A New Mountain – a New Meadow in Which to Wonder

I started this blog – A Wondering Jew: Musings From Newton – in the summer of 2016. In part, I began it as a platform from which I could speak a bit more freely on matters of public concern, without having my thoughts and pieces linked to the congregation I was serving at the time. My writing stream has waxed and waned over these three years, largely driven by the schedule of my work and family responsibilities. In recent months, I’ve hardly written on the blog at all. It’s not that I have had nothing to say, but that life has kept me busy. (And, in truth, I have been busy with other writing projects.)

The latter two years of this experiment have been entwined with my decision to step away from full-time congregational work as I set out to explore new chapters I might create in these years ahead. These have been two very busy years – each one different from the other.

In early April I read a column by David Brooks in the New York Times entitled “The Moral Peril of Meritocracy.”  His piece struck me as an earlier piece, he Moral Bucket List,” had in February of 2015. I quickly realized I was likely reading a tease for a new book. Sure enough! I learned that his newest book, TheSecond Mountain: The Quest For a Moral Life was going to drop any day. I quickly devoured the first chapter which he had made available on his website and I knew that it was, for me, a must-read. Much as The Road to Character had landed squarely on me where I was in the summer of 2015, Brooks’ new book seemed eerily timed to my journey. In recent years I have read several books on what some call “the second-half of life.” Brooks’ new offering joins this growing literature.

In The Second Mountain, Brooks writes, “I often find that their life has what I think of as a two-mountain shape. [People get] out of school, [begin] their career or started a family, and identified the mountain they thought they were meant to climb: I’m going to be a cop, a doctor, an entrepreneur, what have you. On the first mountain, we all have to perform certain life tasks: establish an identity, separate from our parents, cultivate our talents, build a secure ego, and try to make a mark in the world . . . The goals on that first mountain are the normal goals that our culture endorses—to be a success, to be well thought of, to get invited into the right social circles, and to experience personal happiness.”  Brooks goes on to note that, “Some people get to the top of that first mountain, taste success, and find it…unsatisfying. ‘Is this all there is?’ they wonder. They sense there must be a deeper journey they can take . . . [Some] “realize, ‘Oh, that first mountain wasn’t my mountain after all. There’s another, bigger mountain out there that is actually my mountain.’”  Brooks states that, in his mind, “The second mountain is not the opposite of the first mountain. To climb it doesn’t mean rejecting the first mountain. It’s the journey after it.” He proceeds to extend his metaphor, writing that, “If the first mountain is about building up the ego and defining the self, the second mountain is about shedding the ego and losing the self. If the first mountain is about acquisition, the second mountain is about contribution. If the first mountain is elitist—moving up—the second mountain is egalitarian—planting yourself amid those who need, and walking arm in arm with them.”

Brooks states, “You don’t climb the second mountain the way you climb the first mountain. You conquer your first mountain. You identify the summit, and you claw your way toward it. You are conquered by your second mountain. You surrender to some summons, and you do everything necessary to answer the call and address the problem or injustice that is in front of you. On the first mountain, you tend to be ambitious, strategic, and independent. On the second mountain you tend to be relational, intimate, and relentless.”

In Brooks’ analysis, I found an expression of some of the unsettled nature of the past years for me along my journey. As I set out from congregational work in the summer of 2017, I didn’t yet know where the journey would lead me. I knew I wanted to teach. I knew I wanted to write. And, I knew I wanted to organize my life differently than I had over the three-plus decades in which I worked hard in congregational settings, often setting aside family time and relationships.  I have no regrets about my years in congregational life. I’d be less-than-honest if I said I have no regrets about how I balanced my life in and out of work. Yet, over the years I have learned I’m not alone in that. Brook’s The Second Mountain offering helped frame that differently.

My journey continues. I am teaching and learning. I am spending more time with my family. And yet, there is still a restlessness which I am hoping to address in the next chapter of my journey.

Sometime later this year Laura and I will “downsize” our lives, as so many do in our stage of life. This will lead us away from living in Newton, though Newton will always be home. As we watch our now 27+ month-old grandson grow we know that we will not go far. Indeed, the greater Boston-area will remain home. As summer dawns, I am looking forward to more time to write as my schedule slows down. At the same time, as I contemplate a new town in which we will make our home, I realize it’s an opportune moment to re-launch my blog, and I truly hope, my writing practice which I’d especially grown to enjoy after my summers in the Kenyon College Beyond Walls – Spiritual Writing workshops.

So, the “Wondering Jew” will keep wondering, and I hope, have something worthwhile to say. Maybe not. However, as I look ahead to wherever my next mountain will be and what it will hold, I look forward to continuing my journey – as a husband, a father, a grandfather, a friend, a student, a teacher, and a rabbi.

Thanks for peeking in on my musings from time-to-time.

Peace!

Two Lights Gone - Still Lighting the Way

My message from this past Friday night at Temple Shalom of Newton:

Shabbat shalom! I had my topic for tonight set weeks ago, but then last Shabbat came and went, as and sometimes happens, that plan had to be set aside.  Laura and I had spent an entirely restful day together in the Berkshires – sleeping, reading, relaxing. But the peace of last Shabbat was shattered at day’s end as I learned of the death of not just one, but two teachers. I am certain the two never knew one another. One had a hand in shaping me early in life – as a teenager, and then for decades more as I began my path towards and through the rabbinate. The other became my teacher in these last two decades as our family settled here in Newton and as I served my active years here at Temple Shalom, and in a larger sense against the broader canvas backdrop of Newton.

The first was a powerful, prophetic voice of our Reform Jewish community, especially at the national level. The second was an inspiring, prophetic voice for many of us here in Newton and across the Boston area. While I am certain they never met, they were, in the words of Rabbi Larry Kushner linked by “an invisible line of connection.”  Both were models and leaders in different arenas of the broader fight for civil and human rights. Both were active warriors for human dignity who stood tall and spoke loudly the truths they carried in their very souls.

The first teacher was Albert Vorspan, who died at the age of 95 last Shabbat. Al was one of the most visible and articulate spokespeople for our Jewish tradition’s imperative to make our world a better, brighter, and safer place for each and every precious reflection of the image of God. I first encountered Al as a NFTY participant. I was probably about 15 years old. To me, and to my fellow LIFTYites, Al was a giant. In those days, the early 1970’s, we were barely removed from the power and tumult of the Civil Rights movement in which Al played no small part. He was the director of our movement’s Religious Center in Washington, DC.and he was the leader of the Commission on Social Action (on which I served for several years). Al was one of the many luminaries to whom we were exposed and to whom we had frequent access in those days growing in and around New York. It was not uncommon for Al to appear at our regional events where he would share stories of his experiences and implant within our very souls the core teachings of our tradition on justice, human dignity, and our responsibilities as bearers of the Divine image in God’s world. Though I recall several Jewish books I cherished from my early years, none did I cherish more, nor hold onto longer, than his small light blue, 3-ring binder entitled Jewish Values and Social Crisis. For years after its sequel, Tough Choices: Jewish Perspectives on Social Justice which he co-wrote with Rabbi David Saperstein, had already taken its place in my library as a part of my canon, I still could not part with that touchstone from my early teen years. Finally, I reluctantly parted with it, but not with the teachings which Al taught my generation, and many others, to absorb into our very bones and to live in our lives. As I have thought about Al this past week, I have found myself reflecting on some of the paths I have traveled. I can’t help but see his imprint on me and my choices, even some tough choices, I have faced over the years.

Al was a master raconteur. Indeed, in later years, as he became Senior Vice-President Emeritus of the URJ, he was one of the two figures who would close each Biennial with a humorous yet meaningful recap of the week’s gathering. For many of my age, one story stands out. Indeed, my dear friend Rabbi Jeff Salkin tells the story in his tribute to Al Vorspan in his blog, Martini Judaism. As soon as Jeff mentioned he would circle back to a single story I knew precisely which one he meant.  Reform Jews of a certain age, vintage, and level of participation in Reform Jewish life in the ’70s and even through the ’80s all knew it. Al loved to tell of the time he went to Saint Augustine, Florida, to march for civil rights with a bunch of rabbis. They all wound up in a jail cell. As the hours passed, the rabbis were each rehearsing what they planned for their Friday night sermons after their release from jail. At one point, Al rattled the bars of the cell and yelled for the jailer: “You are violating my civil rights!” he screamed. “How so?” asked the jailer.  Al replied: “You have me cooped up in here with a bunch of rabbis. They are all working on their sermons. This is police brutality!” That was Al Vorspan. He was our moral conscience. Our world is just a bit darker without his light.

The second teacher, a friend, and colleague died closer to home – here in Newton, where he lived his entire life. Reverend Howard Haywood was also a staunch soldier in the fight for civil rights, human dignity and in more recent years, a tireless advocate for Housing Rights. This past August. Mayor Ruthanne Fuller invited the clergy of Newton to her office for a conversation about community and the issues we face. At no point in my 20 years here have I seen a larger turnout of clergy – some 35-40 of us crowded into the Mayor’s office. It was mid-August!  I thought to myself, “Aren’t you all on vacation?” Yet there we were – all parts of the religious spectrum, including 3 of my Orthodox colleagues, whom I have rarely seen at clergy gatherings. As we settled into our chairs, I realized that quite by chance I was seated next to Howard. He greeted me warmly and we chatted about our families. I knew he was seriously ill, yet when it came his time to speak, I was certain that the prophetic voice had been awakened as he spoke forcefully about community values, racial justice, and housing.  He called all of us, his younger colleagues to grab the mantle, as he knew his day would soon pass. It was inspiring. It was a rallying cry. I felt energized, as many others have since that day. At the end, we embraced. He thanked me for being by his side – and I thanked him for being my teacher and my friend. Fortunately, we had a number more such opportunities over the months since then, the most recent just a few weeks ago at a gathering back in City Hall at the dedication of an exhibit about Myrtle Baptist Church, where he served as pastor for 24 years. It will yet hang for a few more weeks. Go see it and learn a bit about our city’s history!

In mid-December, our Newton community filled our sanctuary here at TS as the community came out for a moving tribute to Howard. That night I was truly honored to have been invited, at Howard’s request, to be one of three people to offer a toast to him.  Here are just a few of my words from that night: "In a classic early Rabbinic text on ethics, morality and practical wisdom, the 1st century Jewish Sage Ben Zoma is recorded as having taught (Pirke Avot 4:1): "Ben Zoma says: Who is the wise one? He who learns from all men . . .

"In my 20 years in Newton, few figures have had as profound an impact on me as you Howard. I have always found you to be a strong moral and justice-oriented presence in our community – and I have watched you listen carefully to the views of those around you, cognizant that you do not have a grasp on all truth, mindful that those around you can help you gain a better understanding of the ultimate truth. You have never, in my experience, compromised your values and core. Yet, you have been open to the people around you. In our time, that balance is all-too-rare. . .

"Who is the mighty one? He who channels his passion. Howard – I have seen you speak your truth with incredible passion. I have been present when you call those in power and those who would lead to task for overlooking what is truly important. When trivial matters and narrowness of mind and heart obscure the truth and what is important you have forcefully and yet lovingly called us out. Even with just your presence, you remind us of what is important – such as was the case at the hearing at Newton South a few weeks ago. Your mere presence was grounding and important. You have been our communal moral conscience.

"Howard – this afternoon we gather to honor you, and to thank you. Our best form of honoring you yet lies before us. We must continue living the lessons you have taught us: to pursue justice, equity and wholeness (which in this house we call shalom) day by day, month by month, year by year. The best way we can honor you is by continuing to hear your call – and by responding."

Our world, my world, is a bit darker for Howard’s absence – as well as that of Al Vorspan. I pray these two giants, these two heroes, these two courageous men will somehow meet in that world which we do not yet know.  I know they will enjoy such a meeting. I know, that I was changed by each of them, and for that I am grateful! 

Shabbat Shalom!

It's Time to Step Up - and Step Down

I’ve not written in a long time. It’s certainly not for the lack of ideas. The ways in which events swirl around us these days have given me more than a few kernels with which to work. And while life has been busy, I can’t honestly say it’s been for a lack of time. Somehow these past few days have shaken me out of – well, whatever – and I need to write. It also helped that a dear friend and colleague pushed me last week to get writing!

In recent days we have been barraged by the news pouring out of Virginia following the discovery that Medical School Yearbook page for the recently elected Governor, Ralph Northam, contains a deeply disturbing image of two people, one in “blackface, and the other in the garb of a Ku Klux Klan member. While we do not really know whether one of the individuals in that image is a younger Ralph Northam (he has alternatively owned it and denied it), the revelation and the subsequent furor over it is unsettling.

There have been widespread condemnations and calls for the Governor to resign his office. As I write it still unclear whether he will do so. My reaction to the news, aside from disgust, is filtered through the prism of my study and practices of the middot (soul-traits) of the Mussar tradition. I believe Northam should in fact resign. And I believe he should do it as quickly as possible.

In an early response, Governor Northam seemed to own the picture and expressed that it may have reflected him at an earlier time in his life, in which he may (or may not) have held and found humor in the disturbing image. He claimed that he no longer holds those views and that he is a changed man. As troubling as I find someone believing it was a humorous expression, I do believe in our tradition’s concept of Teshuvah – repentance.  Indeed, the concept is so central in our tradition that it is not merely related to our annual Days of Repentance which take us from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur. There is a prayer for teshuvah, that is, the ability to reflect on and engage in teshuvah in the daily liturgy. It is recited on most days (exclusive of Shabbat, holidays, and other special times designated in Jewish tradition.) Had Northam stuck with his ownership of the image on his Medical School Yearbook page, and with the statement that it does not represent who he is and what he believes today, perhaps I could allow him some time and room to prove himself.

I leave aside the Governor’s shifting responses and could attribute them to “politics as usual.” Too many in the public sphere play the game of navigating amongst responses when they have been outed for some misdeed.  They cast about until an explanation seems to settle. We who listen find ourselves like sailboats facing ever-shifting winds. To be sure, this is not exclusive to public figures. Even as I could hear and respect the confession of a misdeed or an inappropriate expression from an earlier point in time, on which an individual has had a change of heart and mind, it’s not that simple for me in this case.

I am focused on a different concept from the Mussar tradition, that of Achrayut – responsibility. In a post on the subject, Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz writes, “Achrayut comes from the root “acher” (other). To take responsibility means to cultivate the “ability” for response to an “other.” This responsibility to another is born in the moment where no one else is present to assist. As Hillel said (Pirke Avot 2:6) ‘In a place where there aren’t people of moral courage taking responsibility, one needs to step up.’”  These days we often hear the language of being “upstanders” rather than “bystanders” when we see injustice, bigotry, hatred, or any of the other ills with which people harm one another. Being an upstander is the act of taking Achrayut- responsibility. It is true that over time and through the experiences of our lives, we learn through trial and error. We can and should change. Indeed, that is a part of the essence of the study and practice of Mussar. And striving to become a better person is hardly the sole province of Jewish tradition.

The shift between the Governor’s initial response owning the picture and his subsequent disavowal is, for me, beside the point.  Governor, whether you are in fact in it or not, the picture is on your yearbook page. I believe it is a reasonable assumption that at some point you had to approve your page. For me, whether you are one of the two figures in “costume” in the picture is immaterial. It is your page and you must, therefore, accept responsibility for what is on that page – irrespective of whether you are, in fact, one of the two people in that distasteful picture. And I believe your responsibility does not hang on whether you purchased a yearbook those many years ago. You cannot possibly expect us to believe you’ve never seen your page until now. That is too disingenuous a notion for any public official to expect his or her constituents to accept.

Governor, the honorable thing for you to do at this moment is for you to show some character and values. Step up – and step down! That is the responsible thing to do.