innovation and ethical progress that is worthy of praise. I also recognize that the Jewish community is like a family, and there's no necessary reason to be born into a family; one is simply a part of a family and inherently loves it. So, I suppose I have a blind love for the Jewish people and want to see us live morally and progressively in as many ways as possible.
Does that justify the following caveat in the HUC rabbinical school application?
"In addition to the above requirements, please note that applicants and their spouses, partners, fiancés or fiancées must be Jewish by birth or conversion."
In other words, if I admit to having a non-Jewish girlfriend, I won't be admitted into HUC.
Now, this statement doesn't define Judaism, nor was it ever mentioned during my entire application process. I have heard of students omitting the fact that they have non-Jewish partners and getting into HUC regardless (though as I understand, it generally doesn't happen that someone graduates from HUC with a non-Jewish partner). Nevertheless, the statement is there: Rabbis should have Jewish partners.
This is a topic I discussed with some Wexner Fellows in Stowe. Does a rabbi need to have a non-Jewish partner?
On the one hand, a congregational rabbi is meant to be a leader and example in the Jewish community. There are many Jews, one of my Wexner colleagues included, who would expect a rabbi's partner to participate fully in all congregational activities and have a strong Jewish identity that can be shared with the community. The rabbi's should be a model of a strong Jewish family, and the rabbi should be able to have an uncompromisingly Jewish household to raise children and welcome guests.
On the other hand, if I were talking about anyone else, I would continue to repeat that all those things can happen in an interfaith marriage. A non-Jewish partner can contribute to the Jewish community, participate in a Jewish household, and raise Jewish children. We often stress that rabbis are just like everyone else ... only with more specific knowledge about Jewish topics ... so why should the household of a rabbi be any different? If anything, a rabbi would be virtually guaranteed to have a Jewish household regardless of the religion (or non-religion) of the rabbi's partner, so a rabbi, in a way, could be given even more leniency to cohabitate with whomever she desires.
Furthermore, not all rabbis are communal leaders. Some rabbis become professors, work in Hillel, serve with non-profit organizations, teach at day schools, etc. Are we saying that a Jewish professor has to be married to a Jew if the word "rabbi" comes before (or after) the word "doctor" in his title?
Moreover, as I've mentioned, being Jewish doesn't necessitate that someone is going to be involved in a Jewish community. A rabbi could have a Jewish partner who is entirely disengaged from the Jewish community. If we are looking for Jewish engagement, perhaps there should be a "participation test" for the rabbinical school applicant's partner rather than a "religion test."
Ultimately, the question is: Are we comfortable with playing a numbers game with people's family lives? Are we comfortable saying that, because it is more likely that a Jew will raise a Jewish family, we should encourage Jew-Jew partnerships? I might be able to make that statement if I believed that being Jewish was an existentially superior state than being a non-Jew. I believe that being Jewish is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe that being Christian/Muslim/Buddhist/Sikh/Agnostic/Humanist/Unitarian/Alternative/Druid/Tribal/Hindu/Etc. is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe, ultimately, that being moral and promoting peace is the greatest value to be promoted and supported and that our focus should be on creating welcoming communities that foster positive interpersonal relations on all levels - familial, communal, and inter-communal.
It's a tough call, whether Jews should have a mission to promote Judaism. As a future rabbi (and according to my own beliefs), I say that Judaism should be supported and that it's generally a good thing for people (especially Jews) to involve themselves in a Jewish community. But, if someone is fulfilled by participating in another community and is going to work to bring peace to the world, I can only offer my blessings and wish them peace.
Jessica briefly mentioned in her previous post that she was instructed to get a letter from an American rabbi attesting to her Jewishness in order to receive a student visa. The whole notion is absurd because one doesn't need to be Jewish to be a student in Israel, and the fact that it would even come up is troubling and frustrating to Jessica and me. That the officer at the Ministry of the Interior would even think to ask for such confirmation (even in error) belies the gross neglect of religious freedom in this country. Sure, if Reform Judaism is treated as a separate faith (as suggested by Rabbi Yisrael Rozen), we could have equal rights, but so long as we claim Judaism as our own, progressive Jews in Israel will continue to face religious and legal barriers that fly in the face of Deuteronomy 16:20's invective, "צדק צדק תרדף" (Justice, justice shall you pursue).
This is because, if the Ministry really wanted to push the matter (which I don't expect), the authority of the American rabbi that Jessica finds would have to be examined. Perhaps Jessica's pedigree would be up for discussion. Of course, Jessica is unquestionably Jewish even by the most orthodox standards, but someone who (A) didn't have a rabbi, (B) didn't have a Jewish mother, or (C) wasn't Jewish would certainly have a hard time receiving this visa! I can't believe that even here this letter is required, but that it's asked for is indicative of a pro-Jewish bias that exists in Israel to such a large degree that it can't even be seen.
And what's it based on? Israel was founded as a Jewish country and has been struggling with that title for the past sixty years. People have been asking, "What does it mean to be Jewish?" for a very long time, but I doubt the question is often raised of, "What's the value of us being Jewish?" If a magic genie gave me the option of making Israel a true model of civil liberty, a bastion of peace in the region, an anti-war advocate, and a democracy that values the voices of the few and seeks to bring peace and security to the whole but lose its Jewish identity, I don't know what I would do. Is being Jewish so important that I would choose it over an automatic guarantee of ethics?
On the one hand, I believe that Judaism is a gateway to ethical living and that the Torah is a medium through which we can gain wisdom and Truth. On the other hand, I don't believe that Judaism and the Torah are unique in these roles but rather are specifically efficacious and beneficial to those who identify with them. Why are there Jews? I don't know. But I believe that it's good for the Jewish people for us to be Jewish, and insofar as the Jewish people has a strong track record of "getting it right" in terms of ethics and spirituality, I'm proud to espouse the values of my religion. Yet being Jewish is neither necessary nor sufficient to being ethical, and if ethics are my ultimate priority (and my support of Judaism is a support of unification and ethical living among and outside of our people), should not ethics (or, religiously speaking, perhaps even "pure" spirituality?) outweigh Jewish identity?
I don't know.
Take the example I laid out during Wexner Post 3 about giving money to the questionably Jewish organization that I believed in. Why does Judaism have to enter into the equation at all? We might cede that Jews have a tendency to be more likely to be involved in social action/progress than a non-Jew (though I'm far from claiming that as an existential truth), but nevertheless, I would never feel comfortable making such a decision based on religion alone.
And yet, I also struggle with the notion that not only Israel's orthodox Judaism has an obvious, occasionally unjust bias towards Jewish identity. Also our very own movement has struggled and continues to struggle with this concept, as do I. Take marriage between Jews and non-Jews as an example of assumptive priority of Jewish identity. As of right now, the "official" position of the Reform Movement is as follows:
"The Central Conference of American Rabbis, recalling its stand adopted in 1909 that mixed marriage is contrary to the Jewish tradition and should be discouraged, now declares its opposition to participation by its members in any ceremony which solemnizes a mixed marriage. The Central Conference of American Rabbis recognized that historically its members have held and continue to hold divergent interpretations of Jewish tradition.
In order to keep open every channel in Judaism and Kelal Yisra-el [the Jewish People] for those who have already entered into mixed marriage, the CCAR calls upon its members:
1. To assist fully in educating children of such mixed marriage as Jews;
2. To provide the opportunity for conversion of the non-Jewish spouse; and
3. To encourage a creative and consistent cultivation of involvement in the Jewish community and the synagogue."
However, a statement given by CCAR president Harry Danziger in 2006 at the CCAR convention complicates the Reform movement's stance:
"I look back thirty-three years to the Atlanta convention of 1973, called by some the Battle of Peachtree. There after years of debate and too often acrimony, a ten line resolution was passed opposing officiation at intermarriages. Pamphlets and articles attacking one side or the other abounded. There were even threats of a split in the Conference as there had been before over Zionism.
Five years later, in 1978, Alex Schindler, zichrono livracha, proposed a comprehensive outreach program through which we turned our attention, not only to weddings – the beginning of a new household – but to outcomes – the nature of the family thus created.
In 1983, there were passionate divisions in this Conference over the proposed resolution on children of intermarriage, what has been termed “the patrilineal” resolution. The debate was intense. At the end, we broke new ground in response to new realities, and we proclaimed that, for us, the gender of the Jewish parents would not be the determinant of who is a Jew. Most of us came to live by it. Some still question it. That is part of who we are.
Move forward yet another eleven years. In 1994, in Philadelphia, I was invited to be part of a major program at the convention. Two rabbis and two lay leaders spoke. I was invited to speak on why and how I do in fact officiate at intermarriages. And the president of the Conference at that time, Shim Maslin, who deserves great credit for that program, was a leading proponent of the 1973 resolution. Beit Hillel – They studied and listened to the views of the other side.
This week we have workshops and programs that deal with how we respond to intermarriage, how we engage and involve, yes, and honor, the non-Jewish partner who lives as a Jew albeit without conversion – what some of us call a ger toshav – what I sometimes call a “common law Jew”. The official position may continue to be a ten line resolution in Atlanta, but the practice has become a consensus that there is more than one respectable way to deal with those issues."
So, in combining these two sources, we find that the Reform movement "officially" discourages interfaith marriages and, in the case of an interfaith marriage, encourages the raising of Jewish children, participation in the Jewish community, and the conversion of the non-Jewish spouse. Individual rabbis (including the president of the CCAR) may (and many do) disagree with any of these points and act according to their conscience. So there's an internal struggle in the movement about whether it's of existential value to marry a Jew.
What seems to be agreed upon is that a rabbi should encourage participation in a Jewish community and, ideally, the raising of Jewish children. A point of contention is whether a non-Jewish spouse should be encouraged to convert. Rabbi Richard Address, who was at the Wexner institute last month, told me that sometimes he's had non-Jewish members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address was pushing them to convert; and he's also had members of his community angry because--in their perception--Rabbi Address wasn't pushing them enough to convert. Even on a personal level, this is a tricky situation.
But my question is: If a couple is raising their children Jewish and participating in the Jewish community, what value is there to the community for the non-Jewish partner to convert to Judaism? Obviously, if a person discovers a personal meaning in converting to Judaism, she should follow her convictions on whether to convert. But communally, what statement are we making by saying that, all other factors being equal, Jew A is more valuable to us than non-Jew B?
I can't ignore the fact that a Jewish identity is neither sufficient nor necessary for active participation in Jewish family or communal life. Nor can I ignore the fact that Jewish identity makes that participation significantly more accessible (or that an active non-Jewish identity can disrupt a family's Jewish participation). So, is emphasis on conversion a numbers game? "Sure, we agree that a non-Jew can raise Jewish children, but since a Jew is more likely to do so, we want as many Jews raising children as we can."
But that brings us right back to the original question (and please forgive me for traveling in circles; if it's not clear, this forum is largely an opportunity for me to work through complex issues) - Why be Jewish in the first place? Israel, the Jewish state, has done some terrible things. Jews all over the world act immorally and non-Jews act morally. What's the big deal?
Let's cut to the chase: I think that there is a big deal, but I can't back that up. I don't know where the feeling comes from, but I recognize that Jewish history is full of innovation and ethical progress that is worthy of praise. I also recognize that the Jewish community is like a family, and there's no necessary reason to be born into a family; one is simply a part of a family and inherently loves it. So, I suppose I have a blind love for the Jewish people and want to see us live morally and progressively in as many ways as possible.
Does that justify the following caveat in the HUC rabbinical school application?
"In addition to the above requirements, please note that applicants and their spouses, partners, fiancés or fiancées must be Jewish by birth or conversion."
In other words, if I admit to having a non-Jewish girlfriend, I won't be admitted into HUC.
Now, this statement doesn't define Judaism, nor was it ever mentioned during my entire application process. I have heard of students omitting the fact that they have non-Jewish partners and getting into HUC regardless (though as I understand, it generally doesn't happen that someone graduates from HUC with a non-Jewish partner). Nevertheless, the statement is there: Rabbis should have Jewish partners.
This is a topic I discussed with some Wexner Fellows in Stowe. Does a rabbi need to have a non-Jewish partner?
On the one hand, a congregational rabbi is meant to be a leader and example in the Jewish community. There are many Jews, one of my Wexner colleagues included, who would expect a rabbi's partner to participate fully in all congregational activities and have a strong Jewish identity that can be shared with the community. The rabbi's should be a model of a strong Jewish family, and the rabbi should be able to have an uncompromisingly Jewish household to raise children and welcome guests.
On the other hand, if I were talking about anyone else, I would continue to repeat that all those things can happen in an interfaith marriage. A non-Jewish partner can contribute to the Jewish community, participate in a Jewish household, and raise Jewish children. We often stress that rabbis are just like everyone else ... only with more specific knowledge about Jewish topics ... so why should the household of a rabbi be any different? If anything, a rabbi would be virtually guaranteed to have a Jewish household regardless of the religion (or non-religion) of the rabbi's partner, so a rabbi, in a way, could be given even more leniency to cohabitate with whomever she desires.
Furthermore, not all rabbis are communal leaders. Some rabbis become professors, work in Hillel, serve with non-profit organizations, teach at day schools, etc. Are we saying that a Jewish professor has to be married to a Jew if the word "rabbi" comes before (or after) the word "doctor" in his title?
Moreover, as I've mentioned, being Jewish doesn't necessitate that someone is going to be involved in a Jewish community. A rabbi could have a Jewish partner who is entirely disengaged from the Jewish community. If we are looking for Jewish engagement, perhaps there should be a "participation test" for the rabbinical school applicant's partner rather than a "religion test."
Ultimately, the question is: Are we comfortable with playing a numbers game with people's family lives? Are we comfortable saying that, because it is more likely that a Jew will raise a Jewish family, we should encourage Jew-Jew partnerships? I might be able to make that statement if I believed that being Jewish was an existentially superior state than being a non-Jew. I believe that being Jewish is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe that being Christian/Muslim/Buddhist/Sikh/Agnostic/Humanist/Unitarian/Alternative/Druid/Tribal/Hindu/Etc. is special and unique and wonderful and should be promoted and supported. I believe, ultimately, that being moral and promoting peace is the greatest value to be promoted and supported and that our focus should be on creating welcoming communities that foster positive interpersonal relations on all levels - familial, communal, and inter-communal.
It's a tough call, whether Jews should have a mission to promote Judaism. As a future rabbi (and according to my own beliefs), I say that Judaism should be supported and that it's generally a good thing for people (especially Jews) to involve themselves in a Jewish community. But, if someone is fulfilled by participating in another community and is going to work to bring peace to the world, I can only offer my blessings and wish them peace.
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