.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.
Showing posts with label Wexner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wexner. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Wexner Summer Institute, Part 3
.מכון ווקסנר קיץ, החלק השלישי
What follows is a series of thoughts that would normally probably not appear side-by-side. However, one of the greatest values I found at the Wexner institutes was the juxtaposition of topics and people in such a way to generate new and engaging thoughts. Although this post can't possibly reflect all that I learned at the Institute, it'll serve as a good start.
Let's get the ball rolling with an announcement: I will be officiating at my brother Josh's wedding.
I was honored and touched that he asked me before I left for Israel, but I had to think about whether I would accept the honor for about a month. My reservations focused mostly on my extreme lack of knowledge and my uncertainty about the "appropriateness" of my overstepping the bounds of my student-hood and serving in the capacity of a religious leader. At the Institute, I spoke to a rabbinical student at JTS who had recently officiated at his sister's wedding, and in talking to him, I came to realize that I wouldn't be serving so much as a rabbi as a brother in this capacity. In addition, at the Institute I heard several mentions of non-rabbis performing at wedding ceremonies, and I learned that traditionally, weddings have never needed a rabbi. On top of that, this ceremony isn't going to be a traditional Jewish wedding, so my rabbi-hood (or lack thereof) really shouldn't play into it. There's still the bit about my lack of knowledge, but the Wexner Fellow I spoke to shared with me the process of reflection he went through with his sister and her fiance, and I took heart from hearing about someone else going through a similar process. And, of course, I've promised to begin my studies immediately in order to be able to help Josh and Sheri create the most meaningful ceremony we can, and as such, I have a meeting with a rabbi at HUC about this very topic tomorrow afternoon!
Not everything I took away from the Institute was so personal, but I did engage in a number of internal reflections. For example, I spent much of the week being acutely aware of my status as a Reform Jew. Growing up, there were only Reform and Conservative Jews, and what that mostly meant to me was that a few students in my Sunday School class would have Bar and Bat Mitzvahs at the Temple while the rest would have their ceremonies at the Synagogue (in longer and, in my opinion, more boring services). When I immersed myself in the study of Judaism and religion at UVA, I relished in wading through the world of theological and historical Judaism ... but practically speaking, Jewish life was basically Reform, Conservative, or "Cultural." As I increased my involvement in Hillel, I became more "broad" in my thinking (while remaining Reform in my practice), and largely I focused on engaging the "Cultural" Jews in "Cultural" ways. At City Year, my Jewish experience was largely either virtually secular youth programming or deep, significant text study with my chevruta partner, Josh. Once I entered HUC, I was once again dropped into a world of Reform ... but a world that seemed to be surrounded by orthodoxy.
That's a hasty and broad portrayal of the views of Judaism throughout my life, but a common theme that I recall is a two-group system. In Roanoke, it was Reform/Conservative; in Hillel, it was Engaged/Cultural (not fair, I know, but that's how I felt a lot of the time); in Washington, it was spiritual/secular; and in Jerusalem, it's been Reform/Orthodox. During most of those periods, including a lot of my time here at HUC, I'd been more practically aware of what Reform isn't rather than what it is (though since a stimulating conversation with Jessica's parents in Toronto, I've had thoughts of "positive Reform identity" simmering on the back burner). However, that was different at the institute.
As I struggled to remember who was from what program, I also strived to learn from what perspectives my fellow Fellows were approaching various topics. And in juxtaposition with them (and in delayed response to a conversation I had with Ari, one of the Fellows in my class, in Jerusalem before the institute), I began to identify very strongly with the Reform movement. Now, don't get me wrong: I've always (or at least often) felt "very Reform," and I've always been a supporter of most if not all of the Union for Reform Judaism's policies and platforms. I've thought about what it means to be Reform, and I've had opportunities to explore in small ways the differences between Reform Judaism and other movements. But when I was sitting in a circle with 18 non-Reform Jews (and 1 HUC classmate), all of whom were people from whom I wanted to learn, I felt that I stood out as Reform. Since many Jews identify as post- or non-denominational though still "progressive," I believe most of the views about liberal Judaism are represented by Reform Jews. And there I was, at least in self-perception, the walking label of liberal Judaism.
And I didn't feel at all uncomfortable with this. On the contrary, I was proud to be representing my movement in this atmosphere of dialogue and progress. The particularism of that pride waned over the week, but I never entirely lost the feeling of being one of the Reform Jews, especially as I sat at the HUC table that was convened for one of the meals to talk about HUC things.
So, what did that do for my Reform identity? As we proceed, I'll write more about pluralism and my thoughts and interactions with different streams of Judaism; in conjunction with my exploration of other perspectives, I by default continued to define my own position. I talked last post about reading the Pittsburg Platform of 1885 and how I felt a certain identity with my movement in ways I hadn't felt before. On the other hand, the bonds I made with rabbinic students at JTS and American Jewish University, Yeshiva University, Hebrew College, and Yeshivat Chovevei Torah and students in other programs as well extended my communal identity and made my Reform more inclusive. I'm not entirely sure what all this means yet, but I hope that by the time I become a "real" rabbi in the Reform movement, I'll have a much better idea of how I feel about being a member of this specific community in relation, conjunction, and cooperation with members of other specific communities.
Now, of course, I say "specific communities," but I'm also talking about a larger "Jewish community," and in a major way, our institute about Jewish Family was dealing with the question "What is a Jewish Community?" Some corollary questions that came up in conversation were "Who is a Jew?" and "Why does it matter?"
Here's what I would say before the institute: No one can determine someone else's identity. If I identify as Jewish, no one has the authority to tell me that I'm not. (The same goes for gender, sexual orientation, and other classifications as well.) However, my ability to be a part of a community, by definition, requires the cooperation of other members of that community. So, a person says to me, "I believe that Christ is the messiah, I go to church every Sunday, my family doesn't identify as Jewish, and I have no intention of participating in Jewish life. However, my mother was Jewish, so I identify as Jewish as well." I can't tell that person that she's not Jewish, but I can inform her that (A) there are Jews out there who will (erringly, in my opinion) tell her flatly that she's not Jewish and (B) were she to seek acceptance as a member of the Jewish Community, she would not be successful. End of story (especially since extreme hypotheticals rarely reflect reality).
Now, I still largely believe that one's identity is one's own and that participation in a community is communal; however, I have a better appreciation for alternate points of view, and that appreciation came about through a series of discussions that touched on some of the following topics.
Let's move out of the realm of hypothetical and into the realm of actual. In Israel, a Jew can immigrate and become a citizen of the country; they are considered Jewish if at least one grandparent was Jewish. This Judaism is determined by documentation such as birth, Bar/Bat Mitzvah, marriage, or death certificates or affirmation by a rabbi. However, to get married in Israel, one must have an official Orthodox wedding. Official Orthodox weddings cannot happen between the following couples:
Let's say Lev, a Jew, marries Elizabeth, who has a Conservative conversion, and they have a daughter, Sarah. Sarah has two Jewish grandparents (Avi's parents) and therefore successfully makes aliyah. Now, she wants to marry Tomer, an Israeli Jew, and they're willing to have an Orthodox ceremony in Israel (instead of flying to Crete or someplace and coming back for a non-binding wedding ceremony in Israel). So, they go to apply for a marriage license.
When asked to supply affirmation of her Jewishness, Sarah may be asked to produce documentation that her mother is Jewish (which is the traditional halachic/legal definition of Jewishness). Although Sarah was "Jewish enough" to make aliyah under the Law of Return, her mother's conversion certificate isn't sufficient to grant her status as a Jew in the eyes of the rabbinic courts, despite having lived her entire life as a Jew. Now, she and Tomer cannot get married in the State of Israel unless Sarah undergoes an orthodox conversion or they leave the country and receive a foreign marriage license that will be retroactively recognized by the state.
In this instance, Sarah's Judaism is being defined for her and it has real legal implications on her life. I don't know to what degree situations like Sarah's would be enforced in Israel, but conversion, marriage, and divorce are hot topic issues in Israel as there is no separation between religion and state here.
So, getting back to our original question, what right does the rabbinic court have to tell Sarah that she is or isn't Jewish? If they were to follow my philosophy, they'd say, "Okay, so you're not orthodox; we wouldn't recommend trying to fit in to an orthodox community. However, since you identify as Jewish, that's good enough for us. Have a happy marriage!" Although I'm a fan of the separation of religious and legal matters, if Israel is determined to erase that boundary, I believe that they should have a more pluralistic/accepting approach to Judaism. Take the most liberal definitions of Judaism, the ones that include the most Jews and therefore strengthen most of the "Jewish community," and implement them on a broad scale.
A modern orthodox Fellow with whom I was discussing this topic more or less agrees with that assessment (and actually brought it up as a recommendation in our conversation). However, he pushed me to consider further examples where relying on someone's self-identity as Jewish (or on a community's inclusion of someone as a Jewish) may not be so simple. Some complicating examples:
Let's say I'm working with a Jewish non-profit organization that distributes grants to smaller Jewish organizations. An independent chavurah (prayer group) in my city has jointly participated in the Save Darfur campaign of a local synagogue and, inspired, is starting its own grassroots movement. Using college connections, this chavurah is going to undergo a relay bike-a-thon across the entire state and post interviews with state residents about the Darfur situation on YouTube. This chavurah is asking my non-profit for a start-up grant to buy bicycles and a digital recorder.
Background: the chavurah meets once monthly and doesn't include Hebrew in their meetings. They largely follow the Quaker meeting style of sitting in silence and combine it with yoga and meditations. Each meeting, a different member gives a short ethical "sermon," which is followed by discussion at a coffee shop over lunch. The founding members of the chavurah identify as Jewish, and several of their Jewish friends attend. However, a majority of the participants in the monthly meeting do not identify as Jewish.
Now, let's say that I and my colleagues really like the program idea and want to give the group money. However, our charter insists that we support only Jewish programs in order to create solidarity and strengthen support within Jewish communities. So the question is: Is the chavurah a Jewish group?
Let's say we deny them funds because they're not a Jewish group. Are we then stipulating methods of prayer as a definition of Jewishness? Or simply a majority of participants? Would an interfaith-friendly Humanistic congregation face the same fate?
Let's say we grant them funds, agreeing that they are a Jewish group. Are we then affirming that Jewish identity is good enough to be a Jewish group? "Jewish" ethics? Would a Messianic Jewish congregation be accorded the same status?
Here's a second example.
Let's say I'm a rabbi with a Reform congregation. A couple with a 12-year-old son approaches me to say they'd like their son to have a Bar Mitzvah in the sanctuary. The wife and husband don't pay dues to the Temple, they haven't participated in a Jewish event as long as I've been around, and the son hasn't received a religious education. Both parents and the son identify as Jewish; however, none are willing to commit to religious education for the son. They all feel that it's important to mark the son's 13th birthday, to commemorate his ascent into adulthood in the Jewish community (that, who knows?, he may someday participate in), but the demands on the son's time are too great for him to learn a Torah portion and read the prayers. What do I do?
They all identify as Jewish, they've expressed at least a theoretical future interest in Jewish communal life, and they are looking to me to help them commemorate what they feel to be a significant Jewish moment in an otherwise non-Jewish lifestyle.
Let's say I tell them that a true Jewish adult values learning, and therefore the son should make time for his studies. What does that say about the parents' Jewish identities?
Let's say I tell them that, since they haven't needed the Jewish community until now, they should have their own private Bar Mitzvah and continue to live a life of private Judaism. Does that mean I don't want to welcome them into my community?
Let's say I grant the request and offer blessings and commemoration from the bima. Does that send a message to the rest of the congregation that I don't value Jewish education?
The underlying question in these two scenarios is: What is the basis of inclusion in a Jewish community? Is it Jewish identity, singular or popular? Is it monetary contribution? Attendance of services/events? Adherence to tradition? Participation in education? Following a code of ethics?
Prior to the Wexner institute, my answers to these questions would be pretty broad. Largely, inclusion in a Jewish community is experiential. I feel something different about interacting with Jews than non-Jews - there's something special there for me. Perhaps I'd have to apply the same gut reaction to the examples above. Do I connect to the individuals involved as Jews? And are they also seeking inclusion in my Jewish community?
After the Wexner institute, I don't think I have any more specific answers, but I do have in my toolbox a helpful concept: Family. Jews are a family. According to our story, we all descend from Abraham. According to history, Judaism descends from a group of people that achieved a certain amount of national success and identity in Canaan and maintained that identity for thousands of years across the entire globe.
Just like a human-relations family, you can't pick who's related to you. I may not like my cousin (hypothetical here), but I "have" to love him because he's in my family. Just because I disagree with many orthodox points of view doesn't mean I can reject them entirely - we're all still members of this family. Members of a family fight, and they also support one another. They celebrate with each other even if they disagree, and sometimes they get irrationally angry when they wouldn't feel that way with someone outside of the family. The members of my family, like it or not, are related to me, and I have an inescapable bond with them for better or for worse.
And this idea is quite novel to me and really very deep. As pointed out to us by Rabbi Greenberg, this notion of Jewish family isn't just an existential reality but is the method of redemption established by God. God creates the world, and all is good. Then, things start to go wrong as soon as a family is created. Things get worse, and God destroys the world. God makes a covenant with Noah and says, "Okay, I get it, the world's not perfect. Just please try to adhere to some basic rules." Still things continue to go wrong, so God, instead of relying on a covenant with the entire world, turns to one family: Abraham's. God's covenant with Abraham is a unique outlook on the world that says that the instrument of salvation is not through obedience or divine intervention or transcendence or scientific progress but rather through family relationships. As Abraham's family grows, its struggles and developments will create something new and holy in the world. Sometimes it will be beautiful, and sometimes it will be murderous. But in the end, it will be bound by love, and in emulation of that binding love of the Children of Abraham, the world will be able to see past the things that separate people and recognize our responsibility of automatic devotion to one another as Children of Adam.
Of course, this outlook (like all outlooks) has a certain number of complications to it. A major one that was brought up in my conversations at the institute is that of universalism vs. particularism. That is, do I believe that there is something unique and holy about the Jewish family from which the rest of the world would do good to learn? My answer, as always, is complex and unstable.
On the one hand, I believe in a universal good. If one were to sum up ethics in a single statement, it could be, "Do not violate." However, to understand that sentence in all its myriad particulars is a daunting task, and a system by means of which people can order their lives ethically can be extremely helpful. Thus, I believe that the words of Torah are, existentially, holy and through studying them in community, one can touch truth in such a way that one's behavior is shaped in an ethical direction. The Jewish family has produced, protected, and championed a tradition of ethical action and evolution.
However, there are traditional Jewish texts that scream immorality, and I believe it's important to follow our instincts in interpreting the original statement of "Do not violate" in our search for a meaningful interpretation of Torah. For example, in this week's Torah portion (Re'eh), we read:
If anyone secretly entices you—even if it is your brother, your father’s son or your mother’s son, or your own son or daughter, or the wife you embrace, or your most intimate friend—saying, ‘Let us go and worship other gods’, ... you must not yield to or heed any such persons. Show them no pity or compassion and do not shield them. But you shall surely kill them; your own hand shall be first against them to execute them, and afterwards the hand of all the people. Stone them to death for trying to turn you away from the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. Then all Israel shall hear and be afraid, and never again do any such wickedness (Deuteronomy 13: 6, 8-11).
Now, of course, the Jewish notion of idolatry is complex and ultimate, but whether we're talking about enticement away from recognizing God's singularity, encouraging conversion away from Judaism, propagandizing into nationalism, or preaching of immorality, I nevertheless believe that "show them no pity or compassion ... your own hand shall be the first to execute [your own son or daughter]" must be interpreted in a non-literal way because the literal translation absolutely transgresses the precept of "Do not violate."
But how do I know that it transgresses that precept if traditional Jewish texts aren't telling me? Well, the easy answer is that Jewish texts are telling me, and I surely could find Jewish texts to support my view. This becomes particularly evident with rabbis who want to give a sermon on a particular topic and go researching texts that will support their view. But, look more basically: How did the original authors of those Jewish texts (assuming they're identifiable) come up with the interpretations that they did? I could be wrong, but my assumption is that they were acting according to basic moral principles that guide our everyday life.
So, back to the question: What's so great about the Jewish family? The answer: I don't know. Perhaps it's merely historical/factual: In history, the Jews have done a lot of good things and continue to do a lot of good things, so we must have gotten something right. Of course, I also believe that not just the Jews but also the Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, etc. also got a lot right. Perhaps what we've got, though, is a practical approach to peace:
Family. Christianity is focused on God as an instrument of salvation. Judaism is focused on our family. A universalizing of the Jewish message could therefore read: Cherish the human family, despite our differences, and we'll be able to love one another like the Jews do. Maybe it's not a perfectly thought-out conclusion, but I think it's pretty good. The model of family is an excellent paradigm of human interrelations, and our ability to recognize one another as true family members is essential to being able to spread peace throughout the world.
Easy, right? Maybe in thought but certainly not in practice. And the Jewish family still hasn't gotten it totally right. Jews continue to fight, disagree, and be separated from one another. We often talk about Jewish communities since agreeing about the Jewish Community is too difficult. This Wexner institute enormously helped me out personally in this field by getting me to challenge myself and my notions of pluralism. By trying to see "Judaism" through the eyes of a Jew of a different perspective, my own view was broadened.
To me, halacha (Jewish law) is not the literal word of God since to me, God is not a conscious actor in the world and therefore couldn't have told us, in language, what to do. I do believe that words of God exist but are more broad that halacha allows. We read in Genesis, "God said let there be light, and there was light." That is, everything in the world is a Word of God. In Hebrew, דבר means both "thing" and "word." They're the same. So claiming that the Talmud is the Word of God and that the New Testament or I am not is too exclusionary.
However, after conversations at Wexner, I can further shade my understanding. Just because halacha does not represent the entire corpus of God's words does not mean that they aren't holy. I believe that those who adhere to them should be concerned with constant re-examination in the light of ethical review (see the Conservative movement), but I can't say that living by halacha is not a good starting point.
And therefore, I allow that for many, Judaism is not just thought-based but also action-based. To many Orthodox Jews, Judaism does imply a necessary set of ethical and theological standards, but one must also act in a certain way to be Jewish. (For the purposes of this conversation, let's assume that an Orthodox Jew is defining herself and not trying to determine someone else's level of Jewish commitment or peoplehood.) Thus, if I'm Orthodox, believing in God and keeping kosher are identical.
This leads me to thoughts I've been having about pluralism. Generally, I have thought of pluralism as being a worldview - to be pluralistic is to accept that what I believe is true without making a judgement one way or another on whether what you believe is true (and leaving room for both of us to be right even if we're in contradiction). However, I now recognize another dimension of pluralism, at least within the context of Judaism: Pluralism of practice.
It was my experience at Hillel that, whenever we wanted to plan something "religious" for the entire community, we'd survey the most observant students and make sure that everything adhered to their standards. Over the years, I became somewhat frustrated by never being able to express the strong Reform identity that I mentioned way back at the beginning of this post. "Why can't we be pluralistic about this?" I'd wonder. "Why always be monolithic in our practical approach?"
Fast forward to the Wexner institute, where pluralism is the name of the game (though never actually mentioned officially). I found that the programs and dialogues were very pluralistic and sought to address challenges of building a welcoming and broad Jewish community. In talking with an Orthodox Fellow, I realized that this was a form of the same process I had experienced at Hillel but in the opposite direction.
Pluralism of practice leans to the right; pluralism of thought leans to the left.
At the institute, was that there wasn't an attempt to achieve pluralism of practice. Services were all separated, the food was strictly kosher, and we didn't have the institute over Shabbat. All practical considerations were handled deftly and in advance so that we could get to the meat of the pluralistic discussion.
However, the essentially practical elements of Judaism were excluded from our institute.
On the one hand, I loved the conversations, and I know that they were mind-stretching to us all, the most observant among us more than most. Yet, I feel a certain sense of guilt at having had everything "my way." In a sense, I was very at ease talking about interfaith marriages, homosexuality, conversions, and rational religion, but there were others who were forced into silence on these issues. If we were in an Orthodox service, perhaps I, too, would be forced into silence, and I would better have been able to appreciate the perspective of some of my fellow Fellows.
I'm not sure what this means for my life other than that I have a more nuanced appreciation for the practical challenges of pluralism. I will definitely keep this thought alive, though, and I may seek to address it at a future institute.
As is obvious, I learned a tremendous amount at the institute, and I deeply appreciated the opportunity to engage in serious critical thinking. Perhaps more than anything else, I learned so much about orthodox Judaism, orthodox outlooks on pluralism, challenges in the modern orthodox world, etc. To be honest, it was exactly what I needed. Yes, stories about the "Modesty Squad" still set my blood aboil, but I love my orthodox friends as family, and I hope that one day I can relate even to ultra-orthodox Jews in such a way that, though I disagree with them, I also love them (and vice versa). The Wexner institute, though imperfect, was a small-scale model of positive pluralistic thinking that hopefully will be translated into action. I very much look forward to future institutes and, moreso, to building a stronger Jewish family that reaches out to all of our fellow Children of Adam.
What follows is a series of thoughts that would normally probably not appear side-by-side. However, one of the greatest values I found at the Wexner institutes was the juxtaposition of topics and people in such a way to generate new and engaging thoughts. Although this post can't possibly reflect all that I learned at the Institute, it'll serve as a good start.
Let's get the ball rolling with an announcement: I will be officiating at my brother Josh's wedding.
I was honored and touched that he asked me before I left for Israel, but I had to think about whether I would accept the honor for about a month. My reservations focused mostly on my extreme lack of knowledge and my uncertainty about the "appropriateness" of my overstepping the bounds of my student-hood and serving in the capacity of a religious leader. At the Institute, I spoke to a rabbinical student at JTS who had recently officiated at his sister's wedding, and in talking to him, I came to realize that I wouldn't be serving so much as a rabbi as a brother in this capacity. In addition, at the Institute I heard several mentions of non-rabbis performing at wedding ceremonies, and I learned that traditionally, weddings have never needed a rabbi. On top of that, this ceremony isn't going to be a traditional Jewish wedding, so my rabbi-hood (or lack thereof) really shouldn't play into it. There's still the bit about my lack of knowledge, but the Wexner Fellow I spoke to shared with me the process of reflection he went through with his sister and her fiance, and I took heart from hearing about someone else going through a similar process. And, of course, I've promised to begin my studies immediately in order to be able to help Josh and Sheri create the most meaningful ceremony we can, and as such, I have a meeting with a rabbi at HUC about this very topic tomorrow afternoon!
Not everything I took away from the Institute was so personal, but I did engage in a number of internal reflections. For example, I spent much of the week being acutely aware of my status as a Reform Jew. Growing up, there were only Reform and Conservative Jews, and what that mostly meant to me was that a few students in my Sunday School class would have Bar and Bat Mitzvahs at the Temple while the rest would have their ceremonies at the Synagogue (in longer and, in my opinion, more boring services). When I immersed myself in the study of Judaism and religion at UVA, I relished in wading through the world of theological and historical Judaism ... but practically speaking, Jewish life was basically Reform, Conservative, or "Cultural." As I increased my involvement in Hillel, I became more "broad" in my thinking (while remaining Reform in my practice), and largely I focused on engaging the "Cultural" Jews in "Cultural" ways. At City Year, my Jewish experience was largely either virtually secular youth programming or deep, significant text study with my chevruta partner, Josh. Once I entered HUC, I was once again dropped into a world of Reform ... but a world that seemed to be surrounded by orthodoxy.
That's a hasty and broad portrayal of the views of Judaism throughout my life, but a common theme that I recall is a two-group system. In Roanoke, it was Reform/Conservative; in Hillel, it was Engaged/Cultural (not fair, I know, but that's how I felt a lot of the time); in Washington, it was spiritual/secular; and in Jerusalem, it's been Reform/Orthodox. During most of those periods, including a lot of my time here at HUC, I'd been more practically aware of what Reform isn't rather than what it is (though since a stimulating conversation with Jessica's parents in Toronto, I've had thoughts of "positive Reform identity" simmering on the back burner). However, that was different at the institute.
As I struggled to remember who was from what program, I also strived to learn from what perspectives my fellow Fellows were approaching various topics. And in juxtaposition with them (and in delayed response to a conversation I had with Ari, one of the Fellows in my class, in Jerusalem before the institute), I began to identify very strongly with the Reform movement. Now, don't get me wrong: I've always (or at least often) felt "very Reform," and I've always been a supporter of most if not all of the Union for Reform Judaism's policies and platforms. I've thought about what it means to be Reform, and I've had opportunities to explore in small ways the differences between Reform Judaism and other movements. But when I was sitting in a circle with 18 non-Reform Jews (and 1 HUC classmate), all of whom were people from whom I wanted to learn, I felt that I stood out as Reform. Since many Jews identify as post- or non-denominational though still "progressive," I believe most of the views about liberal Judaism are represented by Reform Jews. And there I was, at least in self-perception, the walking label of liberal Judaism.
And I didn't feel at all uncomfortable with this. On the contrary, I was proud to be representing my movement in this atmosphere of dialogue and progress. The particularism of that pride waned over the week, but I never entirely lost the feeling of being one of the Reform Jews, especially as I sat at the HUC table that was convened for one of the meals to talk about HUC things.
So, what did that do for my Reform identity? As we proceed, I'll write more about pluralism and my thoughts and interactions with different streams of Judaism; in conjunction with my exploration of other perspectives, I by default continued to define my own position. I talked last post about reading the Pittsburg Platform of 1885 and how I felt a certain identity with my movement in ways I hadn't felt before. On the other hand, the bonds I made with rabbinic students at JTS and American Jewish University, Yeshiva University, Hebrew College, and Yeshivat Chovevei Torah and students in other programs as well extended my communal identity and made my Reform more inclusive. I'm not entirely sure what all this means yet, but I hope that by the time I become a "real" rabbi in the Reform movement, I'll have a much better idea of how I feel about being a member of this specific community in relation, conjunction, and cooperation with members of other specific communities.
Now, of course, I say "specific communities," but I'm also talking about a larger "Jewish community," and in a major way, our institute about Jewish Family was dealing with the question "What is a Jewish Community?" Some corollary questions that came up in conversation were "Who is a Jew?" and "Why does it matter?"
Here's what I would say before the institute: No one can determine someone else's identity. If I identify as Jewish, no one has the authority to tell me that I'm not. (The same goes for gender, sexual orientation, and other classifications as well.) However, my ability to be a part of a community, by definition, requires the cooperation of other members of that community. So, a person says to me, "I believe that Christ is the messiah, I go to church every Sunday, my family doesn't identify as Jewish, and I have no intention of participating in Jewish life. However, my mother was Jewish, so I identify as Jewish as well." I can't tell that person that she's not Jewish, but I can inform her that (A) there are Jews out there who will (erringly, in my opinion) tell her flatly that she's not Jewish and (B) were she to seek acceptance as a member of the Jewish Community, she would not be successful. End of story (especially since extreme hypotheticals rarely reflect reality).
Now, I still largely believe that one's identity is one's own and that participation in a community is communal; however, I have a better appreciation for alternate points of view, and that appreciation came about through a series of discussions that touched on some of the following topics.
Let's move out of the realm of hypothetical and into the realm of actual. In Israel, a Jew can immigrate and become a citizen of the country; they are considered Jewish if at least one grandparent was Jewish. This Judaism is determined by documentation such as birth, Bar/Bat Mitzvah, marriage, or death certificates or affirmation by a rabbi. However, to get married in Israel, one must have an official Orthodox wedding. Official Orthodox weddings cannot happen between the following couples:
- Jew/non-Jew
- Kohen/divorcee, child of non-Jewish father, offspring of non-recognized marriage, a widow who performed chalitza, a widow who converted
- Man/man
- Woman/woman
- Mamzer/non-mamzer
Let's say Lev, a Jew, marries Elizabeth, who has a Conservative conversion, and they have a daughter, Sarah. Sarah has two Jewish grandparents (Avi's parents) and therefore successfully makes aliyah. Now, she wants to marry Tomer, an Israeli Jew, and they're willing to have an Orthodox ceremony in Israel (instead of flying to Crete or someplace and coming back for a non-binding wedding ceremony in Israel). So, they go to apply for a marriage license.
When asked to supply affirmation of her Jewishness, Sarah may be asked to produce documentation that her mother is Jewish (which is the traditional halachic/legal definition of Jewishness). Although Sarah was "Jewish enough" to make aliyah under the Law of Return, her mother's conversion certificate isn't sufficient to grant her status as a Jew in the eyes of the rabbinic courts, despite having lived her entire life as a Jew. Now, she and Tomer cannot get married in the State of Israel unless Sarah undergoes an orthodox conversion or they leave the country and receive a foreign marriage license that will be retroactively recognized by the state.
In this instance, Sarah's Judaism is being defined for her and it has real legal implications on her life. I don't know to what degree situations like Sarah's would be enforced in Israel, but conversion, marriage, and divorce are hot topic issues in Israel as there is no separation between religion and state here.
So, getting back to our original question, what right does the rabbinic court have to tell Sarah that she is or isn't Jewish? If they were to follow my philosophy, they'd say, "Okay, so you're not orthodox; we wouldn't recommend trying to fit in to an orthodox community. However, since you identify as Jewish, that's good enough for us. Have a happy marriage!" Although I'm a fan of the separation of religious and legal matters, if Israel is determined to erase that boundary, I believe that they should have a more pluralistic/accepting approach to Judaism. Take the most liberal definitions of Judaism, the ones that include the most Jews and therefore strengthen most of the "Jewish community," and implement them on a broad scale.
A modern orthodox Fellow with whom I was discussing this topic more or less agrees with that assessment (and actually brought it up as a recommendation in our conversation). However, he pushed me to consider further examples where relying on someone's self-identity as Jewish (or on a community's inclusion of someone as a Jewish) may not be so simple. Some complicating examples:
Let's say I'm working with a Jewish non-profit organization that distributes grants to smaller Jewish organizations. An independent chavurah (prayer group) in my city has jointly participated in the Save Darfur campaign of a local synagogue and, inspired, is starting its own grassroots movement. Using college connections, this chavurah is going to undergo a relay bike-a-thon across the entire state and post interviews with state residents about the Darfur situation on YouTube. This chavurah is asking my non-profit for a start-up grant to buy bicycles and a digital recorder.
Background: the chavurah meets once monthly and doesn't include Hebrew in their meetings. They largely follow the Quaker meeting style of sitting in silence and combine it with yoga and meditations. Each meeting, a different member gives a short ethical "sermon," which is followed by discussion at a coffee shop over lunch. The founding members of the chavurah identify as Jewish, and several of their Jewish friends attend. However, a majority of the participants in the monthly meeting do not identify as Jewish.
Now, let's say that I and my colleagues really like the program idea and want to give the group money. However, our charter insists that we support only Jewish programs in order to create solidarity and strengthen support within Jewish communities. So the question is: Is the chavurah a Jewish group?
Let's say we deny them funds because they're not a Jewish group. Are we then stipulating methods of prayer as a definition of Jewishness? Or simply a majority of participants? Would an interfaith-friendly Humanistic congregation face the same fate?
Let's say we grant them funds, agreeing that they are a Jewish group. Are we then affirming that Jewish identity is good enough to be a Jewish group? "Jewish" ethics? Would a Messianic Jewish congregation be accorded the same status?
Here's a second example.
Let's say I'm a rabbi with a Reform congregation. A couple with a 12-year-old son approaches me to say they'd like their son to have a Bar Mitzvah in the sanctuary. The wife and husband don't pay dues to the Temple, they haven't participated in a Jewish event as long as I've been around, and the son hasn't received a religious education. Both parents and the son identify as Jewish; however, none are willing to commit to religious education for the son. They all feel that it's important to mark the son's 13th birthday, to commemorate his ascent into adulthood in the Jewish community (that, who knows?, he may someday participate in), but the demands on the son's time are too great for him to learn a Torah portion and read the prayers. What do I do?
They all identify as Jewish, they've expressed at least a theoretical future interest in Jewish communal life, and they are looking to me to help them commemorate what they feel to be a significant Jewish moment in an otherwise non-Jewish lifestyle.
Let's say I tell them that a true Jewish adult values learning, and therefore the son should make time for his studies. What does that say about the parents' Jewish identities?
Let's say I tell them that, since they haven't needed the Jewish community until now, they should have their own private Bar Mitzvah and continue to live a life of private Judaism. Does that mean I don't want to welcome them into my community?
Let's say I grant the request and offer blessings and commemoration from the bima. Does that send a message to the rest of the congregation that I don't value Jewish education?
The underlying question in these two scenarios is: What is the basis of inclusion in a Jewish community? Is it Jewish identity, singular or popular? Is it monetary contribution? Attendance of services/events? Adherence to tradition? Participation in education? Following a code of ethics?
Prior to the Wexner institute, my answers to these questions would be pretty broad. Largely, inclusion in a Jewish community is experiential. I feel something different about interacting with Jews than non-Jews - there's something special there for me. Perhaps I'd have to apply the same gut reaction to the examples above. Do I connect to the individuals involved as Jews? And are they also seeking inclusion in my Jewish community?
After the Wexner institute, I don't think I have any more specific answers, but I do have in my toolbox a helpful concept: Family. Jews are a family. According to our story, we all descend from Abraham. According to history, Judaism descends from a group of people that achieved a certain amount of national success and identity in Canaan and maintained that identity for thousands of years across the entire globe.
Just like a human-relations family, you can't pick who's related to you. I may not like my cousin (hypothetical here), but I "have" to love him because he's in my family. Just because I disagree with many orthodox points of view doesn't mean I can reject them entirely - we're all still members of this family. Members of a family fight, and they also support one another. They celebrate with each other even if they disagree, and sometimes they get irrationally angry when they wouldn't feel that way with someone outside of the family. The members of my family, like it or not, are related to me, and I have an inescapable bond with them for better or for worse.
And this idea is quite novel to me and really very deep. As pointed out to us by Rabbi Greenberg, this notion of Jewish family isn't just an existential reality but is the method of redemption established by God. God creates the world, and all is good. Then, things start to go wrong as soon as a family is created. Things get worse, and God destroys the world. God makes a covenant with Noah and says, "Okay, I get it, the world's not perfect. Just please try to adhere to some basic rules." Still things continue to go wrong, so God, instead of relying on a covenant with the entire world, turns to one family: Abraham's. God's covenant with Abraham is a unique outlook on the world that says that the instrument of salvation is not through obedience or divine intervention or transcendence or scientific progress but rather through family relationships. As Abraham's family grows, its struggles and developments will create something new and holy in the world. Sometimes it will be beautiful, and sometimes it will be murderous. But in the end, it will be bound by love, and in emulation of that binding love of the Children of Abraham, the world will be able to see past the things that separate people and recognize our responsibility of automatic devotion to one another as Children of Adam.
Of course, this outlook (like all outlooks) has a certain number of complications to it. A major one that was brought up in my conversations at the institute is that of universalism vs. particularism. That is, do I believe that there is something unique and holy about the Jewish family from which the rest of the world would do good to learn? My answer, as always, is complex and unstable.
On the one hand, I believe in a universal good. If one were to sum up ethics in a single statement, it could be, "Do not violate." However, to understand that sentence in all its myriad particulars is a daunting task, and a system by means of which people can order their lives ethically can be extremely helpful. Thus, I believe that the words of Torah are, existentially, holy and through studying them in community, one can touch truth in such a way that one's behavior is shaped in an ethical direction. The Jewish family has produced, protected, and championed a tradition of ethical action and evolution.
However, there are traditional Jewish texts that scream immorality, and I believe it's important to follow our instincts in interpreting the original statement of "Do not violate" in our search for a meaningful interpretation of Torah. For example, in this week's Torah portion (Re'eh), we read:
If anyone secretly entices you—even if it is your brother, your father’s son or your mother’s son, or your own son or daughter, or the wife you embrace, or your most intimate friend—saying, ‘Let us go and worship other gods’, ... you must not yield to or heed any such persons. Show them no pity or compassion and do not shield them. But you shall surely kill them; your own hand shall be first against them to execute them, and afterwards the hand of all the people. Stone them to death for trying to turn you away from the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery. Then all Israel shall hear and be afraid, and never again do any such wickedness (Deuteronomy 13: 6, 8-11).
Now, of course, the Jewish notion of idolatry is complex and ultimate, but whether we're talking about enticement away from recognizing God's singularity, encouraging conversion away from Judaism, propagandizing into nationalism, or preaching of immorality, I nevertheless believe that "show them no pity or compassion ... your own hand shall be the first to execute [your own son or daughter]" must be interpreted in a non-literal way because the literal translation absolutely transgresses the precept of "Do not violate."
But how do I know that it transgresses that precept if traditional Jewish texts aren't telling me? Well, the easy answer is that Jewish texts are telling me, and I surely could find Jewish texts to support my view. This becomes particularly evident with rabbis who want to give a sermon on a particular topic and go researching texts that will support their view. But, look more basically: How did the original authors of those Jewish texts (assuming they're identifiable) come up with the interpretations that they did? I could be wrong, but my assumption is that they were acting according to basic moral principles that guide our everyday life.
So, back to the question: What's so great about the Jewish family? The answer: I don't know. Perhaps it's merely historical/factual: In history, the Jews have done a lot of good things and continue to do a lot of good things, so we must have gotten something right. Of course, I also believe that not just the Jews but also the Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, etc. also got a lot right. Perhaps what we've got, though, is a practical approach to peace:
Family. Christianity is focused on God as an instrument of salvation. Judaism is focused on our family. A universalizing of the Jewish message could therefore read: Cherish the human family, despite our differences, and we'll be able to love one another like the Jews do. Maybe it's not a perfectly thought-out conclusion, but I think it's pretty good. The model of family is an excellent paradigm of human interrelations, and our ability to recognize one another as true family members is essential to being able to spread peace throughout the world.
Easy, right? Maybe in thought but certainly not in practice. And the Jewish family still hasn't gotten it totally right. Jews continue to fight, disagree, and be separated from one another. We often talk about Jewish communities since agreeing about the Jewish Community is too difficult. This Wexner institute enormously helped me out personally in this field by getting me to challenge myself and my notions of pluralism. By trying to see "Judaism" through the eyes of a Jew of a different perspective, my own view was broadened.
To me, halacha (Jewish law) is not the literal word of God since to me, God is not a conscious actor in the world and therefore couldn't have told us, in language, what to do. I do believe that words of God exist but are more broad that halacha allows. We read in Genesis, "God said let there be light, and there was light." That is, everything in the world is a Word of God. In Hebrew, דבר means both "thing" and "word." They're the same. So claiming that the Talmud is the Word of God and that the New Testament or I am not is too exclusionary.
However, after conversations at Wexner, I can further shade my understanding. Just because halacha does not represent the entire corpus of God's words does not mean that they aren't holy. I believe that those who adhere to them should be concerned with constant re-examination in the light of ethical review (see the Conservative movement), but I can't say that living by halacha is not a good starting point.
And therefore, I allow that for many, Judaism is not just thought-based but also action-based. To many Orthodox Jews, Judaism does imply a necessary set of ethical and theological standards, but one must also act in a certain way to be Jewish. (For the purposes of this conversation, let's assume that an Orthodox Jew is defining herself and not trying to determine someone else's level of Jewish commitment or peoplehood.) Thus, if I'm Orthodox, believing in God and keeping kosher are identical.
This leads me to thoughts I've been having about pluralism. Generally, I have thought of pluralism as being a worldview - to be pluralistic is to accept that what I believe is true without making a judgement one way or another on whether what you believe is true (and leaving room for both of us to be right even if we're in contradiction). However, I now recognize another dimension of pluralism, at least within the context of Judaism: Pluralism of practice.
It was my experience at Hillel that, whenever we wanted to plan something "religious" for the entire community, we'd survey the most observant students and make sure that everything adhered to their standards. Over the years, I became somewhat frustrated by never being able to express the strong Reform identity that I mentioned way back at the beginning of this post. "Why can't we be pluralistic about this?" I'd wonder. "Why always be monolithic in our practical approach?"
Fast forward to the Wexner institute, where pluralism is the name of the game (though never actually mentioned officially). I found that the programs and dialogues were very pluralistic and sought to address challenges of building a welcoming and broad Jewish community. In talking with an Orthodox Fellow, I realized that this was a form of the same process I had experienced at Hillel but in the opposite direction.
Pluralism of practice leans to the right; pluralism of thought leans to the left.
At the institute, was that there wasn't an attempt to achieve pluralism of practice. Services were all separated, the food was strictly kosher, and we didn't have the institute over Shabbat. All practical considerations were handled deftly and in advance so that we could get to the meat of the pluralistic discussion.
However, the essentially practical elements of Judaism were excluded from our institute.
On the one hand, I loved the conversations, and I know that they were mind-stretching to us all, the most observant among us more than most. Yet, I feel a certain sense of guilt at having had everything "my way." In a sense, I was very at ease talking about interfaith marriages, homosexuality, conversions, and rational religion, but there were others who were forced into silence on these issues. If we were in an Orthodox service, perhaps I, too, would be forced into silence, and I would better have been able to appreciate the perspective of some of my fellow Fellows.
I'm not sure what this means for my life other than that I have a more nuanced appreciation for the practical challenges of pluralism. I will definitely keep this thought alive, though, and I may seek to address it at a future institute.
As is obvious, I learned a tremendous amount at the institute, and I deeply appreciated the opportunity to engage in serious critical thinking. Perhaps more than anything else, I learned so much about orthodox Judaism, orthodox outlooks on pluralism, challenges in the modern orthodox world, etc. To be honest, it was exactly what I needed. Yes, stories about the "Modesty Squad" still set my blood aboil, but I love my orthodox friends as family, and I hope that one day I can relate even to ultra-orthodox Jews in such a way that, though I disagree with them, I also love them (and vice versa). The Wexner institute, though imperfect, was a small-scale model of positive pluralistic thinking that hopefully will be translated into action. I very much look forward to future institutes and, moreso, to building a stronger Jewish family that reaches out to all of our fellow Children of Adam.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wexner Summer Institute, Part 2.
.מכון ווקסנר קיץ, החלק השני
As I mentioned in my last significant post of August 17 (so long ago!), my arrival to Stowe was fraught with discomforts and disappointments. Thus, when I arrived on Sunday afternoon, I was still very tired/jetlagged. Nevertheless, I was excited to have finally arrived and to be meeting my cadre of fellows for the second time.
At the airport, I reconnected with a few people from our class, and that was pleasant. I also met a fellow Fellow named Jason, who was part of the Summer Institute planning committee. Jason's a rabbinical student at JTS, and we had a great conversation about rabbinical school, siblings' weddings, Stowe, and the Wexner Fellowship on the way to the Stoweflake Resort.
The first day was, thankfully, less intense than the following ones. We had a chance to meet everyone again, and we had a mixer exercise that I thought went really well. We sat in five groups of four, and each person received a number 1-4 and a small booklet with three pages: Agree (green paper), Ambivalent (yellow paper), and Disagree (red paper). Or, the director of the Fellowship, would read a statement (I support the two-state solution, I believe someone can be Jewish and not believe in God, I believe in the human soul, etc.), and we would hold up one of the cards and then discuss in our groups. After each round, two numbers would switch groups so that we would have opportunities to talk with a lot of people.
This set a tone that I really appreciated. On the one hand, the exercise understood that we didn't know each other very well, but it also assumed that we wanted to get better acquainted and not just in a "what's your favorite ice cream flavor" kind of way. We talked about serious, deep issues that we care about, and we established an atmosphere of trust amongst our class of Fellows. I saw these themes reflected throughout the Institute, and by the time I left, I felt that the first theme (not knowing one another) was mostly forgotten in lieu of focusing on getting into the thick of serious issues.
In order to give credit where credit is due, I'll focus on the programs that had a significant impact on me. So, although The ABCs of the Jewish Community was fun and interesting, I want to highlight the strongest parts of the Institute. Thus, I move next to our session on modernity. Dr. Kelner, with whom I had the pleasure of learning later in the Institute, is a professor of sociology at Vanderbilt and a Wexner alum. His session on Jewish Modernity zeroed in on the Pittsburg Platform drafted by the founders of the Reform Movement in 1885. I had never actually read the Platform, probably because the Reform Movement has diverged in several ways, and it was very interesting to me personally to be studying this text of vital importance to the history of my movement. It was also interesting to me to see non-Reform Jews from many different backgrounds studyding the same text, and I felt proud that this was a reflection of one Jewish response to modernity that has changed and remained strong for 120 years.
When I first started reading the Declaration of Principles laid out in the Pittsburgh Platform, I assumed that they wouldn't jive with me. I figured that since the Reform Movement has changed so much in the past century that I wouldn't identify with the Declaration. However, that wasn't the experience that I had. Rather, I felt a strong connection to the rabbis who were banding together and, for the first time in history, declaring a set of principles that established a "new" way being Jewish and that drew together like-minded Jews in such a way that they could practice their Judaism not in isolation. Additionally, I was moved by the constant references to God, holiness, and spirituality in the text. This was not a declaration that said, "We are afraid of being Jewish in a non-Jewish world; therefore, let us hide our Judaism and forget that which makes us different." Rather, the document says (in my words), "We have been raised in and we embrace modern society with all its advances and complexities, and yet we still affirm that God's presence can be felt in our lives through holiness. We affirm that Jewish tradition is the foundation of monotheistic human morality, and we support a unique and unflagging commitment to the ethics evident to us through science and tradition. Since the traditional practices of Judaism do not speak to us on a holy level, we reject their divinity and seek to isolate and expand upon the holy morality inherent to Judaism." I find this sentiment courageous and beautiful, and I'm proud to be its inheritor. Although I don't entirely agree with it on a personal level, I admire the rabbis who were strong enough to come to these conclusions and state them to the Jewish and non-Jewish world, just as I admire the progressive spirituality and ethics that Reform Judaism has championed for over a century.
Immediately, after this engaging study session, we undertook to make a "class portrait." We sat around a large table with magazines, scissors, markers, construction paper, tape, glue, popsicle sticks, yarn, etc. Without any further instruction, we were told we had five minutes to choose a theme. I immediately grabbed a marker and construction paper and facilitated a brainstorming and selection process. Our group dynamics were then publicly analyzed by Or and Cindy Chazan. It was interesting but also off-putting to have our groupwork dissected that way, and when we were told that we had 10 minutes to figure out a way to execute our theme (Insiders/Outsiders), I consciously refrained from "taking charge" as I had done before. This time, we worked much more popcorn style, and our progress was more circular than linear. When time was called, we still hadn't decided on an execution. Our group dynamic was again analyzed, and then we were given 30 minutes to execute our "class portrait." Without getting into the details of what we decided to do, I'll mention that we were very rushed, we ended up doing more individual work than group work, and by the time we had finished, some people were feeling very negative about the experience. Or said that to try to wrap up would be trite, so he simply excused us to lunch ... but we weren't done yet. We pressed him for additional information and then continued our project on our own. The staff left the room, and we continued to discuss the bad experiences that some of us had and tried to heal hurt feelings. We concluded our project and took ourselves to lunch.
After lunch, we had an intense session with Marty Linsky about our team dynamic. He pressed us to consider "exercising leadership" as a behavior rather than thinking of leadership as a characteristic. Examples of leadership tend to defy expectations and go beyond simply acting according to the demands of authorizers. He used specific examples of our class portrait exercise (which he observed) to discuss when certain people did and did not exercise leadership, and he was fairly pressing at times ... though at times we pressed right back. The whole session was permeated by emotions and wills, but Marty seems to thrive in such an environment. At first, I was a bit taken aback by his facilitation style, but ultimately (after speaking briefly with him after the session), I decided that Marty helped us think critically about ourselves. Good thing I concluded that, too, as our Winter Institute is going to involve a lot of time with him!
The Museum of the Jewish Family was very well put together, with a dozen stations representing different points in the life of a Jewish American. However, it didn't address non-normative family situations. Fortunately, we were to devote virtually the rest of the institute to topics dealing with a diversity of family interests.
On Tuesday, I met my seminar facilitator Rabbi Steven Greenberg, the only (as far as I know) openly gay orthodox rabbi and contributor to the documentary film Trembling Before God. He was a great teacher, and I was excited to study the Garden of Eden and Abraham stories with him (and the fellows in the seminar with me). However, the scope of the seminars was fairly broad, so I feel that we didn't get to go as deep as I had wanted. Nevertheless, the insights he brought regarding gender and family were very interesting.
Tuesday was also a day of excellent conversations. On the Fellowship Hike, I had a long conversation with Dani about Jewish peoplehood and the policies that it should or should not result in. After the Beit Midrash, I had a long conversation with Erin about her experiences with observant Judaism, in particular with relation to the pluralistic mission of the Wexner Fellowship. I won't go into details of either conversation here, but when I write Part Three (the part with the lessons I learned at the Institute), I will certainly include ideas that these two helped me generate.
Also on Tuesday, Jonathan Ross performed his one-man show Walking in Memphis: The Life of a Southern Jew, which I had actually seen in Jerusalem when I was visiting Pardes with Becca Klimpl. Ross is an excellent performer, and his personal stories were touching. I definitely recommend the show to anyone who has the opportunity to see it!
My second seminar with Shaul Kelner was about American childhood - and we tried to tie in Jewish childhood whenever we could. We talked about various Jewish childhood experiences and about the changing nature of childhood over time. We looked at www.webkinz.com as a model of modern play and discussed its possible effect on children today. In the second part of the seminar on Thursday, we talked about the line between childhood and adulthood, and that conversation was really fascinating. On both days, the fellows were the primary speakers with Dr. Kelner offering statistics and questions to guide discussions. It was great to hear from other fellows on these topics, although conversations about children and adulthood reinforced my (factual) self-perception as among the youngest people at the institute.
The rabbinical seminar I went to focused on whether and how much to let our political views influence how we act and what we say in public. It was hard for me to participate as I had barely even begun my studies at HUC, but I found the conversation very helpful. For the first time in a long time, I once again felt very excited to be a rabbi and more eager than usual (of late) to picture myself in a congregational role. (Lessons from this session will likely make their way into Part Three as well).
On Thursday, we had the opportunity to witness a panel discussion with Edmund Case (founder of www.interfaithfamily.com) and Sylvia Barack Fishman (author of Double or Nothing). In brief, Mr. Case believes that interfaith marriages are nothing to be afraid of while Dr. Fishman believes that they contribute to the decline of Judaism. There were a lot of probing discussions, and our class conversation afterward was the most heartfelt and bonding of the entire institute. Once again, see Part Three for the impact it had on me.
The beit cafe (talent show) on Thursday night was quite funny. There had been a big build-up (starting with Abigail Wexner at our orientation) that our class is the "funny" one, so we had a lot of pressure. I think we performed well, and the "judges" liked our reimagination of the song Tradition. The other acts were fairly funny as well, and there was also some "real" talent, including a scene from King Lear and a song from a Sephardic (Moroccan?) tradition.
When Friday rolled around, I was definitely sad to be leaving (and not overly excited about my long return home). We all said proper good-byes, and I hung out/packed until it was time to go. I went to the airport with a half-dozen other fellows, where we rode together to Newark, NJ before parting ways. My return to Jerusalem was much more comfortable than my trip to Stowe, but I still believe that I'll try to insist on a non-stop flight from Israel to the U.S. for the winter institute.
Obviously, I didn't cover everything, but in order to preserve the strongest memories, I've written about the things that impacted me the most. Overall, I found the programming was most useful in its ability to spark meaningful class discussion and side conversation. Yes, I learned a lot about family, what it means to be Jewish, gender roles, marriage, and so on, but the most valuable part of the institute was having my horizons greatly broadened by the poignant and potent insights of my fellow class members. I very much look forward to continuing conversations with them at future institutes and in between!
Now, stay tuned for the "good stuff..."
As I mentioned in my last significant post of August 17 (so long ago!), my arrival to Stowe was fraught with discomforts and disappointments. Thus, when I arrived on Sunday afternoon, I was still very tired/jetlagged. Nevertheless, I was excited to have finally arrived and to be meeting my cadre of fellows for the second time.
At the airport, I reconnected with a few people from our class, and that was pleasant. I also met a fellow Fellow named Jason, who was part of the Summer Institute planning committee. Jason's a rabbinical student at JTS, and we had a great conversation about rabbinical school, siblings' weddings, Stowe, and the Wexner Fellowship on the way to the Stoweflake Resort.
The first day was, thankfully, less intense than the following ones. We had a chance to meet everyone again, and we had a mixer exercise that I thought went really well. We sat in five groups of four, and each person received a number 1-4 and a small booklet with three pages: Agree (green paper), Ambivalent (yellow paper), and Disagree (red paper). Or, the director of the Fellowship, would read a statement (I support the two-state solution, I believe someone can be Jewish and not believe in God, I believe in the human soul, etc.), and we would hold up one of the cards and then discuss in our groups. After each round, two numbers would switch groups so that we would have opportunities to talk with a lot of people.
This set a tone that I really appreciated. On the one hand, the exercise understood that we didn't know each other very well, but it also assumed that we wanted to get better acquainted and not just in a "what's your favorite ice cream flavor" kind of way. We talked about serious, deep issues that we care about, and we established an atmosphere of trust amongst our class of Fellows. I saw these themes reflected throughout the Institute, and by the time I left, I felt that the first theme (not knowing one another) was mostly forgotten in lieu of focusing on getting into the thick of serious issues.
In order to give credit where credit is due, I'll focus on the programs that had a significant impact on me. So, although The ABCs of the Jewish Community was fun and interesting, I want to highlight the strongest parts of the Institute. Thus, I move next to our session on modernity. Dr. Kelner, with whom I had the pleasure of learning later in the Institute, is a professor of sociology at Vanderbilt and a Wexner alum. His session on Jewish Modernity zeroed in on the Pittsburg Platform drafted by the founders of the Reform Movement in 1885. I had never actually read the Platform, probably because the Reform Movement has diverged in several ways, and it was very interesting to me personally to be studying this text of vital importance to the history of my movement. It was also interesting to me to see non-Reform Jews from many different backgrounds studyding the same text, and I felt proud that this was a reflection of one Jewish response to modernity that has changed and remained strong for 120 years.
When I first started reading the Declaration of Principles laid out in the Pittsburgh Platform, I assumed that they wouldn't jive with me. I figured that since the Reform Movement has changed so much in the past century that I wouldn't identify with the Declaration. However, that wasn't the experience that I had. Rather, I felt a strong connection to the rabbis who were banding together and, for the first time in history, declaring a set of principles that established a "new" way being Jewish and that drew together like-minded Jews in such a way that they could practice their Judaism not in isolation. Additionally, I was moved by the constant references to God, holiness, and spirituality in the text. This was not a declaration that said, "We are afraid of being Jewish in a non-Jewish world; therefore, let us hide our Judaism and forget that which makes us different." Rather, the document says (in my words), "We have been raised in and we embrace modern society with all its advances and complexities, and yet we still affirm that God's presence can be felt in our lives through holiness. We affirm that Jewish tradition is the foundation of monotheistic human morality, and we support a unique and unflagging commitment to the ethics evident to us through science and tradition. Since the traditional practices of Judaism do not speak to us on a holy level, we reject their divinity and seek to isolate and expand upon the holy morality inherent to Judaism." I find this sentiment courageous and beautiful, and I'm proud to be its inheritor. Although I don't entirely agree with it on a personal level, I admire the rabbis who were strong enough to come to these conclusions and state them to the Jewish and non-Jewish world, just as I admire the progressive spirituality and ethics that Reform Judaism has championed for over a century.
Immediately, after this engaging study session, we undertook to make a "class portrait." We sat around a large table with magazines, scissors, markers, construction paper, tape, glue, popsicle sticks, yarn, etc. Without any further instruction, we were told we had five minutes to choose a theme. I immediately grabbed a marker and construction paper and facilitated a brainstorming and selection process. Our group dynamics were then publicly analyzed by Or and Cindy Chazan. It was interesting but also off-putting to have our groupwork dissected that way, and when we were told that we had 10 minutes to figure out a way to execute our theme (Insiders/Outsiders), I consciously refrained from "taking charge" as I had done before. This time, we worked much more popcorn style, and our progress was more circular than linear. When time was called, we still hadn't decided on an execution. Our group dynamic was again analyzed, and then we were given 30 minutes to execute our "class portrait." Without getting into the details of what we decided to do, I'll mention that we were very rushed, we ended up doing more individual work than group work, and by the time we had finished, some people were feeling very negative about the experience. Or said that to try to wrap up would be trite, so he simply excused us to lunch ... but we weren't done yet. We pressed him for additional information and then continued our project on our own. The staff left the room, and we continued to discuss the bad experiences that some of us had and tried to heal hurt feelings. We concluded our project and took ourselves to lunch.
After lunch, we had an intense session with Marty Linsky about our team dynamic. He pressed us to consider "exercising leadership" as a behavior rather than thinking of leadership as a characteristic. Examples of leadership tend to defy expectations and go beyond simply acting according to the demands of authorizers. He used specific examples of our class portrait exercise (which he observed) to discuss when certain people did and did not exercise leadership, and he was fairly pressing at times ... though at times we pressed right back. The whole session was permeated by emotions and wills, but Marty seems to thrive in such an environment. At first, I was a bit taken aback by his facilitation style, but ultimately (after speaking briefly with him after the session), I decided that Marty helped us think critically about ourselves. Good thing I concluded that, too, as our Winter Institute is going to involve a lot of time with him!
The Museum of the Jewish Family was very well put together, with a dozen stations representing different points in the life of a Jewish American. However, it didn't address non-normative family situations. Fortunately, we were to devote virtually the rest of the institute to topics dealing with a diversity of family interests.
On Tuesday, I met my seminar facilitator Rabbi Steven Greenberg, the only (as far as I know) openly gay orthodox rabbi and contributor to the documentary film Trembling Before God. He was a great teacher, and I was excited to study the Garden of Eden and Abraham stories with him (and the fellows in the seminar with me). However, the scope of the seminars was fairly broad, so I feel that we didn't get to go as deep as I had wanted. Nevertheless, the insights he brought regarding gender and family were very interesting.
Tuesday was also a day of excellent conversations. On the Fellowship Hike, I had a long conversation with Dani about Jewish peoplehood and the policies that it should or should not result in. After the Beit Midrash, I had a long conversation with Erin about her experiences with observant Judaism, in particular with relation to the pluralistic mission of the Wexner Fellowship. I won't go into details of either conversation here, but when I write Part Three (the part with the lessons I learned at the Institute), I will certainly include ideas that these two helped me generate.
Also on Tuesday, Jonathan Ross performed his one-man show Walking in Memphis: The Life of a Southern Jew, which I had actually seen in Jerusalem when I was visiting Pardes with Becca Klimpl. Ross is an excellent performer, and his personal stories were touching. I definitely recommend the show to anyone who has the opportunity to see it!
My second seminar with Shaul Kelner was about American childhood - and we tried to tie in Jewish childhood whenever we could. We talked about various Jewish childhood experiences and about the changing nature of childhood over time. We looked at www.webkinz.com as a model of modern play and discussed its possible effect on children today. In the second part of the seminar on Thursday, we talked about the line between childhood and adulthood, and that conversation was really fascinating. On both days, the fellows were the primary speakers with Dr. Kelner offering statistics and questions to guide discussions. It was great to hear from other fellows on these topics, although conversations about children and adulthood reinforced my (factual) self-perception as among the youngest people at the institute.
The rabbinical seminar I went to focused on whether and how much to let our political views influence how we act and what we say in public. It was hard for me to participate as I had barely even begun my studies at HUC, but I found the conversation very helpful. For the first time in a long time, I once again felt very excited to be a rabbi and more eager than usual (of late) to picture myself in a congregational role. (Lessons from this session will likely make their way into Part Three as well).
On Thursday, we had the opportunity to witness a panel discussion with Edmund Case (founder of www.interfaithfamily.com) and Sylvia Barack Fishman (author of Double or Nothing). In brief, Mr. Case believes that interfaith marriages are nothing to be afraid of while Dr. Fishman believes that they contribute to the decline of Judaism. There were a lot of probing discussions, and our class conversation afterward was the most heartfelt and bonding of the entire institute. Once again, see Part Three for the impact it had on me.
The beit cafe (talent show) on Thursday night was quite funny. There had been a big build-up (starting with Abigail Wexner at our orientation) that our class is the "funny" one, so we had a lot of pressure. I think we performed well, and the "judges" liked our reimagination of the song Tradition. The other acts were fairly funny as well, and there was also some "real" talent, including a scene from King Lear and a song from a Sephardic (Moroccan?) tradition.
When Friday rolled around, I was definitely sad to be leaving (and not overly excited about my long return home). We all said proper good-byes, and I hung out/packed until it was time to go. I went to the airport with a half-dozen other fellows, where we rode together to Newark, NJ before parting ways. My return to Jerusalem was much more comfortable than my trip to Stowe, but I still believe that I'll try to insist on a non-stop flight from Israel to the U.S. for the winter institute.
Obviously, I didn't cover everything, but in order to preserve the strongest memories, I've written about the things that impacted me the most. Overall, I found the programming was most useful in its ability to spark meaningful class discussion and side conversation. Yes, I learned a lot about family, what it means to be Jewish, gender roles, marriage, and so on, but the most valuable part of the institute was having my horizons greatly broadened by the poignant and potent insights of my fellow class members. I very much look forward to continuing conversations with them at future institutes and in between!
Now, stay tuned for the "good stuff..."
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Wexner Summer Institute, Part 1
.מכון ווקסנר קיץ, החלק הראשון
As I mentioned, last week was spent in Stowe, VT attending the Wexner Foundation Graduate Fellowship's summer institute. I had an incredible time; unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to write about my experience because I've had a lot of responsibilities for school this week.
However, today was our last day of ulpan, so I'm on break until Sept. 7! First, though, we have a tiyyul to Megiddo and Mount Carmel tomorrow. Since I have to be at HUC at 7:00 am, I won't be staying up tonight to update about the Wexner Institute. But fear not: A recap is forthcoming. In this, part one, I will include the schedule to give you a taste of what we did. In part two, I'll review in more detail some of the programs and events, and in part three, I'll actually discuss some of the important lessons that I learned. And I might even write about our tiyyul in there as well. So, there's a lot to look forward to!
Without further ado...
Wexner Graduate Fellowship Summer Institute: The Family Room
Sunday, August 17
3:30 - Welcome and Overview to Class XXI
4:00 - Reconnecting
4:45 - Mincha
5:00 - The Ins, the Outs, the What Have Yous: Who are We as a Class? (Or Mars)
6:30 - Dinner
7:30 - The Jewish Community ABCs (Cindy Chazan)
9:00 - Class meeting
10:00 - Ma'ariv
Monday, August 18
7:45 - Shacharit
8:30 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:30 - Pulled from Both Sides: American Jews Wrestle with Modernity (Dr. Shaul Kelner)
10:45 - Break
11:15 - A Class "Portrait" (Or Mars)
1:00 - Lunch
1:45 - Exercising Leadership (Marty Linsky)
3:15 - Break
3:45 - Summer Institute 2008 Opening Session
4:30 - Mincha
4:45 - Class meetings (free time for Class XXI)
6:15 - Opening Reception in honor of Class XXI
7:00 - Dinner/The Family Room: An Introduction (Planning Committee)
8:15 - Museum of the Jewish Family
9:45 - Ma'ariv
Tuesday, August 19
7:30 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 1-A
11:15 - My Jewish Story (Jonathan Ross)
1:00 - Lunch
2:00 - Fellow-led Discussions
3:45 - Free time/A Conversation on Personal Views of Aging (Rabbi Richard Address)
5:30 - Fellowship Hike
7:00 - Dinner/Reflections (Or Mars)
8:15 - Break
8:30 - Beit Midrash
9:45 - Ma'ariv
Wednesday, August 20
7:30 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 1-B
11:00 - Break
11:15 - My Family Doesn't Look Like Your Family: How Can I Make My Community More Welcoming of All Jewish Families?
1:00 - Lunch
2:00 - Mincha
2:15 - Free time
4:00 - Seminar 2-A
6:15 - Career Electives
8:15 - Brumowitz Family Reunion and Dessert Reception
10:15 - Ma'ariv
Thursday, August 21
7:15 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 2-B
11:00 - Break
11:15 - The Jewish Community and the Interfaith Family (Professor Sylvia Barack Fishman and Edmund C. Case)
1:30 - Lunch
2:30 - Mincha
2:45 - Free Time
4:30 - Who Does Which Work and Why? Work, Family, and Gender for the Jewish Professional (Shifra Bronznick with Rabbis Amber Powers, Asher Lopatin, and Jennie Rosenn)
6:45 - Break
7:00 - Barbecue Dinner/Concluding remarks and class photos
8:15 - Break
8:30 - Beit Cafe
10:15 - Ma'ariv
Friday, August 22
7:00 - Shacharit
7:30 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
8:15 - Class meetings
9:15 - Departure
As I mentioned, last week was spent in Stowe, VT attending the Wexner Foundation Graduate Fellowship's summer institute. I had an incredible time; unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to write about my experience because I've had a lot of responsibilities for school this week.
However, today was our last day of ulpan, so I'm on break until Sept. 7! First, though, we have a tiyyul to Megiddo and Mount Carmel tomorrow. Since I have to be at HUC at 7:00 am, I won't be staying up tonight to update about the Wexner Institute. But fear not: A recap is forthcoming. In this, part one, I will include the schedule to give you a taste of what we did. In part two, I'll review in more detail some of the programs and events, and in part three, I'll actually discuss some of the important lessons that I learned. And I might even write about our tiyyul in there as well. So, there's a lot to look forward to!
Without further ado...
Wexner Graduate Fellowship Summer Institute: The Family Room
Sunday, August 17
3:30 - Welcome and Overview to Class XXI
4:00 - Reconnecting
4:45 - Mincha
5:00 - The Ins, the Outs, the What Have Yous: Who are We as a Class? (Or Mars)
6:30 - Dinner
7:30 - The Jewish Community ABCs (Cindy Chazan)
9:00 - Class meeting
10:00 - Ma'ariv
Monday, August 18
7:45 - Shacharit
8:30 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:30 - Pulled from Both Sides: American Jews Wrestle with Modernity (Dr. Shaul Kelner)
10:45 - Break
11:15 - A Class "Portrait" (Or Mars)
1:00 - Lunch
1:45 - Exercising Leadership (Marty Linsky)
3:15 - Break
3:45 - Summer Institute 2008 Opening Session
4:30 - Mincha
4:45 - Class meetings (free time for Class XXI)
6:15 - Opening Reception in honor of Class XXI
7:00 - Dinner/The Family Room: An Introduction (Planning Committee)
8:15 - Museum of the Jewish Family
9:45 - Ma'ariv
Tuesday, August 19
7:30 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 1-A
- Growing Older, Growing Better? (Rabbi Richard Address)
- Get Thee from Thy Father's House (Rabbi Steven Greenberg)
- Shorashim: Jewish Geneaology (Dr. Shaul Kelner)
- Today's Children (Tova Mirvis)
- Daughters and Sons in Modern Jewish Literature (Professor Wendy Zierler)
11:15 - My Jewish Story (Jonathan Ross)
1:00 - Lunch
2:00 - Fellow-led Discussions
- You're My Family: Expanding Notions of Jewish Family
- What Every Jewish Leader Should Know about Jesus
- What is a Pro-Israel Candidate?
- "Till Death Do Us Part?" Family and Eschatology in Medieval Jewish Theology and Ritual
- The Transformation of Society: A Journey through 60 Years of Israel's Popular Music
- Masculinity and Marshmallows: The Role of Krembo in Israeli Cinema
3:45 - Free time/A Conversation on Personal Views of Aging (Rabbi Richard Address)
5:30 - Fellowship Hike
7:00 - Dinner/Reflections (Or Mars)
8:15 - Break
8:30 - Beit Midrash
9:45 - Ma'ariv
Wednesday, August 20
7:30 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 1-B
11:00 - Break
11:15 - My Family Doesn't Look Like Your Family: How Can I Make My Community More Welcoming of All Jewish Families?
1:00 - Lunch
2:00 - Mincha
2:15 - Free time
4:00 - Seminar 2-A
- The Changed Jewish Family and the Creation of a "New" American Judaism (Rabbi Richard Address)
- An Exploration of Talmudic Legends on Love, Sex, Marriage, and Infidelity (Rabbi Steven Greenberg)
- American Jewish Childhood (Dr. Shaul Kelner)
- Writing My Family (Tova Mirvis)
- Working with Families: A Clinical Perspective (Rabbi Laura Gold)
6:15 - Career Electives
- Jewish Education
- Jewish Professional Leadership
- Jewish Studies
- Rabbinate/Cantorate I: The Limits on Personal Expression: Maintaining One's Spiritual Authenticity
- Rabbinate/Cantorate II: To Inspire and/or to Manage: Tensions in the Role of Rabbi
8:15 - Brumowitz Family Reunion and Dessert Reception
10:15 - Ma'ariv
Thursday, August 21
7:15 - Shacharit
8:15 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
9:00 - Seminar 2-B
11:00 - Break
11:15 - The Jewish Community and the Interfaith Family (Professor Sylvia Barack Fishman and Edmund C. Case)
1:30 - Lunch
2:30 - Mincha
2:45 - Free Time
4:30 - Who Does Which Work and Why? Work, Family, and Gender for the Jewish Professional (Shifra Bronznick with Rabbis Amber Powers, Asher Lopatin, and Jennie Rosenn)
6:45 - Break
7:00 - Barbecue Dinner/Concluding remarks and class photos
8:15 - Break
8:30 - Beit Cafe
10:15 - Ma'ariv
Friday, August 22
7:00 - Shacharit
7:30 - Breakfast/D'var Torah
8:15 - Class meetings
9:15 - Departure
Friday, August 15, 2008
A birthday party!
!מסיבת יום הולדת
Yesterday at HUC, we had a series of interesting "tradition workshops," the most engaging of which was a discussion about service choreography. We also received our academic schedules, which is very exciting. But the best part of the day by far was Jessica's birthday potluck!
Unfortunately, our potluck coincided with a concert that the HUC cantors were attending and a seminar for the education students - so the only HUC students who were able to join us were rabbinical students. Nevertheless, we had about a dozen people from HUC join us over the course of the night in addition to two of Jessica's friends from outside our "HUC bubble." Alex is a Russian-born Israeli who has been studying at Hebrew University since he finished the army one year after Jessica met him on birthright israel. Paola is a friend of hers from ulpan about whom she's written before. These two friends in addition to my friends from HUC made for a wonderful time, and I'm very glad to see that Jessica and the people I go to school with get along well!
Alex showed up first and brought a lovely pair set of candlesticks that we have added to our mantelpiece. Shortly thereafter, the HUC crowd started to arrive. Folks chatted, looked around the apartment (which we were proud to share), and eventually enjoyed some food. Jessica prepared a delicious combination of baked beans and roasted potatoes, and some other dishes (including a fancy chocolate cake) made the night a tasty one.
We also played a game of Charades and a game called Adjective and Noun, which is similar to the beloved game that Jessica and I call Paper Pass. It seemed that everyone had a good time, and our last guests left over four hours after the first arrived.
Overall, it was delightful to entertain guests in our apartment. Though we were sad that not everyone from HUC was able to decide to come to our place if they wanted, it turned out that this situation may have been for the best: although we have ample space in the apartment, it's spread into several rooms, so fitting everyone into our living room would have been a significant challenge. Hopefully we'll continue to have the privilege and joy of welcoming friends and neighbors into our home as the year progresses!
In a sad turn of events, this delightful party is being shortly proceeded by my departure. In just a few hours, a sheirut (shared taxi) will take me to Ben Gurion airport for my flight to Stowe, Vermont, where I'll be spending the week learning at the twice-annual Wexner Institute. I'm excited to be able to see once again the scholars I met during our orientation in May, and I'm also looking forward to being able to take a brief break from Hebrew ... but of course I'm also sad to be leaving home after spending such a short time here with Jessica. The Institute is only a week long, so I'll be returning soon enough. And hopefully I'll be able to post (albeit probably briefly) from the States!
If I don't have a chance to write here, I'll post an update upon my return. Otherwise, look for news shortly!
Yesterday at HUC, we had a series of interesting "tradition workshops," the most engaging of which was a discussion about service choreography. We also received our academic schedules, which is very exciting. But the best part of the day by far was Jessica's birthday potluck!
Unfortunately, our potluck coincided with a concert that the HUC cantors were attending and a seminar for the education students - so the only HUC students who were able to join us were rabbinical students. Nevertheless, we had about a dozen people from HUC join us over the course of the night in addition to two of Jessica's friends from outside our "HUC bubble." Alex is a Russian-born Israeli who has been studying at Hebrew University since he finished the army one year after Jessica met him on birthright israel. Paola is a friend of hers from ulpan about whom she's written before. These two friends in addition to my friends from HUC made for a wonderful time, and I'm very glad to see that Jessica and the people I go to school with get along well!
Alex showed up first and brought a lovely pair set of candlesticks that we have added to our mantelpiece. Shortly thereafter, the HUC crowd started to arrive. Folks chatted, looked around the apartment (which we were proud to share), and eventually enjoyed some food. Jessica prepared a delicious combination of baked beans and roasted potatoes, and some other dishes (including a fancy chocolate cake) made the night a tasty one.
We also played a game of Charades and a game called Adjective and Noun, which is similar to the beloved game that Jessica and I call Paper Pass. It seemed that everyone had a good time, and our last guests left over four hours after the first arrived.
Overall, it was delightful to entertain guests in our apartment. Though we were sad that not everyone from HUC was able to decide to come to our place if they wanted, it turned out that this situation may have been for the best: although we have ample space in the apartment, it's spread into several rooms, so fitting everyone into our living room would have been a significant challenge. Hopefully we'll continue to have the privilege and joy of welcoming friends and neighbors into our home as the year progresses!
In a sad turn of events, this delightful party is being shortly proceeded by my departure. In just a few hours, a sheirut (shared taxi) will take me to Ben Gurion airport for my flight to Stowe, Vermont, where I'll be spending the week learning at the twice-annual Wexner Institute. I'm excited to be able to see once again the scholars I met during our orientation in May, and I'm also looking forward to being able to take a brief break from Hebrew ... but of course I'm also sad to be leaving home after spending such a short time here with Jessica. The Institute is only a week long, so I'll be returning soon enough. And hopefully I'll be able to post (albeit probably briefly) from the States!
If I don't have a chance to write here, I'll post an update upon my return. Otherwise, look for news shortly!
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