Satan?

There are some theological questions that are just unfair to ask a Jew:  Do you believe in heaven and hell?  “Meh…not really….but sorta...but not really.”  Do you believe in Satan? “Um…no, but yes, well, kinda.”

There’s no easy answer to these questions.  If you want to make an attempt, though, the first step is to ask someone their definition of the term at play. Do Jews believe in the fire and brimstone of an eternal damnation place called “hell”? No. Do we believe in Satan – aka the Devil – a powerful, supernatural entity that is the personification of evil and the enemy of God?  No.

But that name – Satan, or rather sa-tahn  – does come right out of our sacred scriptures.  We see it particularly in this week’s Haftarah portion from Zechariah.  So let’s try to understand it. First thing to know: except for perhaps one place in Chronicles, the word satan is not a proper name in the Bible.  Satan simply means “adversary.”  The Bible characterizes haSatan (the satan) as an accuser; a prosecutor in God’s celestial court.  HaSatan is a trickster figure, one that encourages God to test humans and their loyalty to Adonai.  In this role, haSatan is relatively powerless and cannot speak or take action without God’s permission.

The satan of Jewish tradition is not the ruler of some dark underworld, nor an adversary of God.  Rather, haSatan drums up trouble.  HaSatan sets obstacles in our way and tries to push us from the Divine path.

But how does it do this?  To say that haSatan acts directly in our lives would give this figure body and power. Instead, the rabbis explain, haSatan is the adversarial urge within us.  HaSatan is our evil inclination – that imperfect side of ourselves that strays us from doing good. It is that very human voice that harasses us and seduces us down the wrong path. 

 

There’s a Talmudic tale (Gittin 52a) that illustrates this more nuanced understanding of the satan character: “There were two people whom Satan incited so that every Friday afternoon they fought with one another.  Rabbi Meir visited there and restrained them for three Friday afternoons until he made peace between them.  R. Meir subsequently heard haSatan say: ‘Woe that Rabbi Meir has removed that man (meaning himself) from his house.’”

Two important things to highlight in this story:

1) HaSatan calls himself a man who has been expelled from the home.  This tips us off to something significant: haSatan is associated with human urges and weakness.

2) Friday afternoon.  Timing is everything.  The story says that haSatan would surface in the home just before Shabbat.  Shabbat is supposed to be the time of wholeness and peace, but with this strife emerging just before, neither peace nor wholeness was possible.

HaSatan therefore represents the conflict and disunity that pervade our human lives. HaSatan is the evil inclination that keeps us from a perfected world.  If we could only expel it from our lives, as it was expelled from that home, we could live to see a better world.  Notice, Rabbi Meir does not offer an enchantment or a prayer – he makes peace between the two people.  That act purges the home of haSatan.

If we are to “overcome haSatan” it will not be in some apocalyptic war between God and the Devil. Our tradition presents this figure of “haSatan” as a metaphor for our human struggle to make peace with each other. HaSatan represents a personal, human obstacle we must overcome. It is the constant struggle to forgive one another.  It is our struggle to be patient. It is our struggle to just sit and listen.

Just as Rabbi Meir had to return three times to the house, we too have to revisit that nest of wickedness that resides inside all of us.  It is not who we are completely, but it is a part of us. It is an inclination our tradition stresses we can control and overcome.

 

Mishebeirach Avoteinu v’Imoteinu, May the one who blessed our ancestors, the One who tested them, but loved them too, bestow on us the same kindness and the same faith that we too can push aside the adversary of self-doubt and pettiness to see a more united world and a better self.  Ken yhi ratzon.

Miri, Nachshon, WoodSY

 this drash was delivered at a service in which our WoodSY leaders were being honored.

Rabbi Miri Gold serves Kehilat Birkat Shalom in central Israel.  You can find her on a given Shabbat leading services in the beautiful outdoor sanctuary the kehillah calls home on Kibbutz Gezer.  Miri joined the liberally-leaning kibbutz in 1977 and established a home there. Over the years, her leadership role on the kibbutz increased. Hearing the call to join the clergy, she studied at the Hebrew Union College in Jerusalem and has served as the spiritual leader of Gezer’s kehillah ever since.

As beautiful as it is, Miri Gold’s story is almost unremarkable here in the US. We’ve got plenty of female rabbis, as well as plenty of congregations and rabbis that fall for one another and serve one another.

But in Israel, this is all newsworthy. First, she’s a female rabbi.  This makes her a member of an extreme minority and a source of puzzlement to many in Israeli society. Second, she’s a Reform rabbi, making her a part of yet another minority group.  Liberal Judaism is still a difficult concept for Israelis, who, on the whole, consider someone either secular or religious.  The beautiful blend of the two that we enjoy here in America has not yet taken hold in the Holy Land.

So for years Miri Gold has championed her position and the role that liberal Judaism can play in Israeli society.  In an interview with the Religious Action Center back in 2006, she explained the cause: “For us to reach out, to get to Israelis who are searching for something, but they don’t know what it is.”

This mission is groundbreaking enough.  But Miri Gold, her community, and her Reform friends around the world, decided to kick it up a notch.  Miri would not just be an ambassador for liberal Judaism in Israel, but she would also be the one to break ground for all liberal rabbis – fighting for equal recognition by the state.

Orthodox rabbis in Israel have official “rabbi’ status.  This means they receive some funding from the state to work in their communities.  In order to get this funding, though, you must be recognized as a rabbi.  Liberal rabbis from the Reform and Conservative movements have not, historically, been recognized as such.

So for years now, Miri Gold’s name has lived the hallways of Israel’s highest court. Using Miri Gold as the “poster woman,” the Israel Religious Action Center (IRAC) has been championing her cause – demanding equal recognition for rabbis of all streams of Jewish life and thought.

And this week, it happened. In a massive, landmark decision, Israel’s attorney general ordered that Rabbi Miri Gold and other Reform and Conservative rabbis receive the same benefits that their Orthodox colleagues enjoy.

This is about more than the money.  This historic decision opens Israel up to being the truly pluralistic, welcoming state it was always meant to be.  As Rabbi Danny Allen of ARZA said, “Israel’s Declaration of Independence guaranteed religious freedom, it has to be that this freedom is for all Israeli’s, Jewish as well as Christian and Muslim. This decision brings us closer to the day where this will be the reality in Israel rather than the ideal.”

By calling Miri Gold a state-approved rabbi, the state has also approved religious diversity.

And to add to the encouragement, this comes only two weeks after Rabbi Alona Lisitsa, another female Reform rabbi, was welcomed into the religious council of the Jerusalem suburb, Mevasseret Zion.  By joining the council, she was declared a partner in the town’s spiritual life.

Something wonderful is afoot in Israel.  These two triumphs bring a wave of optimism that’s splashing through the Jewish world.  We have always declared that pluralism and cooperation were possible in the Holy Land, and now we are steps closer to that reality.  This proves that the Diaspora’s engagement with Israel and persistent advocacy on the governmental level works.

These are watershed moments. Nachson moments, if you well.  Remember Nachshon? The man the midrash says was the first to dive into the Red Sea, thereby causing it to part? He’s the man, who despite the odds being against him, understood that the risk of diving forward into the sea was better than the slavery that stood behind him.  God recognized that passion and therefore parted the sea in his honor.

This midrash connects to this week’s Torah portion, Naso.  Behold, here we find Nachshon. We learn that once the priests and the altar were ready to take offerings, guess who was the very first to bring something? Yup, Nachshon.  The instigator, the initiator, the one, who despite the risks, offers himself up first.

Rabbi Miri Gold is the Nachshon of our day.  She did not take on this cause for the fame or for the money.  She did it in the name of equality and in the name of an Israel we Jews can be proud of.  While discouraging setbacks did occur along the way, she and her team plowed forward anyway.  As a result, we can see the seas parting.  Indeed, there is a Promise Land well in the future – we can catch a little glimpse of it now.

I bring this up tonight not only so we can celebrate the changing tide (which we should) but also as a charge to our WoodSY leaders – both outgoing and incoming.  First, realize you can make change.  Second, understand that change is not always quick. We get sidetracked, we get snubbed, we go unheard. Yet, discouragement does us no good.  Despite a setback, despite fear, our Torah teaches that you must trudge forward.  There is too much at stake not to.  Gather a team, work together.  You, the WoodSY board, are like the Levites in this week’s Torah portion.  You have been appointed the leaders.  There is a whole population of WoodSYites whose cause you have been elected to champion.  Your job is to seek those special individuals out, draw them to your ranks, do what is in their best interest.  That requires a lot of listening and a lot of open-mindedness, but it is your job nonetheless.

I’m thrilled to say that the Jewish State has taught us this lesson this week.  Israel is slowly growing into the “light unto the nations” we always knew it could be. Tonight we wish a hearty yesher koach to our Reform friends in the Holy Land.  We thank Miri and her comrades for their vision and bravery and we celebrate their victory, which we pray will lead to a more just and equal Israel, one we can continue to be proud of.

Shavuot 5772 - Standing at Sinai

Based on Deuteronomy 30

Our Confirmands just read one of the most compelling pieces of Torah there is.  It asserts the significance of the Sinai moment: “I have called to witness today heaven and earth.”  This is God’s way of saying "the world is watching." In the case of our Torah reading this evening, the world is watching as the Israelites reassert their covenant with the Eternal. Time and again we see that they answer to the Law with these words: “we will hear and we will do.”  In hearing, they witness God’s power, they witness the wonder, and it drives them to act righteously.

 
Each year at Shavuot, we stand at Sinai to witness the charge again. We are reminded of a choice: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse…” Across the world, people of all faiths, including our own, sacrifice to the false idols of bias and hatred. Just as the Israelites constructed a false god at the base of the mountain, we too give in to our basest impulses.

Yet, according to the story, that wasn’t the end, was it? No false, golden god dictated who the Israelites really were. They repented, saw the error of their ways, and returned to the mountain, a new people. Our tradition condemns bigotry and loathing, it promotes empathy and love. Even when we give into the former, we can always return to the latter.

So tonight we gather again at Sinai. This is a gathering of peace, a gathering of understanding.  We focus again on what is right and just. We hear the call to uphold human dignity. We hear the call to defend the poor and the vulnerable, because we too have been poor and vulnerable.

We stand witness to the possibilities ahead of us. We hear it again: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; choose life so that you and your children may live.” Tonight we reassert our commitment to do so.

We have to do this, because not once does Torah say we are entitled to blessing.  Always, in every case, we earn it.  We earn blessing through walking darkhei noam, the paths of pleasantness.  We earn blessing by loving God and the eternal beauty that emanates from that love.  We earn blessing by hearing God’s voice, crying out not from a distant ocean or a mountain peak.  We hear it crying out from our own hearts - the conscience that will not yield, the basic human empathy that, when we stop to listen for it, guides us to life.

“I have called to witness today heaven and earth.” The world is watching.  What we do matters.  Tonight, here in this sanctuary, at our imagined Sinai, may we choose life so that we, our children, our neighbors and the strangers that dwell among us may live. May we choose life so that righteousness may live in not only our generation but also in the next. Ken yhi ratzon.

Graduation 5772

On Friday, May 18, we honored the 19 graduates of Woodlands Community Temple.  I shared the following drash:

Our Torah portion this week, Bekhukhotai, tells us one thing pretty clearly: if you follow all of God’s laws, things will go pretty well for you.  In particularly, the physical land of Israel will treat you well: it will rain, your crops will grow.  Your enemies won’t bother you, you’ll live in peace.

But the reverse comes into play too. If you don’t follow the laws, if you break the covenant, God will break it too.  You’ll be punished with some pretty nasty punishments: physical afflictions, starvation, expulsion…but don’t worry, Torah assures, if you abide by God’s rules, you can avoid all of this.

We wish it could be that easy. The truth is that the world we’re sending you out into is unfair.  You’ll be rewarded for no good reason; you’ll be punished for no good reason. Every time this happens, you’ll be surprised by it.

We know that, and our ancient ancestors knew that. Therefore, I don’t think the Torah is advocating that you try to find a deeper meaning in this chaotic reality of our world.  Rather, I believe it is telling us that our actions matter.

Your actions matter.  How you approach both the good and the bad in your life matters. And like God, all we can hope is that we’ve given you guidelines and values by which you can meet those unfair and fair challenges of the world. 

That’s in the written Torah; that is the Torah we’ve shared as a group over the years.  That is what we gird you with as your step out into the world.

Rabbi Billy Dreskin followed with these words.

Shabbat HaMoreh

Each year, Woodlands honors all those in the congregation who taught throughout the year: Religious School, Adult Education, special programs, aiding in the Religious School, etc.  Here's just one thought on the matter:

The late Maurice Sendak shared this in an interview:

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

This is precisely what we want for our children – we want them to consume Judaism voraciously. And not just them: it's also what we want for our adults.

We want you to see it, love it, eat it up

After all, that is why Torah is called honey on our tongues.  It is delicious!

Israel as Muse (Yom HaAtzmaut 5772)

What is it about the land of Israel that makes it act as Judaism’s muse?  Surely all landscapes have the power to call to human beings.

For example, “America the Beautiful” croons of the landscape’s grandeur. The writer, Katharine Bates, wrote of these sights after a breathtaking cross-country train ride from Massachusetts to Colorado. The ride gave her the words:  amber waves of grain, purple mountains majesty, the fruited plain!  All song worthy; all symbolic of the promise that the American frontier held.

Israel does the same thing.  Israel’s scenery, wildlife and geography have inspired poems, songs, and artwork for centuries. Yet, in some way it seems to go deeper.  The land of Israel is more than aesthetic beauty and metaphor. America’s beauty makes us feel patriotic.  Israel’s beauty makes us feel spiritual.

But why? To understand, we turn to Rahel, a great pioneer poet of Israel. Rahel Bluwstein is so loved and respected, she is known by just her first name in Israel.  In 1909, at the age of 19, Rahel arrived in Eretz Yisrael with her sister.  Inspired by the spirit of the early Zionist pioneers, she stayed for years, working the land on various kibbutzim. Life for the early pioneers was excruciatingly difficult. Malaria ran rampant and food could be scarce.  But Rahel and her comrades fell in love with the earth their worked in northern Israel, specifically the area by the Sea of Galilee. She wrote:

“I remember a moonlit night in summer, we rowed out boats toward the sands of “that shore.” We strode on the earth, preserving the footsteps of Abraham; we heard the echo of God’s words in the olden days: “I will make your name great.” We climbed boulders and looked down on the narrow fissures. There the springs quenched the ancient carob roots with chill waters…

I remember we planted eucalyptus trees in a swamp, where the Jordan River leaves the Kinneret and runs southwards to the Negev, foaming on the rocks, flooding its banks. More than one of us trembled with fever afterwards on a thin bed. But not one of us, not even for a moment, ever lost the feeling of thankfulness for our fate. We labored out of soulfulness.

The thirst was racking. One of us would enter the water with our favored container- a tin can once used for kerosene. What a pleasure it was to reach down toward the gravel of the shore, and to drink endlessly, like a forest creature, to immerse one’s burning face into the water, stop to take a breath of air, and once again to drink until exhaustion.

It is said: this water has wondrous properties. Whoever has drunk it will return. Is this why the young men abroad long for the quiet shores of the Kinneret, because their ancestors quenched thirst here.

On the Sabbath I used to set out for a rest in the nearby hills. So many twisting crevices, so many dear hiding places, so many green river beds: if only I could remain here all my life. It is good to walk down the path around the shore, until one sees the wall of the city and its round towers. Tiberius is ancient. It doesn’t look like a city to me, but rather a drawing in a school book about the distant past. Look, these stones saw the pale face of the preacher of Nazareth. Heard the oral law of the rabbinical sages…

The Kinneret is not simply a landscape, not just a part of nature; the fate of a people is contained in its name. Our past peeks out of it to watch us with thousands of eyes; with thousands of mouths it communicates with our hearts.”

Surely, there are thousands of beautiful shorelines across the globe. But Rahel picks up on a uniqueness to Israel’s shores. It has everything to do with our historical footprint there.

Despite dispersions, Jews, in some number, have continuously lived in the land. Walking in the footsteps of Abraham, our ancestors have all thirsted for freedom, connectedness and dignity. Every generation, at one point or another, has sought these in Israel.  On a whole, the land of Israel has quenched this thirst. Israel has always been the place where Jews could be Jews. It is where the plants and animals match those described in our most ancient texts.  Israel brings our tradition to life – like a storybook coming true.

It has not always been pristine. The land has produced our people’s greatest joys as well as our greatest sorrows.  But put together over the years, the land has shaped our people’s story. When it comes to Jewish history and tradition through he years, we can look at it this way: we wrote it down in Torah; we sang it in our prayers; we lived it in Eretz Yisrael.

As Rahel masterfully said, “The Kinneret is not simply a landscape, not just a part of nature; the fate of a people is contained in its name. Our past peeks out of it to watch us with thousands of eyes; with thousands of mouths it communicates with our hearts.”

Perhaps that is the intangible feeling we get when we travel there.  It’s the buzz of that ancient communication.

I felt it the year I lived there.  I settled in the new part of Jerusalem at 7 Molcho Street.  My life was much easier than Rahel’s. The supermarket Supersol was open down the block. No malaria threatened my life.  My biggest problem was a flooded living room after a hot water heater exploded. It was city life and I had to travel out to find the vegetation, which, in the small world we live in now, has groomed paths and hiking trails.

In totally different worlds…yet I still feel Rahel’s experience was mine. I too saw my ancestors in each rusty crevice. I heard their whispers through the silence that descended on Shabbat.  Trees, mountains and lakes, while found everywhere, seemed lined with ancient living.

 

And they drove me to write.  These flowers appeared one day on the walk to my house and caused this inspiration:

The year I lived in Jerusalem the winter was particularly cold

The mist descended gently from the 7 hills

And kissed the ground with weighty lips

Remaining low in the valley four months

Pesach cleaning swept the dampness from the corners of the kitchen

Brushed it out the front door where it dissolved in the sun

The water bubbles bursting with excitement

As they rose into the blue skies.

I hadn’t known it when I moved in,

But there was a thick rose patch that lined the walk to my front door

I didn’t notice stems or buds, just, one day, roses!

Their petals unrolled overnight

Exposing, unabashedly,

Open-palmed spirals of color

Tie-dyed whirls of springtime hallelujah.

Fanned out, sunsplashing,

the quiet gasp of resuscitation.

A triumphant return from the depths.

A surprising restoration of color to the soul.

I don’t know that anything was too different about these roses – although if you can tell me how they got this swirly pattern, that would be amazing.  All I know is that they spoke to me.  Would pretty roses speak to me anywhere? Yes. But for some reason, moments seem to amplify in the Land of Israel. The land speaks. It doesn’t have a monopoly on communication, but it sure does have a continuous history of it.

And the important part: as Jews, we’ve learned to speak back.  The land is not perfect – physically, politically – but just like Rahel and the early pioneers worked it with love, so too the Jews before them and the Jews after them plowed it.  They have plowed it for resources and for meaning. May we, here, continue to plow it in our own day – whether through planting trees or planting hospitals or simply growing relationships to our Jewish family over there. And whatever we do, may we continue to plow it for peace.

Yom HaShoah

This drash was offered after reading from WCT's "Shoah Scroll." It came from the town of Rakovnik, now in the Czech Republic. Written in 1890, it was used continuously until the Shoah. The scroll is on loan to WCT. We will use it and read from it until the Jewish community of Rakovnik is reborn and requests that we return the scroll. Until then, we honor their lives by learning from their Torah.

This week we read from the tenth chapter of the Book of Leviticus - parshat Shemini. Until now, life in the Israelite camp has been about preparing for the priests’ ordination. Sacrifices have been offered, vestments procured, and the whole community has gathered. Aaron, Moses’ brother, has assumed the role of high priest.

Shortly after ordination, though, Aaron’s sons – Nadav and Avihu – take their fire pans to the sacrificial altar and offer a strange fire before God. The text offers no details of their sacrifice, except that God had not demanded it of them. As Nadav and Avihu bring their fire pans to the altar, almost instantly a fire shoots forth, consumes them and leaves them dead. A shocking sight, a moment of extreme terror, a horrifying, instant loss of life before the eyes of the entire congregation. Moses tries to offer brief words of comfort, but they feel incomplete, almost incongruous. And amidst it all, Aaron, their father, falls silent.
For centuries we have tried to understand this enigmatic story. We’ve tried to make sense of the fire that Nadav and Avihu offered and the fire that consumed them. Did God intend such a gruesome end to their lives?

And we’ve tried to make sense of Aaron’s silence. What father says nothing? But on the other hand, what is there for a father to say? Moses tries to find reason, but we receive little comfort by his words.

Yom HaShoah does not always correspond with this Torah portion – yet it gives us pause when it does. Indeed, it is impossible to understand the fire that consumed million of lives. When we try to twist our hearts around why, we find our words clumsy and incomplete. And often we find ourselves like Aaron, silent in our grief, wordlessly besieged by conflicting emotions.

And at the same time, we condemn silence in the face of this tragedy. Silence abetted Hitler’s sinister plan. Silence leaves the murdered forgotten. Silence is the crime that allows genocide to continue in our own day. We come here tonight to break that silence – in the name of memory and in the name of hope.

I believe the Torah’s story is purposefully enigmatic. It requires us to search deeply. It wants us to challenge this awful course of events and learn from them. It wants it to never happen again.

This is why we continue to tell the Torah’s story and this is why we continue to tell the story of the Holocaust. We tell them year after year as a call to action. Telling stories is the best tool we have in developing the awareness and empathy necessary to make a change in our own day. We bear witness. Perhaps one day we can bear change.