Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Peace is Great - Sharing a Poem - It's Poetry Month


This week's word of the week is שיר - shir. It can mean song, or poem.  שירה (shira) can mean a song or poetry. Since it's Poetry Month I thought it would be nice to share with you a poem that I came across in the last few weeks, that I've come to really love.






The poem is by Yehuda Amichai, an Israeli poet that lived through too many wars - you can see it in his writing.

The poem was written in Hebrew (which I've posted at the bottom of the page).

Enjoy!







Wildpeace
 - Yehuda Amichai. Translation by Chana Bloch

Not the peace of a cease-fire,
 not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,

but rather
 as in the heart when the excitement is over
 and you can talk only about a great weariness.

I know that I know how to kill, 
that makes me an adult.

And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
 how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.

A peace 
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
 without words,
without 
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
 light, floating, like lazy white foam.

A little rest for the wounds –
Who speaks of healing? 
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation 
to the next, as in a relay race:
 the baton never falls.)
Let it come 
like wildflowers,
 suddenly, because the field
 must have it: wildpeace.



It seems that the poet is pointing to some time in the future when people, perhaps of the whole world - "the field" -  demand peace.

In the Jewish religion the concept of peace is in many ways central - the Talmud states that "peace is great" - גדול השלום - so great in fact, that we end our prayers only with peace - עושה שלום - Oseh Shalom (maker of peace) , or שלום רב - Shalom Rav (great peace). 


Over the past few months I've been working with an Israeli student on his Bar Mitzvah.
We've been reading the prophet Isaiah, in preparation for his Bar Mitzvah in Israel. We've read and discussed Isaiah's vision of peace, redemption, and return to Israel.

I think it's fair to say we are both inspired and depressed by the words - it seems like on the one hand it's come to fruition - we have (in part) returned to the land (well, parts thereof at least), and yet, the element we need to enjoy it - peace, is so distant. I wonder if it's even possible. And so, we are left with this sense of longing despite the existence of The State.



So what's going on with those prophecies?

I learned a beautiful teaching this morning:




"The prophet predicts only that which should be."

(Tosafot on Talmud Yevamot 50a)







I'd love to hear your thoughts... please comment below, and share if you feel comfortable.


Below you will find a source sheet I wrote on peace in the Jewish Bible - the Torah. If you're interested in teaching it / using it, just right click and save the image, and print - if you use it, let me know how it goes. Mickfine@gmail.com

Also some full curriculum / lesson plans using poetry to teach Jewish History below, scroll to the bottom.




Sharing some resources for educators...



Wednesday, April 17, 2013

What on Earth is Holy? My Senior Sermon

The word of the week is Kedusha - קדושה - Holiness. This is a transcript of my senior sermon, delivered 3:30 April 17th, 2013:


My Family, my friends, my loved ones, my teachers, my rabbis, my classmates - I stand before you today to share my senior sermon, and it's the last senior sermon of my class – it’s a class I'm honored to be graduating with. Over the past several months we've heard from these remarkable people about chova, mitzvah, v’hachana– obligation, commandedness, and the preparation that we've lived for the past 4, 5 or even 6 years.

And thisweek we come to the point in the reading that sheds light on some of the biggest questions we as humans can ask:
What is our purpose on this planet?
What does God require of us?
How do we live a meaningful life inthis troubled world? and
How do we spend that limited amount of time we have walkingthis earth when life is so fleeting – when, as we saw earlier this week, tomorrow is promised to no one. 

Baruch Ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh Ha’olam Asher Kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu Laasok b’ivrei Torah
We thank you God, ruler of all, for the opportunity and honor to spend time engaging the words of Torah. 

We read this week:


א וַיְדַבֵּר יְהוָה, אֶל-מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר.  דַּבֵּר אֶל-כָּל-עֲדַת בְּנֵי-יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם--קְדֹשִׁים תִּהְיוּ:  כִּי קָדוֹשׁ, אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם.

God spoke to Moshe, and said: Speak to the entire community of the children of Israel, andtell them: Kedoshim Tehiyu - be holy people. For I Hashem your God, am holy. 

This is on the one hand, a very concise commandment - a very few words “Kedoshim Tehiyu” – Be Holy. And even a rationale – Ki Kadosh Ani Hashem Elokeihem – Because I Hashem your God am holy.

On the other hand, the reader, we are left wondering:
What on earth is it to be holy?
And how on earth can I possibly be like God?! We are supposed tobe Kedoshim, like God is Kadosh – how do we make that happen??

I actuallyhave a long standing relationship with this text - when I came to my rabbinicalschool interview roughly 5 years ago, I spoke in a room down the hall, with some of the people that are in this room today, about how I understood this enigmatic phrase.

And then, onmy first day of orientation, the assistant dean; Rabbi Gelber, handed each person in the class a different slip of paper, each with a quote on it, the one handed to me was this verse. We were told to use our quote as a frame for our journey.

And today, we are all here together - looking at it, engaging it.

I'd like to tell you how I conceived of it then, and how I conceive of it now and whatchallenges I saw this text putting before us, and how I now see so much rolled into this efficiently phrased imperative. 

I rememberin that interview that I spoke about way the Torah continues. For me, it’s helpful to think about the phrase not as a standalone – you can’t make sense of this phrase in isolation, but if you look at in the context of what follows, and even what comes before, what emerges for me is that this phrase is somewhat the umbrella statement, the ultimate goal, and what follows, is the methodology- the details of how to accomplish this lofty goal: and so, in my interview I jumped– and started talking about how the Torah, a just a few sentences later continues:
Lo Tikallel Heresh, v’lifnei Iver Lo’titayn michshol –
We are commanded not to curse the deaf, and to not put stumbling blocks before the blind.

I explained five years ago that I was proud that our religion had this statement. I saidthat I was proud that our tradition, through the midrash – specifically Midrash Hagadol, and through later commentaries, flips this negative – the Torah reads: don’t put the stumbling block before them - into a positive: you must remove them. It's kind oflike: If you see something, say something. But it's more - it's something like:if there's a problem you're aware of, deal with it. And Specifically, davka in the case that you must act in orderto prevent a situation when there is no danger to you – the danger here is to others. Professor Mittleman explained that the Torah was talking here about moral hazards. I talked about the great teacher of teachers, Nehama Leibovitz zichrona l’vracha, and how she understood that:

"The Torah teaches us thateven by sitting at home doing nothing, by complete passivity and divorcement from society, one cannot shake off responsibility for what is transpiring in the world at large, for the iniquity, violence and evil there. By not protesting, "not marking the … danger spots, you have become responsible for any harm arising therefrom, and have violated the prohibition: "Thou shalt not put a stumbling block before the blind..."

I said that it was about speaking up when you see danger. I said it was the commandment todo good, to rectify injustice, and that we as Jews, we were sanctified kedoshim to do this mission – and that we don't have the permission to desist from this work – it’s our calling. 

This commandment is still one of the phrases in the Torah I most strongly connect with. When I see pictures of Rabbi Heschel on a civil rights march with the Doctor, Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. I can see in his face that he was acting in accordance with this mitzvah – he was living the words out – he was a teacher through his actions, a rav – by being an exemplar of the type of behavior he thought we should all engage in.

I’ve learned a lot in these last four plus years – I learned Torah, Talmud, Midrash, Codes of Law, Aramaic, Jewish History, how to console, how to lead, and even a bit about teaching. In our tradition we have a saying: “Mikol M’lamdei hiskalti" –from all of my teachers I have learned – "U’mitalmidai yoter mikulan"  -- though I learned the most from my students.

At the Heschel School where I have had the honor of serving as a rabbinic intern this year, I learned from the students the value of slowing down -  it’s often the case that we in these hallowed halls are called upon to read 100+ pages in English, or a half dozen pages in Hebrew, or even a few paragraphs in Aramaic (those amounts are all equal by the way).

Ma’aseh She’haya – one of my first days at Heschel, I had the opportunity to teach a class of 3rd Graders parshat hashavua (the weekly Torah portion) – I planned it out, I had the section of text that I planned on going through with them, and I began – I launched into the text of the Torah – within a minute a young man looked me dead in the eye, and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Wow", I thought, "I’m doing great!" As a teacher it’s rare that you get a thank you at the end of a lesson, let alone a thumbs up during the lesson. And as I continued, more students began giving me thumbs up – "Wow!",  I thought, "This must be the most successful lesson I’ve ever delivered – they are eating this up!" At about the five minute mark the teacher of the class, Yisraela, stopped me: "Rabbi Muki...", she said, "This [the thumbs up] means they have a question, they want you to stop – and go back, there’s an idea you’ve touched on they want to examine more closely." 

And as I stood there, surrounded by thumbs of inquiry, it dawned on me:

I learned that in my, and even our attempts to conquer the texts, we often undertake a kind of bulldozing in the process – we are so used to looking at these phrases, it becomes phraseology – that’s an introductory phrase, that’s a concluding phrase – what’s in the middle is the ikkar – the meat (or the tofu to you vegans out there).

And so when I sat down and really looked at this sentence – speak to the entire community of Israel, kedoshim tehiyu, I stopped there.

I stood in amazement as I focused on the beginning of the sentence, a part of the phase that I completely glanced over four years ago - speak to the *entire community* of Israel. I hear those words and I can't help but think there's something powerful and touching about the whole, that all, the entire community together is called upon.

It's not something rabbis do, or the inheritance or birthright of a special caste - it's the whole community's task and honor, goal and blessing: be holy. 

All of you. Don't say someone else will take care of the elderly, someone else will watch out for the disabled, someone else will show love ואהבת . It's on you. Not you alone. You will have allies. You have the whole community. 

Several years later – I know that community isn’t an abstract concept
–      it’s the end result of commitment,
–      it’s the outcome of like minded people striving to make it work –together.
–      And it takes a lot of work, which is why we call it community building
–      it’s about being in relationship with those people with whom webuild that community. Dabber El Kol Adat Bnei Yisrael – all the people. It can’t be accomplished individually, it takes a village.

And I stopped myself there. Wait – there’s more. Rewind – And God said to Moses. Why?What is the value of God instructing Moses to tell us to do this. Why are we commanded in the first place? Why did God choose to reveal the commandment? To quote Abraham Lincoln – “If you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” This, this, my friends, is the ultimate test, because we are given th eultimate power – be like God. Kedoshim tehiyu, Ki Kadosh ANI – Adonai Aloheichem. Be Holy, Because I Hashem your God is holy. It’s stunning how, when we peel back the layers of such a small small text, there is so much in it – הפוך בה והפוך בה דכלה בה.

And as I've been nearing graduation, and have had the time to sit on this phrase - la'asok bdivrei Torah - I've had a recurrent question pop into my head: we left Egypt, then we became a free people, and then we are commanded to craft a civilization– a kehillah kedosha – a holy community. My question is, and I hope we can all spend some time over the next few days pondering this: how did our experiences in Egypt – yitziyat mitzrayim - affect our conception of holiness – of kedusha? 

One way, is the focus that our religion puts on the least powerful, the least fortunate members of society. We learn that we must open our hands -פתח תפתח את ידך - to the poor, we learn how that is supposed to happen - various portions of our fields (we were once farmers) were portioned off for the poor, the stranger, the widow, the orphan – we give. 

The word that's used to describe that giving – the portioning - saying: this is for the poor, that amount in Hebrew is Mukdash. And that, I believe that what is meantby this root - kadosh. I'm going to set aside some part of my heart, my resources, and energy – לבבי  ,  נפשי  ,  מאדי for the betterment of the world. 

How do we do that 'marking' - we are not farmers. We can still open our hands and our hearts, we can use the rituals and the traditions we received – we can use prayers with family and community to spend our time on this earth bringing more kedusha– more holiness into a world desperately in need of it. 

And so, what does it mean when we are told to : Be holy people? 
It's the ultimate aspirational statement. 
And it the aspirational quality of this sentence: “Be Holy” that really contains the power.

And what is holy? In this sentence, we get the definition:
God.
Us.
Us, like God when we follow that model. As the tradition teaches:
Mah hu rachum – af ata rachum
Just as God is merciful – you too be merciful.
Mah hu ma’achil re’evim, u’malbish arumim – af ata he’echel re’evim v’halbish arumim.
Just as God feeds the hungry, and clothes the naked – you too should feed the hungry, and clothe the naked.

And as the great rabbi, the Sfat Emet – Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter,  explained in his commentary on the phrase Kedoshim Tehiyu - it's only through minimizing oneself, and through putting the needs of the community first, and seeing oneself as part of the community and not separate from it, does one attain holiness. And as Rav Moshe Alshich said almost 500 years ago in his commentary on this same verse: the easiest thing in the world is to seclude yourself in your home, and be a holy hermit. What the Torah demands of us though, is to bepart and parcel of all the community of Israel AND be holy. 

I'd like to end with a prayer:
May we have the strength to achieve our goals and the wisdom to know they are lofty. May we be passionate in our thinking and action, and forgiving and compassionate of ourselves and others in that path, and May we thus merit to see a better world brought about through our convictions and our energies. V'nomar Amen

Want to teach this? Here are some curricular materials. Just right click, and save the image, then print - Enjoy!

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

My Family History and Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day)


I'm taking a break from writing about Torah this week to write about
my family, how it was affected by the Holocaust (The Shoah), and to
share a few incredible stories.

The information I know about my Grandfather, Benjamin Taub's youth is
quite sparse. I know that he was born in Romania,in a city called Bitczkev, near a city called Sziget (about amile or two from where Elie Weisel was born). You can see where that is on the map - it's the red marker.

According to my grandfather,one day he went to school and they said, 
"Jews don't go to school." That was the last day he was enrolled in an educational
setting for the rest  of his life (he lived till his 70's).
My Zeidi (grandfather), Ben to the left.
His twin brother, Sam, on the right.

Upon reaching Auschwitz, he and his twin brother, Sam (who, sadly passed away about a month ago) were told that the Nazis were looking for twins, and if they were found together, that would be the end of the road. The two made a pact not to be seen with one another, or speak to one another, ever. For years they lived in the same few block radius, and did not speak. It's unbelievable.






After the war my grandfather was relocated to a displaced persons camp in Italy. 



He remembered fondly being called "Binjamino", and eating a lot of macaroni. Initially, these camps were funded by the Allies. Later on the American Joint Distribution Committee - AJDC funded them. To the right you can see a pictures of just such a camp on this page, and on their website. I'm honored to be an employee of AJDC. For the last three years I have written curriculum about exactly these moments in Jewish history.

             
AJDC ran orphanages after the war.
Photos with permission of USHMM Photo Archives

From Italy he participated in what's called "Aliyah 
Bet"- a tounge-in-cheek term for 'Plan B'.


Plan A was move to then Palestine legally. 

When that was not an option
(the British blockaded Palestine and did not let refugees in), organized movements including the Haganah arranged for boats to bring in survivors illegally. My grandfather's boat was stopped, as were many others, and rather than returning to Europe (which had cost him nearly his entire family) he jumped off the boat, and swam to shore. Unfortunately, he was tracked to land, and promptly picked up by the British military, and put in a detention camp / jail.

From one camp (Auschwitz), to another (the DP camp in Italy), to another (prison). It's unbelievable what some people of that generation lived through. 


The story goes that a cousin had left Romania before the war, and they somehow were notified that a person with the last name Taub was being held in jail. That person, Efraim Taub (who had settled in Rehovot in the early 1910's) either bribed a guard or paid some amount of money to have him released. No more camps for my Sabba (Hebrew for grandfather), now he had freedom, now he had to figure out what to do with his life.


In Rehovot, Binyamin tried his hand at key making, and even worked as
a bricklayer. That would not last long.



Being above 18 (read: of army age), Benyamin joined the Haganah - the predecessor to the IDF - the Israeli Defense Force. There he fought for Israeli independence in 1948, alongside his new brother in law, Moshe. 


After a few decades, a few more wars, and having had two of his three children (my mother Sarah, and my uncle Howard), Binyamin and his wife Rachael moved to the Goldene Medinah -"The Golden Country" - America.

In America my grandfather was a member of and helped support the Supinker Relief Association - a landsmanschaften - a group of people from a country now living in America, cooperating to make their lives better, jointly.


Green Road Synagouge traces its origins to a
handful of immigrants from Marmaresher Sziger,
Hungary, who established the Marmaresher B'nai
Jacob Society in 1910. 
My grandfather was a member of a temple,  referred to now as Green Road Synagogue. But if you look at the name on the building, it's officially "Shearit Marmoresh" - the remnant of Marmoresh, the area in Romania near the Carpathian Mountains that the founders were from - a lasting monument to the family they lost, the lives that were taken from them, and the relatives they'd never again see again -
The Jews of Romania that were killed in the Holocaust (nearly 85% of all Romanian Jews were killed in the Holocaust). 


In retrospect I feel like I grew up going to shul (synagogue) with the grandchildren of all those scarred survivors, in Beachwood Ohio - of all places. 

I'm not sure what lessons can be drawn, other than the intense loss and fragility of life.

Perhaps Yom Hashoah should be a day to reflect and feel thankful
for all that we have, all that was built on the backs of those survivors
with stories like my grandfather's. 

Perhaps it should also be a day of introspection -

Are we living up to the creed: Never Again?

Not just for us, but for anyone fighting for their right to live -
literally for the right to be alive, and also to live the way they see fit -
be in it in Syria, Darfur, Sudan, The State of Israel, or here in America.

I'm not sure. I know that we do have a responsibility to educate - 

Here are some of the curricula I wrote on the Holocaust, if you are interested in learning more or in teaching this material. 



I do feel that if we only look back and mourn, we might be missing the point - the point these people figured out quite quickly: 

Freedom has a price, responsibility. Whether it's building a nation, founding a
landsmanschaften, or creating a community and a temple with like-minded people - they knew it was time. Time to heal, and time to grow. And they did - My grandfather had 6 grandchildren and now would count 4 great grandchildren.

What will we build? 

How will we use the memory of those who were cut off to make life anew? And perhaps most importantly, will we not just learn about, but also ACT upon our collective understanding: that evil unabated will thrive?

I'd love to hear your thoughts /comments.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Why Matzah? A Reflection on Passover - To be read before or during the seder.

Mark Chagall. Exodus Series.







It's Passover, and we eat the matzah and say: 

"We were slaves, now we are free people."


Ok, but: Why matzah?


  • First idea:

1. We were in a rush when it was time to be free, and couldn't wait
for the bread to rise / God wanted us out of Egypt, and fast. 


Delivery and redemption - the change we so desperately wanted - couldn't come fast enough, we couldn't wait / God wouldn't wait, even the minimal time required for bread to rise. 

I think there's a power to this idea -- that which is unacceptable has to come to an end immediately.

Imagine if we thought about our modern day plagues this way...



  • Second idea:


2. This is the bread of poverty - this is honestly the message I find
most meaningful - it's about remembering that, once upon a time the
only food we could afford or were given was matzah. Matzah is
delicious once, even twice, maybe even for a whole week if necessity dictates,

but the challenge is to imagine that this flat dry cracker was the entirety of
your diet.



And so we learn about pesach - it's about people that are living
subsistence lifestyles. As members of the lowest rung on the social
chain of Egypt, 


we learned what makes a people holy: treating humans
like humans.




The way the Seder proceeds is that through the telling and actions we are 
supposed to see "our selves as if we were in Egypt". We celebrate freedom, but we also mourn loss - the drops of wine at the ten plagues are a physical reminder that our happiness is lessened by suffering, even if it the suffering is felt by people that have done us wrong.




A story is told in our tradition about a king and his son, traveling through the desert. When the son has a need for water, the king orders that a well be dug and a sign placed showing the location. 

The prince, confused, asked: 'Why not just send someone to one of the nearby town to fetch water?'
The king responded, 'Right now we have access to water, but many years from now, when that town is no longer here you'll be able to access the water."


According to the tradition, that's what the holidays are to us -
access to the special energy of the day. On Shabbat we enter the
"palaces in time that we create", to quote Rabbi Heschel of blessed memory, 

and on each of the holidays we are called upon to dig deep, to tap into those reservoirs,
to access those special waters. So if Shabbat's special 'water' is rest and appreciation for the world of creation, what is the energy, the 'special water' we have access to on Passover night? 

Freedom. Freedom from tyranny - Pharaoh, and freedom from forced labor and poverty - Matzah.  


And so, we get to the meal - we sit, we eat, we sing, and by
consciously trying, we access that ancient energy - the special water
of the day that's only available right now. What is it? It's interdependence. 

We rely on God, the world, each other, and our tradition to build meaningful lives. 

Dayeinu - aren't we fortunate.

Wishing everyone reading a happy, healthy, and meaningful pesach.


Mick Fine