The Neighbors We Need - and Need to Be

I’d been hearing the buzz all summer. “Have you seen the Mr. Rogers film?” “It made me cry, and I wasn’t the only one in tears in the theater.” A week or two ago a friend asked, “Do you remember watching Mr. Rogers as a child?” I couldn’t quite recall, though I remember being aware of the show. I certainly knew of it and I had watched during the earliest years of my own children’s lives. 

So last week, I ventured to The Triplex in Great Barrington to catch the film. It was a good thing as it turned out to be the very last showing of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor? out here in the Berkshires. It was one of the most meaningful and moving movie-going experiences I have had in a long time. And yes, I was sobbing as the film ended. If it is playing in your neighborhood – or along your travels, GO SEE IT!  As I remarked to the friend with whom I saw it, “This film is an antidote to so much of what we are living with these days.” I don’t think that is an exaggeration. Indeed, I wish we could make it required viewing for all of our leaders in Washington, DC during their summer recess!

I grew up in the generation that just missed Fred Rogers as part of their immediate cultural landscape. I was already preparing for my Bar Mitzvah as Fred Rogers went on the air in 1968. But I am grateful to filmmaker Morgan Neville (who also created the excellent Twenty Feet From Stardom which I recall seeing a few years back at our local Independent Film House in West Newton. While I had been aware of Fred Rogers and his PBS Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood program, Neville’s film is a deep-dive into the man, his work, and his message. It teaches us about his passions, his message, and his abiding and deep respect for and love of children. We also learn about his valiant and, ultimately, successful testimony before a Congressional committee to save funding for PBS and Educational programming.

Seeing Won’t You Be My Neighbor has sparked my interest in learning more about Fred Rogers, and his work. I am currently listening to the audiobook version of The Simple Faith of Fred Rogers by Amy Hollingsworth.  Fred Rogers studied for and was ordained as a Presbyterian minister. In my eyes, he truly conducted a sacred ministry, through the somewhat unholy medium of television. His interest in creating his iconic program was spurred on by his disappointment in so much of what passed for entertainment on TV as he was embarking on his career: people throwing pies in the faces of others for laughs; noisiness and chaos, not to mention violence; and the degradation of human beings -- all were sparks which kindled Fred Rogers’ mission. I believe that if we tune in, via this film – even now, we can yet be all the better for his life’s work.

We live in a time when our airwaves and our newspapers overflow with insults, incidents of bullying, hatred, bigotry and so much more wherein we are witness to the denigrating of the “other” and the diminishment of human beings and our society. Fred Rogers’ messages about the value of silence; human dignity; and the preciousness of each and every human life are inspirational. They leaped off the screen into my heart and soul and are a balm for the painful realities that surround me – and all of us – in these troubling times.

I learned a lot from Won’t You Be My Neighbor? And it wasn’t just about Fred Rogers, though the viewer certainly is granted an insider’s view of the man, his ideology, and his educational mission. In a world and a time when so many children have been ripped from the lives and arms of their parents, here comes Fred Rogers’ abiding belief in the preciousness and uniqueness of every child. To be sure, he had his detractors, which the film covers as well. He was the inspiration for numerous comedic“ take-offs” from other cultural icons such as Johnny Carson and Eddie Murphy. Some, like Boston Herald columnist Don Feder were downright cruel. But he maintained his dignity and his humanity in spite of it all. This too is a lesson for our time.

In the last third of the film, one views a Public Service Announcement for which Mr. Rogers was coaxed out of retirement to film for the first anniversary of 9/11. Speaking softly, as he always did, Fred Rogers looks straight into the camera, and says, ““We are all called to be ‘Tikkun Olam,’ repairers of creation.” He shares that: “When I was a boy, and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” As I watched that clip I felt a shiver go down my spine. Within minutes, I realized that like those who had told me about their experience of seeing the film, I too was sobbing.

Fred Rogers was speaking to the generations who had grown up with him as their television neighbor. He spoke directly to the hearts and souls of parents who were trying to cope with a harsh new reality ushered in by the horrors of 9/11/2001. Yet, as I listened to his message in the darkened theater in downtown Great Barrington, I realized that he was not only speaking for those early years of this 21st century. He is still speaking – and this movie, which must be seen, enables us to hear what we may have missed back then. Not only should we hear it, but it should call us to action. It should call us to demand that we and our leaders look at one another, not as enemies, but as neighbors, locally, and nationally.

Sheer Delight

Ever had an experience that triggered such a powerful memory that it takes you back in time? I imagine we all had such moments. I had such two such moments this week, within the same 24 hours. I left the Berkshires earlier this week to travel home to Newton for the first time in over three weeks. In part, my purpose was to take care of errands and tasks at home. But if I am really honest, my real motive was to visit my children and our grandson, Ian. I mean, it’s been over two weeks since they were out to visit, and in the lifetime of this grandfather of a not-quite 17-month-old, that felt like forever.

There were moments during both of my two visits while I was playing with Ian when I was transported back almost thirty years to a time when his father, our oldest son, Benjamin, was Ian’s age. It was quite a different time in our lives. Not only were we new parents, and relatively speaking, newlyweds, we were also in the early part of our time in Mississippi. Just three months before Benjamin was born, Laura and I moved to Jackson, Mississippi where I became Rabbi of Beth Israel Congregation. We lived in that community for five years. It was the birthplace of three of our four children. We still maintain close contact with quite a number of folks from those years. Indeed, I am eagerly looking forward to spending a weekend back with the community this Fall as I visit as a scholar-in-residence.

We moved to Jackson from Manhattan's Upper East Side in the summer of 1987. We loved our time in Mississippi. But we missed the "City," and we would periodically make trips to the “big cities” around us in the South. Our most frequent visits were to New Orleans, which became a favorite destination for us as we came to love its many treasures and curiosities. We could also buy bagels and kosher meat there! Most of our visits were made with very young children in tow. We learned to seek out the city's many family-friendly sites.

The Louisiana Children’s Museum became a family favorite. From a very young age, Benjamin loved the place, as did his sister Sarah as she was born just a bit over two years later.I have incredibly vivid memories of Benjamin’s early years - and especially of the time he and I would spend on the floor of our family den playing, reading books, as he taught me to become a father. On one visit to the Children’s Museum, I spied a poem on the wall which I simply loved. To me, it summed up my experience as I learned the role of father. Every time we would visit the Museum I would steal away to re-read the words of the poem which struck me as so poignant and true about learning the role of parenting.

I was even more struck about a year later when, on Father’s Day, Laura presented me with a needlepoint she’d made of the poem. Somehow she had managed to copy down the poem during one visit to the Museum, and then under my very nose surreptitiously create and complete a needlepoint of it for me. To this day it hangs in our den (practically the only non-Pez decoration in the room! For those who don't know, Laura is a serious collector of Pez dispensers, but that’s a story for another time.)

Not once but twice during my visits with Ian this week, I was brought back to those moments in the Children’s Museum when I first encountered that poem. I was sitting in our children’s Dining Room which is, essentially, Ian's playroom. While we were together, more than once Ian wandered off and would come back to me with a book. He’d hand me the book, and proceed to crawl into my lap so we could read. He’s done that on a few previous visits. But for some reason, the intensity and comfort he seemed to find in sitting in my lap took me back to those words I first read on the wall at the New Orleans Children’s Museum. Each time he’d let me know he wanted to read the book again, or that he wanted a different book. If it was a different book, he'd get it, hand it to me, and then crawl right back into my lap. I was transported back to the days when his father would sit in my lap and teach me again and again the truths captured in that poem.

Ian, you filled my heart to overflowing!! I cannot completely find the words to express the love and gratitude which filled my heart and nourished my soul. You made time collapse and you transported me back three decades go your father's childhood.

What a gift children - and grandchildren are! I am grateful for that gift of family, even as I am mindful that there are those in our world, and sadly within the boundaries of our nation, who have been robbed of that joy and those blessings.

Nation-State? How About Values-Nation-State?

Last week was a mind-bender. Not only was this true here in the US, as I wrote about on Friday. It was also a mind-bender in Israel. I've been mulling over what I want to say about the series of events in Israel which culminated at week's end with the adoption of the Nation-State Bill by Israel's Knesset. In truth, I have read quite a number of responses by people - some friends and teachers whom I respect, along with others capture much of what I would have written.  Let me clear - I strongly support Israel and her people. I believe in Israel, and I know that she lives on a daily basis the struggle to balance being a Jewish State and a democracy.  The events of last week, including the arrest of a Conservative Rabbi from Haifa for performing weddings and the passage of the Nation-State Bill, which, in my eyes, undermines values and principles enshrined in Israel's Declaration of Independence, are disturbing turns-of-events. The Israel I envision holds true to her founding values - and will be, I pray, in the words of my teacher, Rabbi Donniel Hartman, a "Values Nation."

Below, I have placed links to some of these pieces, which I will not reiterate in my own words as I feel that they have captured my sentiments, and their words are worth reading.

Yet, I do want to share a brief piece which arrived in my email inbox yesterday morning. It was from Alden Solovy, a poet, and teacher who now lives in and writes from Jerusalem. I had the privilege of learning with Alden at a rabbinic conference a few years back - and I never fail to find his words on-point and worth reading. Yesterday, he issued three Psalms of Protest, which captured for me many of the jumbled and complicated emotions I find myself juggling in recent days as a result of events both here and in Israel. I used his "Protest" pieces as the text I brought to share with those staff members at the URJ Eisner Camp who were fasting yesterday in observance of Tisha B'Av. Alden's work was new to those who joined me for study during the lunch hour. One of the pieces I shared was this one:

Psalm of Protest 5  (Alden Solovy)

A psalm of protest,

Before the broken gates of conscience,

Sung in ashes and sackcloth,

When lies are held as truth,

And citizens go blind before despots,

When judges are appointed to oppress,

And police do the bidding of clerics.

Oh twisted logic!

Oh reign of deceit!

How will we walk the path to renewal,

Cluttered with the remnants of trust?

How will we walk the path to peace,

Cluttered with the ruins of treachery?

Deliver us from the captains of war,

From leaders who rewrite the past and destroy the future.

Let the upright rise to lead,

And the sound of joy replace these lamentations.

His words echo Jeremiah, the Destruction of the Temples (which we remember on Tisha B'av), as well as the challenges of our own day. His words of lamentation spoke to me especially powerfully yesterday - and they still do today. I urge you to check out Alden Solovy's website and consider signing up for his inspiring emails. As for other pieces I recommend on recent events in Israel, here are just a few:

Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin - With new nation-state law, Israel shoots herself in the foot

Rabbi Gilad Kariv - Tisha B'Av and the Nation-State Law

Israel Democracy Institute - Explainer: What Is The Nation-State Bill? Why Is It A Big Deal?

To be sure, there are many other pieces - and other points of view. These resonate with me and hence I share them. If there are pieces you think I should read - send me the links by email.

Let's Not Take it Anymore!

My mind is awash with thoughts – there are so many things I want to write about. It has been a head-spinning week! I could write about so many items in the news of recent days. As I tried to sort out the myriad events of recent days, both here in the US and in Israel, there has been one image that has come to mind again and again. It’s an image, and a cry, from a movie which I actually tried to locate in the Berkshire libraries and online in recent days. It was released back in 1976, and I am reasonably certain that anyone who was a moviegoer back in those days remembers it pretty well. In fact, the film went on to win 4 Academy Awards – for Best Actor (Peter Finch), Best Actress (Faye Dunaway), Best Supporting Actress (Beatrice Straight), and Best Screenplay (Paddy Chayefsky). Network is likely ingrained in the memory of many who saw lo those many years ago, at the very least for the lingering image of Peter Finch’s main character, Howard Beale, a network news anchor who is fired by his network.

Writing about the film a quarter-century after its release, the late film critic, Roger Ebert noted, “Strange, how Howard Beale, ‘the mad prophet of the airwaves,’ dominates our memories of "Network." We remember him in his soaking-wet raincoat, hair plastered to his forehead, shouting, ‘I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore.’ The phrase has entered into the language.” Indeed, pieces of Finch's Howard Beale rant even sound as if they were written for our mind-bending times.

I find myself trying hard to understand this week's "main event," the meeting between our highest elected American official and the President of Russia. That the meeting even took place in the manner in which it did is astonishing enough. The press conference which followed Monday's confab in Helsinki, Iceland added to the surreal and confounding reality that grabbed the entire world's attention. In the days since Monday, the dizzying events just seem to keep spiralling out of control. I find myself trying hard not to view the events through the prism of my own partisan preference. I am simply trying to make sense of how we are not seeing and hearing an across-the-board, bipartisan outrage at the clear lack of honesty and transparency from the highest level of leadership across our nation. With the ever-changing interpretations emerging from the White House, and the nearly unanimous assessment from our Intelligence agencies and officials which completely contradict that narrative, it is hard not to join Peter Finch, throw open the windows and scream. Indeed, there have been many such moments in these past eighteen-plus months when hundreds of thousands have taken

to the streets of cities across our nation to take up just that message: The Women's March, The March For Our Lives, the responses to the recent outrageous actions wherein parents and children were cruelly separated in the name of Border Security, and more. Indeed, the events of this past week, and the constant stream of changing words, explanations and narratives, along with the latest twist wherein Vladimir Putin has been invited to our Nation's Capital to

"continue the conversation" should have us all screaming "We are mad as hell!" We must make it clear to our elected officials in DC, in our State delegations, and even on the state and local levels that not only are "We mad as hell!" We must make it clear that "We are not going to take it anymore." What is happening in these days is simply beyond any reasonable explanation and it is time for us to join hands, hearts and minds across political divides to demand an end to the insanity that is playing out as our Orwellian reality.

This means writing and calling our Senators and Representatives - even those of us who live in what we consider states and districts wherein we know our Senators and Representatives agree. They still need to hear from us!  We must mark our calendars and make certain that we vote in forthcoming primaries and elections - and I am speaking to all who are registered, irrespective of your party affiliation. If we don't all participate, then we have no right to complain about the outcomes. We are living in an unprecedented time and it demands an unprecedented response from those of us who are a part of this great nation. 

I am preparing to turn from this chaotic, disturbing and deeply alarming week towards Shabbat. I know that our prayers for peace will resonate ever more powerfully this Shabbat. With Shabbat's end tomorrow night, Jews around the world will turn to the observance of Tisha B'av - the 9th day of the Hebrew month of Av when, according to history both the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed, in 586 BCE and 70 CE respectively. It is a day of fasting, mourning and reflection. For my part, I will be marking the day as part of the Eisner Camp community. I have been asked to offer study sessions for those staff and older campers who may be fasting as part of their observance. Recent events, both here - and in Israel (about which I will write at another time) make this year's Tisha B'av more relevant to me than in many recent years.

But I am also entering Shabbat for a pause so I can reflect on this past week, with a commitment that I, too, must act in the week ahead. These have been troubling days. I am mad as hell - and I do not want to watch this catastrophe continue to unfold even one step more. Our leaders need to hear from us - loud and clear - that what is happening is dangerous, and that it is unacceptable. I hope you will also arise from Shabbat and Tisha B'av (if it is your day of commemoration) and move to action. These may be the lazy days of summer. We can ill afford to be lazy in the face of the outrages being played out at the highest levels of leadership in our land.

First, a pause - then, action!  Shabbat Shalom!

The Magic is Still Here

The past ten days have found me spiritually road-tripping around the Berkshires.Some of it was planned; some spontaneous. And one piece was familiar territory that took my breath away anew – when I least expected it. To start with, just being in this beautiful part of our country is, as it has been for me since the early 1970’s awe-inspiring. From the gorgeous scenery, to the magnificent sunsets, and from driving and walking down new roads and paths, it has been quite a journey.

I knew that I was going to check-out the twice-weekly Mindfulness group that meets in Great Barrington. That was planned. I knew I would be leading a six-week study series on The Jewish Road to Character: A Taste of Mussar at Hevreh of the Southern Berkshires, where my friend and colleague Neil Hirsch is beginning his fourth year as Senior Rabbi. The unplanned stops on the itinerary included a visit to a Buddhist Retreat Center of which I had previously been unaware. Friends invited to join them as they were going to check the Center’s open Sunday Morning sit. It was quite an eye-opener – both visually and spiritually. The grounds of the Center are simple, and exquisite. Sitting in a diverse community of ages, genders and gender-identities, races and, I am certain, religious backgrounds, was inspiring.

I listen to books-on-tape and podcasts as I drive around the Berkshires. One day I received a notification from a Mindfulness teacher with whom I went on retreat several summers back at Kripalu about his most recent talk at the Insight Meditation Center of Washington, DC which he runs with his wife, Tara Brach. Though it has been several summers since I have sat with Jonathan Foust in person, I am constantly drawn to his teachings, talks and guided practices via his website and monthly email blast. Last week's talk was What Does It Mean to Really Forgive? It really struck me where I needed to be reached on this part of my journey.

The Berkshire Mountain Laurel Practice group, which I’ve now attended twice (and which I hope to visit again tomorrow) has afforded me two entirely different experiences. My first visit found me sitting in a circle of about twenty participants with a leader from the community.  When I returned for their Thursday evening sit last week there were just two of us who’d come to participate and a leader. Both were incredibly powerful opportunities for me to experience “sitting” with a new community and new teachers.

Each of these experiences became a stop along my journey, the dots of which would only connect for me as I sat with the Eisner Camp community on Shabbat. Eisner Camp first became a home for me in the summer of 1973 as I spent my first summer on the staff. I worked pretty consistently at camp through the mid-80's in a variety of roles. I then spent fifteen years away from Eisner (many of those summers were spent at other URJ camps and in Israel with NFTY groups.) I returned to Eisner in 1999-2000 as our family settled in Newton, and our family has found it to be an important place in our life and lives ever since. All four of my children have grown up there, as campers, and at virtually all levels of staff. Laura has been one of the Directors for upwards of 15 summers now. I think it's fair to say I am pretty much accustomed to camp Shabbat meals, services, singing and dancing. Yet, last Shabbat, the whole experience hit me with a force I had not anticipated. Perhaps the stops on my journey along the way in the week leading up to my first Shabbat with the camp summer. 

Worshiping with the second youngest unit, Bonim in the lead on Friday night, and the second oldest unit, Tzofim (in which I was first a staff member in 1973) on Shabbat morning, Most especially, I was profoundly Shabbat morning by Artist-in-Residence Alan Goodis and the campers and staff with whom he had created that new song which I know is already an Eisner standard, Stand Up.

moved by the new song introduced on Shabbat morning. I found myself deeply moved anew.  The beauty of Eisner's Outdoor Beyt Tefillah (prayer space) is breathtaking. And surely it felt comfortable and meaningful to be back "home" in that space. But it was not about the place. The readings, music, dance, and art created by the Eisner campers and staff were deeply moving and touched my soul. Hearing the voices of nearly 1000 participants gathering in that space was inspiring. For all the meaning I had found in the various stops along my journey last week, none touched me as deeply and poignantly as the Eisner Shabbat experience. Listen to "Stand Up" here

Yes, I found new ways and places to experience the majesty and magic of summer in the Berkshires. But coming home to Eisner lit my soul and touched my heart at a level I thought I'd long since come to simply expect. I left with a powerful reminder of how we should never take our communities and the moments of meaning we are able to live for granted. Thank you Eisner Camp for bringing me home, welcoming me home and lifting me once again.

The Mensch Antidote - Rx as per Dr. Salanter

It’s hard to believe that two weeks have passed since my fourth visit to Prague. I continue to find Prague a magical, beautiful and inspiring place. Over the course of my visits, beginning in 2005, I have never forgotten the painful side of the history of Prague’s Jewish community, especially in the last century. Nevertheless, her Judaic legacy and the magnificence of the city’s Jewish Quarter never fail to grab hold of my heartstrings, as well as my thirst for deepening my own Jewish learning. Now, two weeks removed from this most recent visit, I was transported back to Prague’s Jewish Quarter as I sat reading a biography of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1809-83), founder of the

Mussar Movement in 19^th century Eastern Europe. It’s a book which has sat on my shelf for years. This summer I decided I had to seize that opportunity to finally read Immanuel Etkes’ Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement: Seeking the Torah of Truth. Reading it has proven to be a grounding and fortifying experience as I work to deepen and expand my own study and practice of Mussar.

I have written (and spoken) on previous occasions about my growing appreciation for Mussar and how I find its study and practice not only meaningful but in many ways, a spiritual antidote to the complexities of the times in which we are living. Borrowing from David Brooks’ 2015 book, The Road to Character which I devoured the summer after it appeared in print, I have taken to calling Mussar the Jewish Road to Character. I hope Mr. Brooks does not mind my adaptation.

This morning, my characterization of Mussar as the “Jewish Road to Character” was made renewed for me, as I read the following statement in Etkes’ biography of Rabbi Salanter in which he quotes Salanter himself as saying: “The MaHaRal of Prague created a golem, and it was a great wonder. But how much more wonderful is it to transform a corporeal human being into a mensch!”  Wow, I thought, as I read those words. The Founder of Mussar as a movement just reached through the centuries to connect my visit to Prague two weeks ago (where I visited the MaHaRal’s synagogue and burial site) and my study and practice of Mussar.

One cannot visit the city of Prague and her Jewish Quarter without the ever-present reminders of Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel (known by the acronym MaHaRal – Moreinu HaRav Loew – “our Master and Teacher”) and his Golem (about which I have previously written here.)  The legend of the Golem – recreated time and again by one author after another, including Elie Wiesel, has resonance for our own times. Indeed, the group educator with the NFTY group with which I toured the Jewish Quarter offered that Rabbi Judah Loew was the forebearer of Jewish creators such as Stan Lee and Jerry Siegel who gave us so many of the superheroes who continue to fill our cineplex screens even these days.

But Rabbi Yisrael’s statement, that beyond the creation of (possibly) fictitious superheroes, more important is the creation of menschen – people of integrity and honor struck me as an important reminder for our times. No superhero (or political figure!) will ultimately lead us through the challenges and divisions of our times. Indeed, Mussar is a path through which our Jewish tradition facilitates an individual’s road to strengthening her or his own integrity and character. Part of what I most love about this authentic Jewish spiritual practice is that, in line with so much else in our tradition, it is most efficacious and meaningful when it is practiced and studied in hevruta -- with a partner.

In its fuller context, the Mussar journey is also grounded in the embrace of a Va’ad – a group that comes together to share the study and practice, to support and reinforce one another’s individual journeys. With each passing day, as I read the news and grapple with the ever-broadening rift in our nation, I find myself girded by the teachings of Mussar. My study and practice guide my heart, mind, and soul towards light in the darkness, and, I pray, integrity, lest I fall into the stream of invective and negativity. In recent years, I have deeply appreciated the sacred opportunity to facilitate  Mussar groups in various communities around Boston, as well as to bring a bit of its path and practice to teens, at camp, in my former congregation, and at NFTY Institutes. I am grateful that next week I will begin another new chapter in this journey with the honor of guiding such a group over these summer months here in the Berkshires.

Mussar by itself will not change the world. It can, I believe, impact those of us who study and practice it, so that we do not fall prey to the noise, clamor, and incivility of our times. Mussar can strengthen us and enable us to focus on the integrity and character we wish to embody, or at the very least, that which we strive towards. Practicing and studying in hevruta and community can create circles, which expanding outward can, I hope, spread the values our tradition teaches us to pursue. Mussar can help us refocus so that we can see the world as it is, and work to create the world we dream of, in which the integrity and honor of each precious reflection of the image of the Divine is protected.

Why Don't You Write Me?

So many times over the past year I have found myself humming the Simon and Garfunkel tune Why Don't You Write Me.  On any number of those occasions, I was drawn to my keyboard. Yet, for pretty much the last ten months I have refrained. It wasn't always easy. The easy times were those (many) moments when I really had too many other things to take care of which had real hard and fast deadlines. But the pause has not been merely because I was too busy to write. In truth, I have been writing, mostly journaling as part of my Mussar practice.

There was also a very conscious reason for my holding my silence. Just about a year ago I stepped away from my many years as a congregational rabbi as I set out to explore my next chapter. Part of my agreement with my congregation was that I would take a hiatus from congregational life and lay low. Yes, there were some life cycle occasions at which my participation was requested. So too, with some pastoral situations. However, I felt it was also important, as a part of my hiatus period, to be absent in other ways. This included absenting myself from certain Social Media groups in which I was a member. Along the way, I ended up taking an extended break from Social Media for other reasons as well. (Perhaps I'll write about that down the line.)  I also decided to pause sharing my blog writing, as I know that many members of my community follow my writing journey. No one asked me to, but I consciously decided to turn that voice off for the year, as part of my hiatus.

It wasn't always easy. Part of the reason I set up this separate-from-the-congregation blog site two years ago was to be able to express myself more freely without the imprimature of my posts appearing on an official site associated with the congregation. Indeed, at points this year, I have found myself channeling my desire to write and speak out by re-reading some of what I've written in the past several years. (I still hold some of those same beliefs today.)

We are not living through an easy time in our nation, in our world and in Jewish life. Many have been the times when I wanted to add my voice, my perspective, my reading of the events we are experieencing thrpough the prism of Torah, and especially the values of Mussar.  But I felt that this was a time for me to refrain, and I have.

A year has passed. My journey through this first year of my rabbinate, not grounded in a congregation, took me to many interesting places. It was most certainly a year of learning, in many forms. I worked for a national organization for the better part of the year, and I had the privilege of being part of an incredible team committed to a project I deeply believe in. I visited and worked, in and with communities in other cities on the East Coast. I learned about my strengths, and I also learned about skills I do not possess, and passions I do not hold. I also learned again and again of my deep thirst for learning and my desire to share what I am learning as a teacher.

This as-yet young summer finds my year of hiatus completed. I am now mostly on a different type of hiatus - freed from regularly scheduled meetings, appointments, and commitments, save for one teaching opportunity out in Western Massachusetts, where I am blessed to spend the summer ahead. I have returned to a study project I began last summer and which I had to set aside at the end of last summer as I took on new commitments.  I've now returned to that project, having truly missed it and the opportunities it affords me to learn and grow. And as I returned I found I am further along on that journey even though I did not touch it for ten months.

I have decided that nearly a year of silence in this vehicle, my blog, is enough. While so many aspects of my as-yet-unfolding new chapter remain undefined, I need to write. There are just some topics on which I need to express myself. Perhaps no one will be interested in what I have to say. But I have learned through my reading and study the importance of writing as a practice and discipline. I also believe that silence in the face of some of what is taking place around us is unacceptable and irresponsible.

So, in the weeks and months, and I pray, years to come, I will be sharing again. Sometimes it will be to address events in our nation and our Jewish world. Sometimes it will be more a reflection of my study and the spiritual journey I am on. I have been privileged to share pieces of that over this past year with new circles of students in communities around our Boston area. This was a critical part of this past year's journey as I was welcomed with warmth and embrace in new communities. I have already been invited to join circles and journeys in several other communities around Boston in the year ahead and I look forward to being part of more circles of Mussar study and practice.

One of the most powerful lessons of this "year away" has been about the importance of community. I have written, spoken and taught on that theme for a long time. Only in the absence of a steady community did I have the personal opportunity to step back and realize just how deeply I believe that on a personal level.

If you're interested I welcome you on this new phase of my writing journey. As always, I welcome feedback and conversation. My posts reflect my perspectives, most often filtered through my study of our rich tradition.

It's hard to believe that our new Jewish year is but two months off. In some ways, this return is an early beginning to my Elul work of preparing - not just for a New Year, but for the next iteration of my new chapter.

May summer bring refreshment, renewal, perspective and, most especially, peace.

From Darkness to Light

Friday, June 29, 2018, is a day I will long remember.

It started with an extra early wake-up and breakfast at our hotel in Krakow, Poland. Some two hundred and fifty sleepy NFTYites, their staff and those of us who were afforded the privilege of accompanying them on their trip through Eastern Europe tried to shake the sleep from our eyes. We boarded buses and began the trek to the Polish town of Oswiecim, some 40 miles away.  For the NFTYites, it was their first visit to Auschwitz-Birkenau, and you could feel the apprehension in the group.

It was a somewhat gray day, and a bit on the cool side temperature-wise.  In truth, that

added to the gloom that must inevitably be a part of a visit to these sites, which our Eisner group educator Sapir called "one of the most efficient factories in all of human history. Their product was death - most especially the death of Eastern Europe's Jews."  After several hours of walking around the massive Birkenau camp, a brief lunch break, and then several more hours at the Auschwitz museum, a tired, emotionally drained and dour group reboarded the bus for the return trip to Krakow.  Following some quiet time to decompress and prepare for Shabbat we gathered, some 300 of us for Shabbat dinner. Then it was back on the buses to return to Krakow's Jewish quarter. I immediately recalled last year's Shabbat evening experience during which we attended services at Krakow's Tempel Synagogue, an ornate, massive worship space which on that Friday night played hosts to thousands for a Shabbat service offered as a part of Krakow's annual Jewish Festival, an event I would love to partake of sometime down the line.  It was a mob-scene, and it was as much an "event" as it was a Kabbalat Shabbat service to welcome Shabbat.

However, this year's experience was different. We were still heading to the Tempel Synagogue. It was still as magnificent a worship space as I remembered from a year earlier. However, this time, we were to be the only ones present for a Kabbalat Shabbat lead by staff members for the 6 NFTY in Israel groups - representing alumni of five URJ Summer Camps as well as other NFTY in Israel participants. (An event connected to the Jewish Festival had taken places in the hours before our arrival.) Having already had a long day, with an early wake-up, the bus rides, and especially the visits to Auschwitz II-Birkenau, it would have been entirely understandable had there been a quiet, somber mood in the congregation.
Sitting in a magnificent synagogue which had seen its Jewish community decimated in the evilest act of human cruelty and banality in human history our teens responded in the most spirited, almost defiant way to the songs, readings, and prayers we shared together.  It was as if they'd formed a secret pact. It was as if they'd agreed that our worship that evening was going to be a living response to the horror that Krakow, Poland and the Concentration, Work and Death Camps scattered around Eastern Europe had seen in the mid-20th century.

I was sitting with a number of the other faculty chaperones. To a person, we found our breath taken away by the enthusiasm, passion and unbridled ruach (spirit) in that sanctuary. It was as if our teens were telling Hitler, his henchman, and all those who tried not only to crush but to completely obliterate the Jews of Eastern Europe. THeir unbridled joy and infectious spirit was a cry - we are alive! And we have returned to be a part of bringing Jewish life back to this long-silent community.

As a community, we were, after a long and full week bone-tired. Yet the energy in that sanctuary proved to be a spiritual stimulant like few I have experienced in my life. The heart, spirit, and soul in that community left me with a hope that I had felt had been dimmed by the day's earlier events. 

Click here for a video from Shabbat in Krakow

Our teens constantly teach me and touch me. On Friday evening, June 29th, they took me to a spiritual place of hope for our Jewish future and our people resilience I all-too-often find hidden in our complicated times.

Thank you NFTY - thank you to the Eisner, Crane Lake, Jacobs, Harlam, and Greene Family Camp groups and the other NFTY participants for this incredible opportunity. It is one I shall not soon forget.