A Blessing for Social Action

I haven't been able to post my sermons from the High Holy Days on our website, yet, because of some techincal difficulties (I know… I know… you're all waiting, desperately). Hopefully I'll be able to do so, soon, but in the meantime, let me share one little tidbit—one of my favorites from all the sermons.

Judaism seems to have a blessing for almost everything—from lighting Shabbat candles to going to the bathroom. But, traditionally, there is no blessing for acts of Tikkun Olam (Social Justice). It seems like a strange omission. Why wouldn't Judaism offer a blessing at a moment which seems ripe for blessing?

...traditionally, there is no blessing for acts of social justice. A blessing is used in order to elevate a non-sacred act into a sacred one. To turn the simple lighting of a candle into a religious act. But, we never need to turn an act of Tikkun Olam into a sacred act; it already is.

To me, it's such a simple, lovely idea. Saying a blessing over an act of Tikkun Olam is like adding water to the ocean: utterly redundant.

Want to experience a bit of holiness today? Just help someone in need.

Rational Religion - Still not just for Jews

This past summer, I wrote a little bit about Christians who take a rationalist view of religion. I remember being very happy to read the article which led to that post, because it made me feel a little bit less lonely. Very often, it seems that being a rational religionist is a minority position. The religious people that we see in the press tend to be extremists—that's not surprising; most people who get press coverage tend to be extremists. But, it's easy to start thinking that most people in this world who are religious take an extreme, fundamentalist view about religion. You know—the Bible is the literal, perfect, unchanging Word of God. Anyone who deviates, at all, is a sinner, and is bound for hell. And, most of the atheists who get press coverage are reacting to this kind of extremist religion. They are, in a manner of speaking, extremist atheists. I don't mean just that they are extreme in their atheism (although, many are), but that the religion that they reject is an extreme religious. No one, it often seems, is speaking up in favor of, or even against, moderate, liberal religion.

This (false) sense of religious isolation is heightened by a quirk of my profession. Not surprisingly, I meet a relatively large number of people who want change religions—they come to me to convert. Which pretty much means, by definition, that they're not happy with the religion with which they grew up. So, they often tell me what they didn't like about that religion. And, something I've noticed since moving from Canada back to the states (I'm not sure if it's the States, or the part of the States in which I live) is that the most common complaint is the extremism, and lack of rationality in that religion. This is all a long-winded way of saying that I hear many people complaining that the Christianity of their youth was irrational, and therefore unacceptable to them. Given that, in my daily life, I don't have a lot of other interaction with Christianity, it can start to create a skewed view of their religion: Judaism is, at least potentially rational. Christianity is, inherently, a rational. I don't really believe that, you understand. It's just that it sometimes starts to feel that way.

Which is probably a big part of why I love coming across another article about rational Christianity:

In the world of Christian scholarship, for example, to read the Bible literally is regarded as absurd. To call the words of the Bible "the Word of God" is more than naïve. No modern person can still believe that a star can wander through the sky so slowly that wise men can keep up with it, that God actually dictated the Ten Commandments -- all three versions, no less -- or that a multitude can be fed with five loaves and two fish. No modern person understanding genetics and reproduction can believe that virgins conceive, nor can those who understand what death does to the human body in a matter of just minutes still view the resurrection as the resuscitation of a deceased body after three days.

The author of the article, it has to be noted, isn't just an academic. He is an Episcopal priest—a bishop, actually. I'm going to go out on a limb here, and assume that he is a sincerely religious, devout men. He takes his religion seriously. He believes. But, he doesn't believe uncritically. He doesn't accept every word as unfailingly true. He doesn't believe that rationality needs to (or can) take a backseat to faith.

Christianity is, I believe, about expanded life, heightened consciousness and achieving a new humanity. It is not about closed minds, supernatural interventions, a fallen creation, guilt, original sin or divine rescue. I am tired of seeing the Bible being used, as it has been throughout history, to legitimize slavery and segregation, to subdue women, to punish homosexuals, to justify war and to oppose family planning and birth control. That is a travesty which must be challenged and changed.

You don't have to be Jewish to be religious and rational. You just have to be rational. I've always known that, but it's nice to be reminded. And, it's nice to have company.

A Rabbi supports LGBT causes?

OK, this is (for me) a long, somewhat rambling post. I had trouble getting it out, and didn't really have time to edit it. But I wanted to publish it today, because today is National Coming Out Day, and this is about LGBT issues. So, pardon any incoherence. But, please, give it a read!

---

A number of times on this blog, and quite often on my Facebook page, I've spoken out in support of same-sex marriage, as well as other LGBT issues. Depending on what religious background you hail from, you might find this somewhat surprising (or, maybe, very surprising), or completely expected. But, knowing that at least some people don't expect a rabbi to be on this side of the issue, I have been thinking for a while about posting my reasoning for being pro-LGBT rights and, especially, why I think it's a Jewish issue—why I support this not just as a person, but as a religious Jew, and as a rabbi.

Interestingly, I recently came across another blog post which explained why its author (who describes himself as "A Heterosexual, Married, North Carolinian Father Of Three") supports LBGT equality. It says so much of what I think, that I almost decided to just scrap my own blog post, and link to it. He debunks many common arguments against equality:

Religious arguments against same-sex marriage do not pass the Lemon Test, a three-pronged legal requirement which stipulates that a) the government's action must have a secular legislative purpose, b) the government's action must not have the primary effect of either advancing or inhibiting religion, and c) the government's action must not result in an "excessive government entanglement" with religion. I am not sure I have heard anyone make a case against same-sex marriage that did not invoke religion. 

and

Kids do just fine in families with same-sex parents. "All of the major professional organizations with expertise in child welfare have issued reports and resolutions in support of gay and lesbian parental rights" (Professor Judith Stacey, New York University). 

He also talks about some of the positives of acceptance:

Acceptance of LGBT folks helps protect against depression, substance abuse, and suicide. Why in the world would anyone want to cause suffering in others? If the answer lies in your religion, then you need to re-evaluate your religion. Its ancient morality is flawed at best. 

As always, there's lots more to read, and I recommend clicking through (it's not a long article, but it's a good one). But, not surprisingly, given his atheist identity, he doesn't talk about the religious reasons for same-sex support. So, that still gives me room to add something, right?

I'm clearly not going to be able to explain the entire matter, here. The question of whether it's appropriate for rabbis (or other religious leaders) to be pro-LGBT is complicated, to say the least. But, there are at least three interrelated reasons that I feel compelled to not only support LGBT issues, but to do so vocally and forcefully.

First of all, religion changes, and that's a good thing, If you're part of a religious tradition which believes that your revelation came directly, and perfectly, from God, then you probably won't see the world the same way that I do. But, as part of religious movement which embraces the fact that our texts, practices and traditions all have human origins, I have no choice but to also admit that those human origins have influenced our texts, practices and traditions. In other words, they don't only reflect God's will, but human biases and prejudices, as well. They reflect the society from which they came.

Well, society changes (thank God). Our values change. Our understanding of human nature changes. Trying to apply, uncritically and unwaveringly, an ancient set of laws and restrictions onto a modern world, without accounting for those changes—well, that's precisely the kind of thinking which got Galileo into so much trouble. Not exactly a shining moment for religion, was it?
Our understanding of the world changes, and a religion which doesn't change along with it, is writing yet another embarrassing chapter in its history. Religious leaders refused to see the world changing were the ones who tried to justify slavery. Who resisted women's rights. And so on. I really don't want to be part of the next round of that.

And that brings me to my second reason for feeling obligated (one might even say: commanded) about all this: I am part of a system which has been, throughout its history, and still continues to be, one of the single greatest forces against same-sex equality. Religion, especially organized religion, has been a driving force behind homophobia in our world. So, on the one hand I feel a need (which might not come from the most exalted place, I admit) to distance myself from the views of the religious homophobes. To put it simply (and honestly) I want to make sure that people know that I'm religious, but that doesn't make me homophobic. Call it apologetics, call it insecurity, but at least I'm directing it in a good direction.

But, in addition, I guess I also feel the need to do some makeup work. My own history of homophobia is minor and, thankfully, ended long ago. But, as part of the “religious world,” I guess I still feel I have some repentance to do. If religion has been so awful to gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender people, and I'm religious, then don't I, at least a tangential way, share some of that guilt? Without becoming too self centered, or too melodramatic, isn't part of being connected to a larger group sharing responsibility, at least in part, for that group?

It's debatable. The same types of arguments happen around America's history of oppression of African-Americans, Native Americans and so on. And, as usual, I see both sides of the argument—on the one hand, I have benefited, indirectly at least, from those injustices. I am part of the institution which oppressed, and therefore somewhat obligated to make restitution. On the other hand, I did nothing wrong myself, so I shouldn't feel guilty or responsible. Both make sense, but there's not much harm in erring on the side of compassion, is there?

And, that brings me to my last religious point. There is no harm in erring on the side of compassion. Especially in Judaism (not comparing it to other religions, so feel free to insert your own here). One of my favorite teachings in all Judaism came (I believe) from Rabbi Irving Greenberg. The oft repeated ethical injunction to care for the stranger, because we were strangers, is a reminder that our own history of oppression is supposed to make us more sensitive to others. We have been treated badly, and we have been marginalized, and we have had our rights (and our lives) suppressed. And, because of that, we're supposed to look at others who are being similarly treated, and help them.

It's that simple. To be a Jew is remember how terrible it feels to be weak and oppressed, and therefore to act on behalf of the weak and oppressed. Right now, in our society, there is probably no group which is more openly oppressed than non-straight people. Gay rights has been called the next/last great frontier of civil rights. It's the last group about which it's ok to speak publicly about the desire to annihilate them, or deny them basic rights. If I were to do so, then I'd be accepted, and applauded, by large swathes of our society. I'd like to be a small part of changing that. It seems like an awfully Jewish thing to do.

Today is “National Coming Out Day.” Let's all pray for, and work towards, the day when that won't be necessary. The day that no one will feel unsafe, unloved, or disenfranchised simply because they love someone of the same gender. It really doesn't seem that complicated.

Why do we fast?

As we get ready for our Yom Kippur fast, I came across this brief article, asking why, exactly, we fast. The author lays out 4 different explanations, all of which find support in our tradition (one one constant in Judaism: there is never only one answer to any question!). But, there is only one of them, he claims, which finds Biblical support:

Isaiah's prescription for the fast that God desires addresses precisely these elements: when you gather in the town square to call out to God, think of the people who sleep there at night because they have no home. When you feel the pangs of hunger after not eating for a day, think about those for whom this is a regular occurrence. When you don your sackcloth and ashes and take off your comfortable shoes, remember that there are those who do not have what to wear. The point of fasting is to sensitize us to those for whom such denials are a daily occurrence, and not by choice.

The entire point of our fast is to sensitize ourselves to those who are in constant deprivation and need, so that we will be more likely to help those people, when our fast is over. Which means that our fast is judged not by how hard we pray during it, but by how hard we work to help others, when we're done.

Funny. That's almost exactly what I'll be saying tomorrow morning. Hope to see you there, so you can hear all about it (out of towners - I'll post it after the holiday, so you can read it, too!).

G'mar Chatimah Tova - may you be sealed in the book of life.

Should Troy Davis have been executed?

There's been a lot of chatter these past few days, and especially today, about Troy Davis. Last night, Davis was executed for murder of which he was convicted a few decades ago. This execution, in particular, has become quite a flash point, obviously. My Facebook feed is filled with people who are in sincere angst and anger over this execution. Me? To my great surprise, I find myself somewhat confused, and ambivalent, in a way.

Let me be clear—I opposed this execution. But, I opposed it because I oppose all executions—I am against the Death Penalty. I've written about my reasons before, so I won't go into them in detail, here. My colleauge Larry Bach has a blog post about the Jewish view of this - a lengthy look at the Rabbinic approach, which is to essentially remove the Death Penalty from consideration, because of the impossibiilty of applying it morally.

My confusion is about this specific case. People are pointing to it as a crystal-clear example of why the death penalty is so bad—because, in this case, a seemingly innocent man was executed. One of the arguments against the death penalty (it's my argument, along with Rambam's, in Bach's post) is that, so long as we execute criminals, we run a real risk, and eventual near certainty, of killing an innocent man. And that is, simply, unacceptable. Better to let 1000 criminals go free than execute one innocent man. And, in these cases, we wouldn't be letting them go free–we'd be keeping them in jail, for life. It seems almost ridiculously obvious to me.

But, let's imagine for a moment that I didn't accept that argument. That I believed that it was possible to perfectly implement the death penalty, or that it was worth the risk of innocent death. Were that me, I'm not sure I would have opposed this case.

Everyone (at least everyone I've been reading) seems absolutely sure that Davis was innocent (at least of this crime). And, there are good reasons for those beliefs—witnesses who recanted, lack of physical evidence, other people who may have confessed, etc. Pretty damning stuff.

But, yesterday, I read an article from the cases prosecutor:

"This is fuzzy thinking. This is what happens when you try a criminal case in the streets, when it becomes a public relations campaign," the former D.A. said. "When it's in a court, you get disciplined thinking. We've won every time the thinking has been disciplined."

If you care about this case, it's worth a read. Essentially, he's saying that the counter evidence is what's deeply flawed. The shallow treatment it gets in the press makes it seem valid, but when put under proper, rigorous scrutiny, in court, the truth becomes clear. Guilty, without a reasonable doubt.

You know what's scary? I have no idea what to believe. I have not read the legal documents, nor would I be likely to understand them, if I did. That's probably true for you, too. I haven't read a single piece which tries to look at both sides of the issue. Which takes the prosecutions case, along with the defense, seriously. Which tries to understand, rather than just advocate. Does anyone have anything like that? I'd really love to read it!

In the end, this is just a small plank in my anti-death penalty stance - the unavoidable nature of uncertainty, which therefore makes it impossible to fairly impose the Death Penalty. But, on a less important level, this is just one more reminder, in an endless stream of reminders, that certainty is usually there for those who want it, but is usually lacking when we look carefully.

Should Rabbis give political sermons?

Dennis Prager (radio talk show host, author, pundit) has written an article, slamming Rabbis for giving political sermons on the High Holy Days. He says that, on these holiest of days, Rabbis should be focussing on spiritual issues, such as personal growth, teshuvah (repentance), and such. To focus on narrow, partisan political issues is wrong:

But those rabbis who do use Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur to offer their political views are doing their congregants and Judaism a real disservice.

Rabbis who have used the holiest days of the Jewish calendar to give a sermon on behalf of the Obama health-care bill or to excoriate the Christian right or to expound on any of the many other left-wing positions have cheated their congregants. The primary purpose of the High Holy Days is to have the Jew engage in moral and religious introspection: What kind of person have I been in the past, and what do I need to do in order to be a better person?

He's especially upset because all Rabbis who give political sermons are on the left, and support only leftist causes:

Because separation of pulpit and politics is a conservative value, not a liberal one. Therefore, rabbis with conservative political beliefs do not use their pulpit to advance their political agenda. And because no conservative believes that advancing the conservative political agenda makes you a good person. Like Judaism, we know that becoming a good person demands arduously working on one’s character, not having the right politics.

Now, this latter idea that only Liberal Rabbis give political (and, therefore, liberal) sermons is borderline farsical. It's true that most Rabbis are politically liberal, so most political sermons will lean that way. But, the idea that only non-Orthodox and politically liberal Rabbis (which, he believes, are nearly identical categories) will ever speak politically on the High Holy Days? Come on. NO Rabbis have spoken out against Same Sex Marriage, for example?

Look, I try very hard not to be political in my sermons. I want to make sure that I'm speaking authetnically Jewishly, and even when I believe that my liberal values come from a very Jewish place, I try to err on the side of caution. And, I am extra cautious of partisan politics - I might speak about a cause, but I would be very wary of speaking about a particular bill or program, and I would (almost?) never speak about an individual candidate.

But, would I ever talk politics? Absolutely.

Supporting Same Sex marriage is politics. Supporting caring for the poor is, partially, politics. Opposing slavery was (and is) politcs. Does Judaism have nothing to say, from either side, about health care, or abortion, or war, or...anything which overlaps with politics?

When Isaiah, in a reading which we use on Yom Kippur, said:

Is not this the fast I look for: to unlock the shackles of injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your house?

Is it not possible that there is a least a teensy bit of politics which overlap with that thought?

Look, it is incredilby hard to know where to draw the line - to know when a truly religious issue crosses over into a much more truly political one. It's also incredibly difficult to know when we (who are both Liberal (non-Orthodox) Jews as well as political liberals) hold a belief because it's Jewish, vs. because it's liberal (or, how much of each). When we should be willing to speak our positions, and when we should say, "there are mutliple valid opinions on this, and we have to honor them all." Very, very tricky. Like I said, I err on the side of caution, as I think I should. But, Prager takes a complicated issue, and falsly makes it simple: liberal/politcal=bad. Orthdoxox/Conservative/non-politcal = good.

I'd be curious to hear what you all think - when can a Rabbi (or Priest, etc) talk politically, and when is it wrong? How do you know when a line has been crossed? What would make you walk out of a sermon, if anything?

By the way - during one of my sermons during these High Holy Days, I'll be talking about Israel. Is that ok, Mr. Prager? Or, is it too political?

Will Palestine be Judenrein?

I will admit a bit of ambivalence (or, possibly, timidity) about this post, as well as several others which I've written, and probably a couple which I haven't.

You see, I really am still, in my heart, a peacenik, especially when it comes to Israel. I've said before (on this blog, I'm sure) that, were I in charge of the world, the Palestinians would have a state tomorrow, living in peace with Israel. Not simply because it's good for Israel (I believe that, in the long run, it is), but because it's right. The Palestinians have suffered greatly through all the conflict, and even though it's fair to discuss who exactly is to blame* among the Palestinians, it's clear that there are many, many among them who have suffered needlessly (if you're about to ask “who?” then I remind you that some very young children have tragically died along the way. At the very least, I hope we can all agree that they didn't deserve it).


*I often say that the leadership is to blame, and the people simply suffer because of the leadership's awful and cynical decision-making. But, that's really a gross oversimplification. The people themselves are largely, by most accounts, virulently anti-Israel and anti-Semitic. Now, you can blame that, to a very large degree, on the constant propaganda and miseducation of the populace, by those same leaders. You can also say that, ultimately, people who support terrorist attacks and genocide have to be held responsible for those views. I think that, in reality, it's terribly circular and confusing, and probably not addressable in this space, right now.

But, quite often (and, it seems, more and more) I come across an article which talks about some deeply disturbing, often horrific insight into the Palestinian world. The peacenik in me doesn't want to talk about it. I don't want to sound like I am ever suggesting that Israel should just steamroll the Palestinian people, and dispossess “these scum.” I don't want to ever say, or imply, that Israel should let off the hook for anything it did, simply because its enemy is so bad. But, at the same time, nothing good can really come from hiding from the truth, and sometimes the truth is ugly.

According to an article in USA Today, the PLO's ambassador to the US has stated that any future Palestinian state should be judenrein—“free of Jews.” There should, by law, be not a single Jew living on Palestinian soil. It might be somewhat provocative, but not inappropriate, I think, to use the word which the Nazis used for “Jew free” land. Because, Nazi Germany was the last time there was such a law anywhere in the world*.


*that's what the article says; I actually thought that, at the very least, Saudi Arabia had a similar law. True or not, I don't think it really matters here.

Besides the fact that it is, on its face, disgusting, it's also remarkably, shockingly disingenuous. The ambassador says that the reason for this policy would be that 44 years of occupation requires a separation of these two peoples, in order for the Palestinian people to develop their national identity. But, you can be sure that he wouldn't accept (nor should he) the same argument from the Israeli side—because of 60+ years of conflict, Israel needs time to develop its national identity, and is therefore expelling all Palestinians, or all Arabs. It would be disgusting thing for Israel to even suggest. It's no less disgusting coming from a Palestinian.

Decades ago, Golda Meir said that there would be peace between Israel and the Arabs when the Arabs love their children more than they hated us. I don't think that has changed. There are clearly many, many issues to be resolved, if Israel and the Palestinians (or, Israel and the Arab nations) are ever going to have peace. But, a basic acceptance of Israel's right to exist, of the Jewish people's right to exist, and of our basic human rights simply has to be one of the principles of that peace.