Seeking Emet/Truth in an Unnerving Time

I sat down to write a response to the events which took place in our nation’s capital yesterday with the Senate Judiciary Committee hearings. In short, I want to call for a vote of “No Confidence” in our elected officials in DC. Then I reminded myself that while that maneuver works in Israel and in Great Britain, it does not in our system. What poured forth as I wrote was an angry screed. I have tried to set it aside for now. I may or may not return to those writing out and sharing those thoughts. Among the wide range of emotions with which I found myself sitting with late last night was a strong feeling about how damaged we are as a nation; about how damaged our government is, and about how fractured the very concept of “truth” is in our days. As I sat thinking what do with my feelings I remembered a post I wrote several years ago, on the subject of Emet/Truth.  I have adapted part of it here:

Those who know me, know that I have been a student of Judaism’s Mussar tradition for a number of years now. Riffing on the title of David’s Brooks’ inspirational book The Road to Character, I have taken to calling Mussar “the Jewish Road to Character. What started as a weekly dive into mussar texts with my hevruta (“study partner”), Rabbi Jonathan Kraus almost five years ago, has led to a dramatic realignment of my life, my focus, and my work, as I now spend a great deal of time reading, studying, and teaching about Mussar. Indeed, as the Holy Day/Festival season ends in coming days, my main work focus over the coming year will be leading Mussar groups around the greater Boston area, as well as continuing my personal research and writing in the field of Mussar.

As I tried to bring myself back from the soupy mix of emotions after yesterday’s deeply disturbing hearings I was reminded of a Mussar teaching on the middah/value of Emet/Truth from an early 19th century text entitled Cheshbon HaNefesh (literally “Accounting of the Soul”) by Rabbi Menachem Mendel Leffin of Satanov. In my various mussar studies, with my friend Rabbi Kraus, and under the auspices of the Mussar Institute, I am constantly struck by the immediate sense of applicability of these teachings from centuries earlier than our own to our own time and its challenges. As we come to Shabbat, I share just a small piece of Rabbi Leffin’s teaching on truth. While it might seem that I am bringing it out in response to these past days, I lift it up, also as we approach the coming days. May we all consider its applicability to our lives, and to our complicated time. Rabbi Leffin teaches (in the 18^th century!):

"TRUTH - Do not allow anything to pass your lips that you are not certain is completely true . . . Lying is a most despicable spiritual illness. At first it stems from the pursuit of permitted pleasure, money, prestige or the esteem of men. It then progresses towards the pursuit of prohibited pleasures. At the end, it becomes an acquired inclination of its own lying for the sake of lying! When it is combined with the yetzer hara (“evil inclination”) of mocking and of idle talk, it brings man to the point where he will even swear falsely, God forbid. For example: A haughty person expends all of his efforts to flaunt virtues which he does not possess. He strives to deceive others through mountains of lies and exaggerations hoping that they will believe him.

"A person who mocks also slanders and discredits decent people. A person who flatters, uses falsehood as his chief weapon . . . Then there’s the cheat who lies for money; building his livelihood and his prestige and his business on this virtue. His expertise in deception, cheating, wrongdoing, mocking, slandering and flattering makes him a person to be feared . . .  But in the end, falsehood has no base on which to stand. And if the liar should later speak truthfully, no one believes him any longer. This is the punishment of those who are haughty, hypocritical, deceitful or who cheat others they are discovered and exposed, first by one friend and then by another, until their lies are publicized and they become full of shame, debased and hated by all.

"Therefore, one must, from the very beginning of its appearance, search for the root of this illness and root it out by applying the disciplines of humility, righteousness, and silence. Afterward, one must include the discipline of truth by committing himself to the positive precept of loving truth even when doing so will cause him to forgo some monetary pleasure or presumed honor . . ."   (from Cheshbon HaNefesh, chapter 12)

Yesterday brought powerful testimonies from the two central figures who spoke before and were questioned by the Senate Judiciary Committee. For the most part, our elected officials have lined up along partisan lines. Their respective senses of the “truth” are, I daresay, not based on the words of the two individuals who gave testimony yesterday. We heard histrionic displays from quite a number of other players – both inside the hearing chamber, as well as from various figures around our nation’s capital, and on our airwaves. Not lost on me personally is the irony that some who spoke the loudest have, it seems to me, not even a passing acquaintance with the truth.

Many things are getting lost in the tumult of these days. Not the least of these is any semblance of, or respect for, “truth.”  I am fairly certain we will never really know the “truth” in this ugly chapter. I am deeply troubled by those who wish to rush this nomination for our nation’s highest court in the face of such confusing and troubling discourse. I can only hope that all the players step back over the weekend to reflect on it all. I confess I am not optimistic that many will do so.

For now, I pray that Shabbat and what remains of Sukkot gives us pause and time for reflection and honesty for each of us within our own kishkes before we – and our leaders – we return to the battlefield in the week to come.

Stopping By the Woods . . . At the Start of a New Year

At the end of 10^th grade, I was part of the celebration at my home synagogue of the year’s Confirmation. As I recall, there were a good number of us in the class, and I can still picture many of my classmates. I can also easily remember the speech I gave that day (we all gave speeches.) Mine was based on Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken. As I have written previously, my father believed I was telegraphing my intention to study for the rabbinate in that talk. 

I’ve now been up in the North Country of New Hampshire for the better part of three weeks, sharing the journey into the New Year with the wonderful folks at Bethlehem Hebrew Congregation. Prior to my arrival up here, I had done my homework about the area online, as I knew I would have some time to explore. One site I put on my agenda was what is known asThe Frost Place, the Franconia home in which Robert Frost and his family lived for five years in the early in the 20^th century. I just felt like this was a must-do. Today was the day.  A crisp chill in the air, and a clear blue sky, it seemed like the perfect day to head down the road to nearby Franconia.

The Frost Place is not a glitzy site, but it is deeply inspiring. And, it is easy to see why Robert Frost was drawn to Franconia and the White Mountains. I watched the film they show, I toured the house which I filled with memorabilia.  The gentleman who welcomed said, “Be sure to sit on the porch a while.” Boy, was he correct, I could hardly tear myself away from the majestic view from that porch. It is so easy to see why Frost was drawn here and why the Frost Place organization invites rising poets to spend a summer here to soak in the beauty and tap into what surely inspired Robert Frost.

Before leaving I went for a walk in the woods along the “Poetry Trail.” It’s a beautiful, easy walk through the woods surrounding the home, speckled from time to time with bits of Frost’s poetry. I wasn’t familiar with several of the poems I encountered along the way. But I suppose I wasn’t surprised when I came upon the familiar Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. Somehow, reading it there in the beauty of Franconia’s woods it sounded different and even more powerful.  A short while later, I suppose I was not entirely surprised to find "my Frost poem" – The Road Not Taken. 

Reading it in the quiet serenity of these beautiful woods, and at yet another juncture in my own personal journey, it was quite the powerful moment. I do not know where the road ahead will lead me, but I am certainly glad that my road has brought me to this beautiful part of New England, and back to the poem that was a touchstone for me long ago. And just before I left The Frost Place, I spied a short few words by Frost I'd never hear before. But they were well placed for this juncture in my journey and I snapped a quick photo!

Just feeling “the presence” of Robert Frost and his art this afternoon was an inspiration. And that walk was a great way to launch into Sukkot – when we celebrate nature’s beauty and bounty. Chag Sameach!

Looking Heavenward

I noticed the slender form of the moon high in the sky a few nights ago. I noted how starkly different I felt looking at it, from how I greeted the moon from about mid-July on. For well over thirty years my eyes would glance skyward from mid-summer on, noting the progress of the phases of the moon as my kishkes were telling me that the High Holy Days were advancing. Though my survey has hardly been scientific, I have noted that my Rabbinic and Cantorial colleagues share this astronomic awareness during the summer months.

The summer of 2017 was the first in many decades when I was not feeling the pull of the moon. It was the first year, since high school, when I would play no role in leading High Holy Days services in one community or another. But this year, having accepted the invitation to head to New Hampshire’s North Country and the Bethlehem Hebrew Congregation to lead services throughout this year’s season, I found the moon’s pull grabbed me anew this summer. Now that Rosh Hashanah has passed, and with Yom Kippur very much on the horizon of tomorrow’s sunset, noticing the moon is not as daunting as it was but a month or even just weeks ago. I might add, gazing skyward here in the White Mountains is a truly awe-inspiring experience. So too is looking out with a more earthbound gaze.

Over the past 4½ months I have been carrying a heaviness in my kishkes – and I am far from alone. It, too, has to do with looking towards the sky. In early May, a former student, teacher, mentor and longtime friend was tragically killed in an accident which took his life at way too young an age. Rabbi Aaron Panken, President of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion died in early May. I know that his family, whom I have known on both sides for almost 40 years is shaken to its core. All of us, his colleagues, friends, students – all of us who knew Aaron are still finding it hard to assimilate the reality of his death. Aaron was a teenager and participant in what was then known as CRaFTY – City Region, a Federation of Temple Youth, (as NFTY’s New York City region was then known) when I first met him. While serving at my first congregation, NYC’s Temple Shaaray Tefila I had the privilege of serving as CRaFTY’s Rabbinic Advisor. It was a volunteer role. The young people I met in those early years of my rabbinic raised me as a rabbi (as did many of their parents.) Many of them are still close friends.

Aaron, who must have been fifteen when I first met him, was always full life. He was the perfect blend of serious student and teacher; and playful friend and companion. Over the almost 40 years Aaron and I knew each other we went from Rabbi and student, to colleagues working with NFTY youth and at Eisner Camp, to rabbinic colleagues. In more recent years Aaron became my teacher and mentor, as well as President of HUC-JIR. Throughout all the transitions, he was always Aaron. NO matter what accolades and titles he earned, he remained one of the most genuine and menschlicht human beings I have ever known.

Preparing for these Holy Days I was reminded of an article Aaron wrote which was included in my teacher Rabbi Larry Hoffman’s masterful set of prayerbook commentaries, My People’s Prayerbook, published by Jewish Lights. Aaron’s piece is in a volume dedicated to unpacking the prayers of these High Holy Days which in a challenging reality is entitled Who By Fire, Who By Water. The volume tackles the challenging task of helping contemporary Jews and others face some of the most disturbing imagery contained in our High Holy Day Liturgy – the U’netaneh Tokef prayer.  Aaron’s essay is entitled, “The Eternal and the Ephemeral: The Stark Contrasts of U-n'taneh Tokef.” Additionally, a small commentary of Aaron’s was included in the Reform movement’s new High Holy Day Machzor, Mishkan HaNefesh  as one of a number of study texts on the U’netaneh Tokef.

Aaron’s words are especially chilling as Yom Kippur, our Day of Atonement looms: “Our actions help us live in such a way that when we suffer life’s darkest depredations, we will always have ways of coping with them. Our actions may not change the ultimate outcome one iota, but they alter our attitude, bolster our ability to withstand challenges, and help us handle unavoidable misfortunes better, and see life’s value amid chaos and dismay.”  Aaron, even in death, you teach us. Your words, your words speak to the dark and disturbing reality so many of us have been trying to grapple with since May 5^th.

I have been thinking about Aaron daily. I have been unable to push myself to write anything about him since his death. The best I was able to do was post a picture from a few summers back when my son Aaron and I, along with several friends, ran into Aaron Panken on Jerusalem’s Ben Yehuda Street after Shabbat had ended. But I set as my task, speaking some words about Aaron at Yizkor (the Memorial service) on Yom Kippur. That time has now come. So too will some words.

Being up here in NH’s North Country, where one cannot help but look at the sky, I have thought often of Aaron. May his soul be at peace.  May the hearts of his loved ones find healing and some new form of wholeness in the aftermath of this tragedy. May all of us who knew Aaron, who learned, laughed and cried with him continue to feel his presence. May his memory be for each of, every day, a blessing.

To those who will be fasting, may it be an easy fast; and rather than making us fearful or sad, may Yom Kippur awaken us to life’s blessings and all the opportunities that lie before us in the New Year just begun.

Trifecta in the Dark - A Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon - September 10, 2018

I don’t know about you, but one thing I look forward to during summer is some escape to the movies. Sometimes it’s more about sitting in air-conditioning for a few hours. Often, it’s a time for me to catch up on films I have missed during the busy Winter and Spring. Inevitably, I am also looking for inspiration for these Holy Days. While I saw a small handful of films in theatres over the summer, one night in late July I hit the trifecta: air conditioning on a very hot night; escape from the chaotic realities of our world; and inspiration. It all came together as I ran to catch the very last showing in Great Barrington, MA of a film so many had told me I had to see. As I left the theatre with a friend that night, we were both emotionally drained, and deep in thought as we were trying to wrap our minds around what we had just seen and its relevance for our time. I spent several weeks bouncing that thought around; as well as reading everything I could lay my hands on about the subject matter of the film. I saw the film a second time with my wife and youngest son just a few weeks ago. Its impact was the same. Yet by this time I knew where my soul was taking me.

The film was Morgan Neville’s moving portrayal of the message of Fred Rogers, better known to many of us as Mr. Rogers. The film was aptly entitled Won’t You Be My Neighbor? I entered the theatre thinking, “I know Mr. Rogers.” I know his work was admirable. For some reason, I couldn’t pinpoint why I did not know more than I did about him and his show. Shortly after the film began I quickly calculated, “Oh, I was already a teenager when his program first hit the national airwaves.” While I remembered the program from my own children’s early years, let’s face it, by then Sesame Street, Arthur, and other PBS offerings were more in vogue.

What was it about Won’t You Be My Neighbor? that hit me in the kischkes so dramatically?  A few things – one, I learned more than I had ever known about the gentle, soft-spoken man who touched generations of young children and their parents. I learned about his philosophy, his life and how he came to be the person we know as Mr. Rogers. I learned about how his program was designed to create a fictitious world and neighborhood which would deal with real-life and real-world issues in a manner that would leave children feeling safe. At the same time, this neighborhood would enable them to learn and grow up to be persons of character and value, who were not sheltered from some of life’s harsher realities. I learned that while a Presbyterian minister (something I had known), Fred 

Rogers had a wide-open ministry in which he sought to speak the language of many faiths as well as to those of no faith. I learned of Fred Rogers’ courage in speaking truth to power as he testified before a Congressional hearing which had all but predetermined that funding for educational programming would be eliminated. His genuine and honest testimony moved a Congressman to do a 180-degree turnabout and immediately concede that the mild-mannered man before him had single-handedly saved funding for Educational programming. It was his courage to face tough issues like racism, the equality of all people in God’s eyes, the harsh realities of war; of people with disabilities; and ultimately the humanity and rights of people whom today we would identify as part of the LGBTQ communities. It was his heart-rending PSA after the events of 9-11, for which he had been coaxed out of retirement. All these, and more turned me from a curious spectator into a person who left the theater thinking, “I need to know more about this man, his message, and his life’s work.” His show lacked the pizzazz of so much else in entertainment, and to hear him tell it, intentionally so. Yet, I believe his message and philosophy were right on for the work he was doing. And, against the backdrop of our noisy, cantankerous, bitterly divided nation and the world, I felt as if Fred Rogers was speaking with an honesty and directness that is as relevant today, if not more so than it was in his heyday. As I mentioned, I left the film and sought out whatever I could find to learn more about this man who’d appeared in my home from time to time. I found only a few books – mostly collections of short teachings from the man himself. But I read and listened. Ironically, a full biography of Fred Rogers was published just a week ago.  Perhaps it too will make its way to my reading list.

There are two things that I read and heard, which struck me as powerful messages for these Days of Awe. And they arise from our Torah readings over these Days of Rosh Hashanah. A short while ago we heard chapter 21 of Genesis, in which we read the news of Isaac’s birth, and at the very same time, of the expulsion of Abraham’s son Ishmael and his mother, Hagar. Tomorrow morning, we’ll read the next chapter, Genesis 22, which we know as Akeidat Yitzchak or the Binding of Isaac. At a very real level, these two chapters, on which we focus for our Torah lessons on two of the most joyous days of our Jewish year are about children – their preciousness, and in a mysterious way, the pains that can come with parenting children. In some ways, these are strange choices for our Torah readings on days which tradition tells us to commemorate Yom Harat Olam – the Day of the Birth of the World. But for this moment I want to pull on the common thread of children and the sons who are so prominent in these two chapters. In our reading this morning, the elder, with his servant mother, is expelled into the desert following the birth of his younger, half-sibling at the insistence of mother Sarah. God assures Abraham that Ishmael and his mother will be cared for. There is a harsh reality at the heart of this story of the expulsion of a young boy and his mother because they are different. It was in this that I found a connection from our portion to Fred Rogers and his “Torah” as I was listening to the audio recording of his book The World According to Mr. Rogers: Important Things to Remember when I heard these words: “Please think of the children first. If you ever have anything to do with their entertainment, their food, their toys, their custody, their day or night care, their health care, their education – listen to the children, learn about them, learn from them. Think of the children first.”   As I heard those words I could not help but think of the hundreds of children still separated from their families by our government in its execution of a drastic policy as regards illegal immigrants. To be sure immigration is one of the landmark debates of our time. It has been for too many years as our leaders, from all parts of the political spectrum seem to lack the vision and the will to break the logjam that holds much if not virtually all our public policy in gridlock.

Fred Rogers’ words reminded me that in the face of dramatic public and political pressure the administration was forced to reverse its policy of detaining illegal immigrants and separating parents and children. While many of the families detained during that time some months back have been reunited, there are still too many children, hundreds of children, who are still separated from their families. In many cases, their parents have been deported. In many, the record-keeping was so shoddy that our government is unable to make the connections which would allow reunification. This is simply unacceptable – on any level. Reflecting on our Torah portion over the summer, I could not help but see a link between Ishmael’s expulsion (and separation from his father Abraham) and the children whose lives have been changed forever by the cruelty inflicted upon them by these heinous policies and actions. Even one child cruelly ripped from the arms of his or her parents is wrong. That hundreds remain in such a state is beneath the dignity of what we like to think of as our American ethic and values.

The second lesson is a bit broader but also arises for me from our Torah readings for these days of Rosh Hashanah. In tomorrow’s reading, an angel will stay Abraham’s hand as he moves to sacrifice his son Isaac. (I’ll have more to say about it tomorrow) but for now, I read that stay as a reminder of a lesson core to our tradition – that every human life has value and meaning. Again, I am drawn to the words of Fred Rogers, when he says, “As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has – or ever will have -something inside that is unique to all time. It’s our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression.” Whether Mr. Rogers knew it or not, in these words he was channeling a teaching of the Baal Shem Tov, the Founder of Modern Hasidism, wherein he taught of the infinite value of each person.

We stand on the cusp of a New Year. We spend these days reviewing our lives and asking for a fresh new page in Sefer HaHayyim, the Book of Life. We pray that we will be blessed with a productive, meaningful year. Hopefully, we will return a year from now and re-enact the process again. Undoubtedly, the time between now and then will be filled with imperfections and errors, even as it will I pray, be filled with good health, learning, challenges, successes, and blessings. For this too, Fred Rogers offers us some wisdom: “Little by little we human beings are confronted with situations that give us more and more clues that we aren’t perfect.”  Standing on the threshold of this New Year, with our imperfections and our ideals and values, may we stride forth into the year before us committed to doing our part in making this world the best it can be – perhaps by advocating for children – especially those whose lives have so cruelly been torn asunder; perhaps by reaching out to someone – family, friend, even a stranger, who can use to be reminded of their value – even as we remind ourselves during these Days of Awe of our own worth and potential. 

Oh, one more thing. The moment when my emotions burst forth while watching Won’t You Be My Neighbor? It was when I heard Fred Rogers say, “We are called to be Tikkun Olam.” And it happened the second time, just as it did the first, even though I knew it was coming.  It was for a host of reasons. Not the least of them was the reality that in a world as broken as ours, we truly are called to be Tikkun Olam and to do Tikkun Olam.  That must be a part of the year ahead.

Thank you, Mr. Rogers, for touching my soul and those of so many others.

L’shanah tovah tikateyvu- May you be inscribed for a good year!

Feeling Losses, Counting Blessings

This is our season of introspection and reflection. For me, this is the first Holy Day season in my life as a husband, father and grandfather, when I am not spending the Holy Days with my family. In June I was invited to come join a small and inspiring community in Bethlehem, New Hampshire to be their worship leader and teacher during these Holy Days.  Having now spent two Shabbatot with them, I can say that I surely feel the absence of my family, and that I will miss being with them over these coming days. I also feel embraced and more deeply appreciated than I could have imagined by the community here in Bethlehem.

This summer has found me in my car more than ever, driving long distances. I’ve had the opportunity to listen to quite a number of audiobooks, on a wide range of topics. I have also had a lot of time to think – and given the beauty of my surroundings to take stock of life and the beautiful world in which we live. It’s kind of hard not to be inspired by the beauty of the Berkshires and the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and the Green Mountains of Vermont.

Along the way, and in recent days I have learned of the deaths of several people who have been a part of my journey over these past two decades. I was grateful that I was in town to attend the funeral service for Tony Bibbo, with whom I worked over many years in Newton community events, most especially the annual MLK Day commemorations and the Annual Mayor’s Prayer Breakfasts.  Sitting in the congregation at his funeral service, thinking about my interactions with Tony and listening to the tributes from family and community leaders was deeply inspiring. It made me realize that in Tony, I had had the privilege of knowing and working with a living embodiment of the so many of the Mussar traits I study and share with others in my work as a Mussar group leader in congregations around the Boston area, in the Berkshires and in youth settings. As I have written on other occasions, Mussar teaches us how to travel a path that leads us to building strong character through developing our soul traits. These include: Anavah (Humility); Kavod (Honor or Respect); Hakarat HaTov (Gratitude); Menuchat HaNefesh (Equanimity); Emet (Truth); and so many more.  s I listened to the tributes to Tony at Thursday’s service, I realized that as much as I have studied and worked at practicing these, and other traits, in the setting of Mussar Study and practice, even more, I have learned them by being in the presence of and interacting with Tony Bibbo. He was a dear man, and a consummate mensch. Tony was a living embodiment of the best of Mussar tradition. He will be sorely missed by his family and by our broader our Newton community.  May his memory be for a blessing – and may he continue to be an inspiration.

Tony’s death, and the news of other deaths in our community, along with the health and other challenges of close friends has had me, as I drive from place to place, and as I prepare to lead a new community into the New Year, keenly aware of the preciousness of life and of those with whom we share this journey we call life. Even as I build new relationships in my temporary home in Bethlehem, I find myself ever more grateful for those who support and nurture me in my life – my family, my colleagues, my close friends, my teachers. I am richly blessed and have much for which to express my gratitude during these Holy Days.

As our Jewish communities prepare, with the setting of the sun this evening, to turn the page to a New Year, I pray for good health and sweet blessings – for my family and my friends. I pray for opportunities to continue to grow and learn. I pray for strength openness of spirit for our Jewish people, and our brothers and sisters in Israel. I pray for sanity and comity across our nation, and indeed for our world. May this New Year see us move towards one another with open hearts and minds as well as tangible acts that move us towards that wholeness we call Shalom!

To my family and friends, and our Jewish community – L’shanah Tovah u-metukah – wishes for a good and sweet year. To all, may we plant and grow seeds of blessing, understanding, and peace – for all!