Sharing the Sorry (Mishpakha Shabbat Torah reading)

Some of us groan when we begin the book of Leviticus. With the exception of a few short stories, it is mainly a book of rules. Yick. Who wants to read a book of rules?

It is important to remember that these aren’t just any old rules. There is something more meaningful about Leviticus’s rules. It’s not just about what we should or shouldn’t do. Leviticus is all about how to infuse holiness, goodness, and the Divine presence into our community and into our individual actions.

Back in Israelite times this meant sacrificing animals at the temple. Yick again! But let’s see how these rules still apply to us, even in a world of PETA and vegetarianism. Here are the instructions regarding the sin offering. The sin offering is the sacrifice you would offer if you did something bad:

Leviticus 5:6-7

6 and one shall bring as a forfeit unto the Eternal, for the sin of which one is guilty, a female from the flock, a lamb or a goat, for a sin-offering; and the priest shall make atonement for the sin on that person’s behalf.

7 But if one’s means suffice not for a lamb, then one shall bring a forfeit for that wherein one hath sinned, two turtle-doves, or two young pigeons, unto the Eternal: one for a sin-offering, and the other for a burnt-offering.

A very interesting thing happens in this Torah passage. The guilty person is told to make amends for his/her actions by bringing a lamb or a goat to the temple to sacrifice. But then it says that if she/he can’t afford to bring a lamb, she/he should bring two little birds.

Basically, it’s not the animal that’s important; it’s the fact that the person brought it. All the Torah asks is that we bring something – anything – to show that we really are sorry. We have to give a piece of ourselves to show that we mean business. This is why we come to temple on Yom Kippur. We could repent and say sorry to God alone in our homes, but it is much more meaningful to come together as a community. We have to look one another in the eye and ask one another’s forgiveness. In doing so, we bridge the gap between people that our sins may have formed.

We also share in this experience so we can learn how to share in each other’s sadness and in each other’s happiness. There is no better moment to share.

News From the Front

Nowadays a couple thousand Jews serve in the US Military. Jews don’t make up a huge percentage of enlistees, but their presence is known. For many, their Jewish identity is important to them as a soldier. Indeed, for all soldiers that core spiritual identity can be a lifeline in the hardest of situations.

This is where army chaplains come in. The role of any chaplain in the military is an important one, as the stresses of a combat soldier are many. Soldiers deal with homesickness and uncertainty. Their every day ponders life and death and they are constantly aware of the thin line that divides the two. Our soldiers, Jewish and non-Jewish, believe deeply in their comrades and their cause. They give a tremendous amount of physical, emotional and spiritual energy towards that cause, though.

A very good friend of mine, David Frommer, was recently ordained as a cantor from Hebrew Union College. Ever since he served for a year in the Israeli army, David’s life’s passion has been to be a chaplain and support our men and women in uniform. After ordination, he enlisted in the US army and is anxiously awaiting deployment overseas. He recently emailed me about his experiences and I want to share with you parts of his letter. This is the inside look into the troops; or more precisely, the inside-look to the psyche of the men and women serving overseas:

“Greetings from Camp Shelby, Mississippi… At various times, chaplains in different senior positions throughout the Army and the National Guard have proclaimed that I would be spending the next ten months in (read the following list in one breath):

Germany, Bahrain, Upstate New York, Afghanistan, "An undetermined location outside the continental United States," Downstate Mississippi, Kuwait, "An undetermined location inside the continental United States," and my living room at home, with the deployment canceled.

They have assured me that the need for Jewish chaplains is so great that once I get overseas, I will scarcely spend two weeks in the same place…

…I have been blessed to provide my most successful religious support to Jewish soldiers in my brief career to date as a chaplain. Our congregation here in the 27th Infantry Brigade Combat Team is small but it reflects the entire visible light spectrum of Jewish identity in the diaspora, including:

• A Chabad-certified ba'al t'shuva lieutenant who observes strict Kashrut and doesn't touch women.

• His fellow lieutenant in the same company who is comfortably Reform yet eager to learn about obscure prayers for things like Kiddush levana (sanctifying the new moon).

• Two captains who grew up in Jewish day school, are now Reform-to-Agnostic, and profusely apologize that they don't come to services more.

• A sergeant-first-class who was adopted by a Jewish family, and who explained that 'because he grew up Conservative, he doesn't like services with lots of Hebrew.'

• A private-first-class who attended Ramaz, the Jewish day school on the Upper East Side, and consequently knows more about Judaism than I learned in five years of graduate school.

• A female specialist who converted to Judaism and is now married to a Bedouin from Haifa whom she met at an Israeli Army summer camp in Israel.

• A specialist and a female captain who are both interested in converting to Judaism.
  

Serving a community of such diverse practice definitely has its challenges, especially when movement off post is difficult to arrange…[Yet] providing religious support to Jewish soldiers is incredibly rewarding work. The army is more supportive of Jewish practice than my grandparents' and even my father's generation could possibly have imagined when they served, but it is still a lonely and difficult path to walk. And yet it is precisely that potential for isolation, in the midst of a dangerous and uncertain future, that often binds Jewish soldiers tightly together, and opens them up to exploring their religion and culture in ways they might never consider in civilian life.

I was lucky enough to meet a young Jewish officer from an entirely different unit who happened to be briefly passing through Camp Shelby on his way to Afghanistan. He spotted me wearing my camouflage yarmulke (the single greatest conversation-starter ever) and told me he hadn't even known the Army had Jewish chaplains. I invited him to Shabbat services and he came to almost every one I offered in the few weeks he was here. Just before he left, he told me that until Camp Shelby, he hadn't been to a Jewish service since his bar mitzvah, and after meeting some of the other soldiers in our tiny community he wanted to return to his Jewish roots. I gave him my personal copy of the Siddur for Jewish Personnel in the Armed Forces of the United States and a yarmulke to match mine and told him to take care of himself because there's a synagogue waiting for him somewhere when he comes home. I hope he does…”

There is more to David’s correspondence. It is full of his normal humor and sarcasm. As I read it, though, I was amazed by the holy work he is doing and the maturity that seems to be growing with his difficult post.

I thought of David this week in particular, as recent military news from Afghanistan has been wrought with controversy. From the burning of the Quran on a base a few weeks ago to the massacre of 16 civilians by an American soldier in Kandahar last Sunday, tensions are running high. Both of these actions, the first by a group of soldiers, the second by an individual seemingly acting alone, are deplorable. Nothing is more offensive than the disrespect of people’s lives and the defilement of the sacred texts by which they live those lives.

These are simply senseless acts of hatred. They are also acts of hatred that reek of irrationality, frenzy and desperation. It behooves us to acknowledge that wars of all sorts breed such complicated emotions – in the soldiers and their families, as well as the civilians whom war affects. This isn’t an excuse for these actions. Yet it gives us pause.

I’m proud that my chaplain friend has dedicated himself to plunging into the physical and emotional depths with our troops. In theory he offers uniquely Jewish support, but his contribution goes beyond providing worship services. He’s there to address the unspoken, spiritual affects of war. Judaism has always, from the most ancient times, acknowledged the human factor of war. Justice is always at the center of the debate. Dignity and the preservation of life are paramount. We’re commanded to infuse morality into the heart of our military actions. The hope is that by infusing the Divine Presence into our actions, we’ll find ourselves building our world up, not tearing it down. That is preserving people’s spiritual well being, not jeopardizing it.

This idea lies at the heart of week’s torah portion: Vayakhel-Pekudey. The Israelites are still building the Tabernacle. The lists of natural resources they need to build it are many. The rare commodities they need to outfit it are numerous. But the commandment is for the entire community to bring these things only if their hearts so move them; to donate them only with a generous heart.

The Torah teaches that the Israelites came in droves and brought more than was necessary to complete the project. When that happens, Moses instructs the Israelites to stop the effort, that the work was enough – in Hebrew, dayam. Dayam, from the same root as dayenu. Enough. Know when it has been enough.

Tonight we honor our troops for coming forward like the Israelites did, their hearts moved with tremendous generosity towards the effort to defend the vulnerable and protect their country. As their community back home, we must spiritually support them in their labor, understanding the massive toll it takes on the spirit both while they are enlisted and when they come home. And, importantly, we must know when to say dayenu, enough. We pray for their speedy and safe return home and continued well-being when they do. Ken yhi ratzon.

Around Purim, In Protest

Things are backwards in city of Chelm, so while Purim is all fun and games for Jews around the world, it is very serious business in Chelm. Schoolkids buckle down for months preparing for the holiday and classroom projects abound. One particular Adar, a week before Purim, a young lady named Mimi was up at midnight working on her project. Her class’s project was to create the world’s loudest gragger that would make such a loud sound that it would drown out Haman’s name forever.

Think Mimi, think, she told herself. What is the loudest noise you’ve ever heard? Suddenly the idea came to her. The next day in class, she got up on a chair and announced, “I know how we are going to make the world’s loudest gragger!” She told them the plan: Everyone would collect as many stones and rocks as possible and put them in a big bass drum in the center of town. When Mimi picked it up and shook it during the megillah reading, the noise would be earsplitting.

For three days the people of Chelm collected stones and rocks. Even the littlest children collected pebbles. And so the drum filled quickly.

As the sun set just before the start of Purim, Mimi and her friends from school met at the town square to carry the world’s loudest gragger to synagogue for the reading. Mimi went to lift the drum, but even after struggling and straining and inviting her friends to help, they were unable to move it.

Just as everyone started to get mad, Mimi had a brainstorm. “Ah! Remember the riddle we learned last week? What weighs more: a pound of rocks or a pound of feathers?! Well, they both weigh a pound! If they weigh the same, then it shouldn’t matter what we fill the drum with! So let’s fill the drum with feathers and we’ll be able to carry it to synagogue.”

They did as she said. When they arrived at the temple, the adults had already begun the megillah reading. Mimi could feel the eyes of the whole town watching her. As the rabbi neared the first mention of Haman’s name, he nodded significantly toward to the world’s loudest gragger. Mimi hoisted the drum into the air and shook it with all her might and…

Nothing! Not a peep! Not a sound! The gaze of the congregation turned angry. The people of Chelm were speechless. The people of Chelm were furious. They people of Chelm screamed and stomped their feet so loudly that the ground shook. The earth trembled. In fact, Haman’s name was entirely drowned out!

“Shh!” the rabbi cried. “You’re so loud, I can’t even hear myself think.”

The announcement stopped the crowd cold…the announcement made the citizens of Chelm all realize what had just happened. “Mimi did it!” they cheered, embracing her. “We made the loudest sound ever!”

This Purim, this Shabbat, there is much in our world that requires us to scream and stomp. Not to scream and stomp in frustration or in an immature whine. No, there are issues that require us to scream and stomp in dignified protest: international violence, hunger, erosion of women’s rights.

The question is not whether these things should be addressed, they should. The question is how we sound the drum of indignation. Like many of you, I often post my opinions electronically on Facebook and through tweeting. I post articles I find compelling and I share YouTube clips that tug at my heartstrings. Often these postings are forwarded and commented on. Sometimes someone offers a respectful challenge but more often it’s a thumbs up for a “like.” I find that my Facebook friends generally seem to agree with me.

Or, if online isn’t your method, we tend to express our dissatisfaction about politics or society to our friends and family. We talk about the latest controversy over coffee and the NYTimes or lunch with old friends. Our friends may challenge us, but generally we seem to agree on the big issues. That’s why we’re friends, after all!

This is all great. It is great that we engage in these conversations and immerse ourselves in the goings-on of the world around us. The first step in making a difference is to be informed and we do that well.

The challenge is in what to do next. I fear that once we are engaged by an issued, we step into a sort of echo chamber, where we chat, post and interact with only like-minded folks and do nothing more. Sure, I have an opinion on something, and yes, it is cathartic to release that opinion into the wild, but what good does it do when I throw it out there just to get a thumbs up from the “like” button?

In talking about how to take one’s indignation to the next level, NYTimes columnist David Brooks talks about the importance of mobilizing with others. To express one’s personal indignation and just that, is, according to him: “just a feeble spasm.” To actually make your voice worth something, he offers that: “effective rebellion isn’t just expressing your personal feelings. It means replacing one set of authorities and institutions with a better set of authorities and institutions. Authorities and institutions don’t repress the passions of the heart, the way some young people now suppose. They give them focus and a means to turn passion into change.” His suggestion: find an institution of like minded folks and work with them to actually make a difference.

We may be wary of lobbying groups and non-profit organizations. We like to believe in the power of the individual – but unless that individual is placed in partnership with another, it is just one voice into the wind, rather than a whole community of people stomping and hollering.

There is a lot this Purim season to get riled up about. The tension between Iran and Israel finally made the front page this week. Will you join AIPAC or JStreet in promoting Israel’s interests?

925 million people go hungry across the world. Will you fill out that Mazon card that came in your temple Purim basket?

Birth control has come under attack. Will you support Planned Parenthood in teaching young people that they can be safe and healthy in regards to their bodies?

The list of social ills is easy to cultivate, but the course of action for your particular concern is harder to determine. A good first stop is a non-profit organization aligned with your values. Yes, they want you to give money, but you can also attend a conference or suggest a speaker we can bring to Woodlands. Join a walk or petition a certain issue.

As much as we wish for it, there isn’t going to be one leader or one siren or one speech or one tweet that is going to address our concerns in full. But as a community, we can stomp and yell and protest and add our voices to others’ concerns. May we be blessed with the creativity to find a way out of the echo chamber. May we have the patience to hear the other side and the courage to engage with it. Open and motivated, may we stamp out the evil name of Haman and all the generations of Amalek that promote hate among us. This post-Purim season, may we form bonds modeled after the teamwork of Mordechai and Esther and build a world we can be proud of.

In the Midst of Building

I shared the following as a part of our "Report from the South" Shabbat. For more insight on our efforts to rebuild the areas devastated by Hurricane Katrina, visit here.

We’re in the midst of building...

We’re in the midst of building… building a house for God. That is the Israelites’ task in the Torah this week. It is called, Tetzaveh literally, “you shall command.” Moses, you shall command the Israelites, how to build the Tent of Meeting, the chamber for you to direct your questions, prayers, and concerns and in doing so cause my presence to reside among you – because it is within you – funneled to this spot that will move with you.

You shall build a sanctuary.

We’re in the midst of building… building a house for God. That was our friends’ task last week. They felt commanded to trek to an area more forgotten with each passing year. They travelled there to rebuild dreams and livelihoods. Tonight we have heard about the camaraderie and exhaustion, the hope and despair, the whirlwind of emotions that still storm over the Gulf.

You shall build a shelter.

We’re in the midst of building…building a house for God. That is our task next week. We are continuously commanded to stake a foundation, plow aside weeds of apathy, dig beneath political rhetoric, lay bricks of conviction.

You shall build a future.

We know the song, Bashana Haba’ah. Bashana haba’ah, neishev al hamirpeset v’nispor tziporim nod’dot...

But we might not know the translation. It is perfect for tonight with this idea of building:

Next year

We'll​ sit on the porch
And count migrating​ birds

Child​ren on vacation
Will play tag
Betwe​en the house and the fields

You will yet see, you will yet see
How good it will be
Next year

Red grapes
Will ripen 'til the evening
And will be served chilled to the table

And languid winds
Will carry to the crossroad​s
Old newspaper​s and a cloud

You will yet see, you will yet see
How good it will be
Next year

Next year
We will spread out our hands
Towar​ds the radiant light

A white heron
Like a light will spread her wings
And within them the sun will rise

You will yet see, you will yet see
How good it will be
Next year