Planting Seeds for the Future: Rosh HaShanah Morning 5783

Dear Friends,

A few years ago, my wife, Sue and I did some remodeling on our house. When we first moved in 2009, half of our basement was finished, and the other half was a large, unfinished storage area into which we piled dozens of boxes filled with all kinds of stuff: from Vinyl records to obsolete electronics, baby clothes, yellowed letters, and kids’ artwork. There were containers with old college notes and textbooks, knickknacks, and faded photographs of relatives we didn’t recognize – with no markings on the back to tell us who they were.  There were even sealed moving boxes with trash cans that had not been emptied – from when the professional packers we had hired from one of our moves 27 year ago did their thing – and we shlepped them with us for each subsequent move – from Minneapolis to Albuquerque and finally, to Denver.

It was time for us to create a space where we could properly store our stuff and, when the time was right, go through it and discard anything we didn’t need, while properly caring for those items and heirlooms that we wanted to ensure would be passed on to our children.

One of the main reasons we felt compelled to go through the process of sorting and decluttering was directly related to our personal experience. After our parents died, we found ourselves overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff that had accumulated over the years. The task of combing through their overflowing piles of records and mementoes was monumental, to say the least. We have vowed that our children will have an easier time when they go through our stuff.

Sue has become the family historian. Over the past few years, she has painstakingly gone through these boxes, collated, documented, and curated materials. She has researched family history and published several beautiful books filled with photographs of ancestors and family stories that will become precious heirlooms for future generations.

 

During the High Holy Days, we engage in a process of spiritual de-cluttering. Our tradition teaches that the month of Elul that precedes Rosh Hashanah is a time of Cheshbon Hanefesh – literally, taking an “inventory of our souls.” We focus on the past and take a hard look at ourselves. We engage in the process of Teshuva – of repentance and return - and strive to make amends with those whom we have wronged over the course of the year – and those who have hurt us as well. We sift through the relationships, choices, missteps and other flotsam and jetsam of our lives and determine what we want to keep, what needs to be repaired, and what should be discarded as we move into a New Year. But in the process of looking back at the past, we also are tasked with looking ahead to the future. We ask ourselves:

•      Who do we want to become in the New Year?

And

•      What is the legacy that we are bequeathing to those who will come after us?

I recently read a book by Roman Krznaric, [Kriz -Nar-Ick] entitled The Good Ancestor. He posits that our essential task for today is ensuring that we will be able to bequeath a sustainable future to the next generation. He also sounds the alarm about how our current behaviors are in direct opposition with where we need to be.

He writes:

We live in an age of pathological short-termism. Politicians can barely see beyond the next election or the latest opinion poll or tweet. Businesses are slaves to the next quarterly report and the constant demand to ratchet up shareholder value. Markets spike then crash in speculative bubbles driven by millisecond– speed algorithms. Nations bicker around international conference tables, focused on their near-term interests, while the planet burns, and species disappear. Our culture of instant gratification makes us overdose on fast food, rapid-fire texting, and the “Buy Now” button.[i]

Krznaric [Kriz -Nar-Ick] writes about how we are imperiled by what he calls the “Tyranny of the Now.” Our obsession with exploiting every moment, every resource, and every opportunity to get ahead – all too often at the expense of those around us – and those who will come after us – could very well result in destroying the very foundations that sustain a healthy society. Unless and until we change our bad habits, we run the risk of hurting future generations and their ability to live meaningful lives. He posits that our most important task today is to learn how to become good ancestors that will enable us to bequeath a healthy future – l’dor vador – from generation to generation.

This morning I want to talk about what it means to be good Ancestors as we shift our focus from the “Tyranny of the Now” to a template for tomorrow.

For many of you here this morning, these High Holy Days will be the first time that you have been in our sanctuary in over two years. For others – this may be the first contact you have had with Temple Emanuel.

Welcome!  Welcome Home!

As Rabbi Hyatt spoke about so beautifully last night, during the past two and half years, many of us have become isolated from one another. Holding the heaviness of separation is a lot. As we gradually move back into a new post-pandemic paradigm, it is important for us to acknowledge both what we have lost and what we have gained. We have witnessed both bountiful beauty and unsettling ugliness. We saw how we could support one another in difficult times. We learned to master new technology. We reached out to the most vulnerable among us. We cheered on the first responders and front-line workers who risked their own lives and safety to ensure that society could function in a time of trauma.

But we also witnessed intense loneliness, fear-mongering, and self-absorption:  In the beginning of our isolation, we saw people hoarding everything from flour and yeast to toilet paper. We people refusing to wear masks, get vaccinated or follow basic guidelines for social distancing; disparaging medical personnel and researchers by spreading lies and actively rejecting scientific advances – listening instead to rumor-mongers, conspiracy theorists, propagandists, and hucksters who hawked fake cures and profited from the ignorance of those who refused to trust science. We saw respected researchers and scholars denigrated and threatened with bodily harm. We saw truth usurped by opinion and conjecture.

The pandemic showed us both the best and worst of who we were and who we could become. In addition, the firestorm of willful ignorance that has been loosed on society has impacted other aspects of our lives – not directly related to the pandemic. For many, the vision of a future that was built on hope and the promise of an informed and enlightened nation has taken a sharp turn towards the unknown. Uncertainty breeds demagoguery. As we have seen time and time again throughout history, anti-Semitism, racism, misogyny, and other forms of intolerance thrive in chaos and fear. Instead of addressing the many problems that face us, too many are looking to find scapegoats that distract and deflect our attention from finding meaningful solutions. Watching the ascent of politicians who utilize the rhetoric of anti-immigrant isolationism, Christian Nationalism, and manipulation is especially alarming when coupled with the deafening silence of those leaders who, through inaction and a lust for power, should know better, but do nothing to stop this potential slide into authoritarianism. History has shown that willful ignorance almost always leads to catastrophic consequences.

Kryznarik writes about legacy. He makes a differentiation between those who focus on personal legacy by taking advantage of the fears of today and using them to manipulate the masses or passing inherited wealth exclusively to family members and loved ones - and those who understand the importance of bequeathing their legacy to society as a whole: insuring that our future descendants will be able to benefit from the good fortunes of the present.

He quotes Jonas Salk, who discovered the polio vaccine and refused to patent or profit from his formula – ensuring that it would be available for free to every nation around the globe and forsaking the riches that such an important scientific breakthrough might have given him and his family.  Salk wrote:

“Will future generations speak of the wisdom of their ancestors as we are inclined to speak of ours?  If we are to be good ancestors, we should show future generations how we coped with an age of great change and great crises[ii].”

The Torah portion that we heard chanted so hauntingly beautifully just a few moments ago - the Akedah¬ or binding of Isaac - in many ways, echoes these themes of uncertainty and the desire to bequeath a healthy legacy to our descendants. In our text, Abraham is confronted with an existential dilemma. The same God who told him that his children would be as numerous as the “…stars in the sky and the sands of the sea[iii]…” has now commanded him to sacrifice his heir- his beloved son, Isaac, thereby negating his promised hope for the future. There are two ways the story can play out. In either case, the outcome is tragic: Either God was lying about his future descendants, or God’s command to sacrifice his son, Isaac was a cruel joke. Despite the many attempts by the commentators of old to rationalize God’s behavior and show how Abraham was a righteous believer, in the end, I think that Abraham failed his test by not challenging God- just as he did when God told him about the plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham could have stood up to God and said, “NO! I will not abide by this insanity.  This is wrong.”  But he did not. His silence made him complicit in the tragic story that unfolded on top of Mt. Moriah. His willingness to sacrifice his son meant that he was also willing to sacrifice his legacy – his ability to bequeath his values and vision to future generations.

Perhaps the Akedah is a cautionary tale. Maybe it is trying to teach us that when we are faced with an uncertain future, the most important thing that we can do is not to emulate the Abraham of Mt. Moriah who capitulated to madness, but rather to stand up for what we believe in and never forget the basic values that strengthen ourselves, our souls, and our society. In this way, we can become the stewards of both our history and our future. Then, and only then, can we become the ancestors our descendants can emulate.

So what does it mean to be a good ancestor? How do we avoid the pitfalls of Abraham? How do we strengthen our society- especially in times of uncertainty and change?

I think we need to begin by defining exactly what a healthy society should look like.

Margaret Mead once said that the first sign of civilization in an ancient culture was archaeological evidence of femur - or thigh bone - that had been broken and then healed. Mead explained that in the animal kingdom, if you break your leg, you die. You cannot run from danger, get to the river for a drink, or hunt for food. A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has set the fracture, has carried their wounded comrade to safety, and has tended to the person through recovery. A healed femur indicates that someone has helped a fellow human, rather than abandoning them to save their own life. A heathy society begins with compassion and caring – with empathy and vision for the future. It is strengthened by institutions and social norms that are designed to enhance common values and provide opportunities to come together in solidarity and service.

The Talmud relates a story out a man named Honi the circle-maker. One day Honi was journeying on the road, and he saw a man planting a carob tree. He asked, "How long does it take [for this tree] to bear fruit?" The man replied: "Seventy years." Honi then further asked him: "Are you certain that you will live another seventy years?" The man replied: "I found [already grown] carob trees in the world; as my forefathers planted those for me so I too plant these for my children[iv]."

One of my favorite aspects of serving as your Rabbi is the opportunity it affords me to witness the magic and beauty that takes place at our Rabbi Steven Foster Early Learning Center. I love spending time singing, playing, and interacting with the youngest members of our community. In particular, I love the beautiful gardens that serve as outdoor classrooms where students learn about the beauty of nature. A couple of weeks ago, as I was walking past one of our gardens, a group of excited 3-year-olds came running up to me and cried out: “Rabbi Black! Look what we found!”  Each of them had fistfuls of tiny seeds that they had harvested from the plants in the garden. They were so proud of what they had gathered!

 

What a powerful symbol of what we, as a congregation stand for! Our children are gathering seeds that they will plant for the future. In the same way, we, as a congregation, need to plant seeds to ensure our growth and continued vibrancy.

Danny Foster has already spoken about the fact that next Rosh Hashanah, Temple Emanuel will kick-off a year-long commemoration of our 150th anniversary. We will be celebrating  our legacy, our ancestors, and our future. In the next several months, you will be hearing more and more about special events, programs, and a major fundraising campaign geared towards building a significant endowment that will help to ensure that our kehilla kedoshah – our sacred community - will live on and thrive for the next 150 years.  But it is not enough to simply “live on.” We also must focus on strengthening our values, adapting to change, and committing to teaching ourselves and our children how to improve the world that we have inherited.

I believe with all my heart that a sacred community built on a foundation of shared vision and spiritual seeking is an essential gift that we can and must give to ourselves and those who will come after us. While Temple Emanuel is, for the most part, strong and thriving, in many ways, we are an outlier. Our strength is also tenuous. The synagogue has been the central institution of Jewish life for almost 2,000 years. But it is increasingly endangered. Many congregations are suffering. There are also many, non-synagogue options available for those looking for alternative, custom designed experiences for individuals and households.

But these fee-for-service, “one off” experiences come with a price: the fraying of connection, community, continuity, and legacy. 

You see, when we commit to being part of an ongoing, dynamic sacred community; when we acknowledge the power of sharing our lives: celebrating joy, comforting one another in times of loss, working to repair our world, joining forces to educate the next generation – we are performing a Mitzvah that not only makes our lives more fulfilling, but also is the best bulwark I know in a rapidly changing world to ensure continuity and connection for those who will come after us.

I also know that synagogues are not perfect. Sometimes institutions and the individuals who lead them - lay and professional alike- make mistakes. Sometimes we get locked into old paradigms that reflect more upon what was, and not where we need to be today and tomorrow.  Sometimes we miss the mark. But I also know that, despite our flaws, we have the power to raise our consciousness and, through the synergy created by long-term commitment - not one-off experience, we are better as individuals, and as a people.

I believe strongly in the power of sacred community to inspire us , enhance our lives, and uphold our values.  My friends, our task, as we enter a New Year, is to learn from our trials and tribulations and vow to become better ancestors. Now is the time to focus on the legacy that we will pass on to those who come after us – individually and communally.

And so I ask you:  Make an effort this year to get involved in one aspect of congregational life that you haven’t yet experienced. Come to Shabbat services or Torah study. Join a small group. Get involved in Sisterhood or brotherhood. Work with us on a cause that you are passionate about – it doesn’t matter how- but find a way to support and be supported by our community. Give generously to our endowment campaign when asked.

On this first day of a new year, we ask ourselves: how will our stories, values and actions impact our children and the next generation? We must continue to strive to build a strong community based on faith, caring and commit to thrive and leave a lasting legacy that the next generations will cherish, celebrate and honor. Together, we will plant seeds of caring, concern and hope that will grow and  blossom well into the future.

L'Shanah Tovah!

 

 

________________________________________

[i] Krznaric, Roman. The Good Ancestor: A Radical Prescription for Long-Term Thinking -p.4. 

 My thanks to Rabbi Asher Knight for sharing his Yom Kippur sermon on “Good Ancestors” with me and exposing me to the work of Roman Krznaric.

[ii] Krznarik, p 57

[iii] Genesis 22:17

[iv] Talmud Ta’anit 23a

 

The Aftermath of the Highland Park 4th of July Massacre: A Reflection on Idolatry.

This past weekend, my family and I attended a wedding in Los Angeles. It was a beautiful affair. Two wonderful families were joined with lots of love, fanfare and celebration. There were many events that brought us all together. As we awoke this morning and got ready to attend a farewell brunch before flying home, our joy was diminished by the news of a violent act of murderous terror that filled the airways and social media. This time, however, it was personal. 

Highland Park is a Chicago suburb with a substantial Jewish population that is very close to my hometown of Evanston, IL. When I was in high school and college, I taught and led services at several congregations there. I have many close friends and family who live in or near the area where the shooting took place. The Maxwell Street Klezmer Band – dear friends and musical collaborators – were performing on a float in that very parade. So far, I have not heard that any of the people I know personally were harmed, but, as of this writing, 6 souls were snuffed out and more than 2 dozen others were wounded by a lone gunman armed with easily-obtained high-powered weaponry and multiple rounds of ammunition. 

 It is hard to write about the plague of gun violence that has infected our society without wading into murky waters. The politicians, lobbyists, and pundits on every side of the political spectrum will do all that they can to spin this horrific event – and the hundreds of others like it – to underscore their specific agendas. Accusations will be thrown about. Somber and angry speeches will be delivered. Tears will be shed. Funerals will be held, lives upended…and nothing will change: the daily deluge of violence will continue unabated. 

Many of you know my views on firearms. While I am not “anti-gun” per se, I have written and spoken extensively on how gun violence is not merely a social or political problem. It also screams out to the world that we are in the midst of a spiritual crisis: idol worship. Simply put, idolatry can be defined as the worshipping of physical objects and imbuing them with powers, qualities and cosmic significance that supersedes logic and undermines the foundations of our nation. Our society’s obsession with the ownership and deification of weapons of mass destruction – fed and exacerbated by gun manufacturers and the lobbying organizations on their payrolls – has taken a horrific toll on the social fabric and spiritual capital of our citizens. It is nothing less than idolatry. Highland Park now joins the ranks of Columbine, Aurora, Newtown, Parkland, Pittsburgh, Colleyville, Uvalde and too many others to mention. We have seemingly lost the capacity to be shocked anymore. The question we are asking is not: “How can this happen in a civil society, but when will the next tragedy occur – and will it impact those whom we know and love?” 

In the Torah portion we will read this Shabbat, Parashat Chukkat, we learn how Moses, instead of speaking to a rock and commanding it to yield water for the thirsty Israelites, strikes it three times and is punished by God and told that he will not enter the promised land. The Rabbis are puzzled by the severity of this decree. Why was Moses treated so unfairly? What did he do to receive such a cruel sentence? There are many possible answers, but one recurring theme is that Moses’s actions were both violent and defiant. He appeared to show the Israelites that he - himself – was the source of life-giving water – not God. In other words, Moses places himself in the role of provider and creator. The violent act of hitting the rock appears to be an attempt to make it look like the staff itself – wielded by Moses - is imbued with the power to sustain and protect the people – thereby diminishing God’s authority and deliverance. 

For those for whom the Right to Bear Arms is sacrosanct, any attempts to place sane limits on the ownership and use of weapons of mass destruction is nothing short of blasphemy. For those of us who see the consequences of these weapons in the blood flowing in our streets, schools and publics spaces, the fact that so many lives have been snuffed out so meaninglessly is, in and of itself a Chilul HaShem – a desecration of God’s name. 

If we cannot acknowledge the spiritual, psychological and societal toll that the proliferation of firearms on our streets and in our homes continues to exact, then we, like Moses, are rebelling against the godliness implanted within us by our Creator. 

 I do not have answers to this tragic situation. But I do know that unless and until we move away from political slogans and lines drawn in the sand, we will continue to see grieving parents and children mourning the loss of their loved ones following senseless acts of violence. We need to learn to look at the facts on the ground and find sane measures to reduce the carnage. 

 May we never fail to be horrified by tragedy, and may our horror move us to look within ourselves and our souls and strive to make a change. 

 L’Shalom, 

Rabbi Joseph R. Black

Roe V. Wade and Parashat Kedoshim -May 6, 2022

Dear Friends,

This past week, when the draft of the Supreme Court’s position about repealing Roe V. Wade was leaked, it became increasingly clear that the right to have an abortion in the United States – a right that has been in place for the past 49 years - is about to disappear. It will soon be up to each individual state to decide if those who are able to become pregnant will be permitted to make decisions about their own bodies and choices regarding fertility, family planning and medical procedures. In addition, 26 state legislatures (are eagerly poised to enact punitive and draconian measures that will not only eliminate access to abortion services but, in many cases, will also penalize certain forms of birth control and create a system of intimidation and recrimination that will impact every aspect of society. 

These new laws will be driven by a narrow interpretation of religion based on fundamentalist Christian principles whose proponents are openly seeking to create a theocratic government that tears down the fundamental values of our nation. In addition, it is very clear that the same forces that are pushing to ban abortion are also looking to use the Supreme Courts probable decision to abandon Roe to do away with other basic rights including Gay marriage, in-vitro fertilization and criminalize many other practices that impede upon individuals’ privacy personal space.

Lest I have been less than clear how I and many others are feeling at this watershed moment in our history: The idea that that Government, Church, synagogue, or mosque should be placed in the position of legislating or interfering in the most intimate aspects of our lives is antithetical to the foundation of the separation of religion and state upon which our nation was founded and for which too many have died.

As I have stated on numerous occasions, there are those who have struggled with the issue of abortion and, after deliberate and careful analysis – after much prayer and reflection – have come to the conclusion that they cannot support an individual’s right to choose. While I, personally, do not agree with their conclusions, I respect their deliberation and I feel that the process of dialogue and discussion is vitally important. We can agree to disagree- honoring the process that has brought us to our own conclusions. But when these disagreements become the basis for regressive legislation that represses, punishes, and demonizes, a dangerous line has been crossed.I am speaking tonight, because I am disgusted by the hypocrisy that we witness on a daily basis that justifies the creation of laws that, on the one hand, prohibit someone from terminating an unwanted pregnancy, and on the other hand, make it difficult for that same person to receive proper healthcare, nutrition or childcare once that unwanted pregnancy comes to term.

I am speaking tonight because we all have listened to the stories of those who, not so long ago, have had to resort to desperate measures to terminate an unwanted pregnancy:

• Women who were victims of rape or incest; who were emotionally, spiritually, physically or financially unable to care for an unwanted or unexpected pregnancy;
• Women who were butchered by incompetent practitioners in unsanitary conditions;
• Women who were subjected to scorn and abuse and worse because they were in crisis and had nowhere else to turn.
• Trans individuals who were beaten, raped and brutally attacked because of the way they express themselves in society and celebrate they way that God created them;
• People from low income or immigrant communities who have no access to reproductive health care;

I am speaking tonight because I am dismayed by the misogyny and gas-lighting that is the bedrock of many laws that attempt to silence women’s voices and marginalize their experience- while saying nothing about the responsibilities of the men who are responsible for every pregnancy.

Throughout history, demagogues have always looked for easy targets and those who threaten their narrative . They spew their fear-mongering at them – creating perceived enemies who represent the evils of society. The movement to abolish abortion and put laws in place that will demonize birth control and women’s rights show us once again how those who are able to become pregnant - especially low-income individuals and people of color - have always been a favored target. We are increasingly seeing how national Far-Right, fundamentalist, PACs, advocacy groups and state legislatures have tried to undo decades of progress in women’s health and bring us back to a much darker time.

Banning abortion and curtailing reproductive rights serves the function of shifting attention from the real issues that plague us by claiming to have a singular understanding of God’s will. Abortionists, the LGBTQ community, immigrants, “wokeness”– these are the ills of society – these are those who God hates. Forget about the poor, the homeless and the hungry. Don’t talk about voting rights, racism, ignorance, abuse, homelessness, climate change, war, pollution (the list goes on and on) – no – those who would outlaw reproductive choice teach us that it is the women and trans people – anyone who has a uterus - who want to make choices about how to take care of their bodies and the courageous Doctors, nurses and counselors who make that possible - upon whom we should focus our attention.

 In a recent article, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat writes:

This week’s Torah portion, Kedoshim, tells us: “You shall be holy, for I your God am holy.” The charge is in the plural. This is not about singular individual holiness. These are instructions for communal righteousness. Sometimes Torah speaks in poetry and metaphor, but this week Torah gives us a very concrete clarion call to justice.

How does a community act righteously? Torah is very clear. Feed the hungry, says the Book of Leviticus. Also: Don’t withhold a worker’s wages until morning. Don’t place a

 stumbling block before the blind. Judge justly. And do not stand idly by upon the blood of your fellow.

These verses are so important that we hear them twice a year: not only now, in our cycle of regular weekly Torah readings, but also on the afternoon of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. As the holiest and most awe-filled day of our year draws to its close, as we grapple personally and communally with who we are and where we have missed

 the mark, these verses ring out.

A righteous society, Torah says, is one that centers the needs of the most vulnerable. And we must not stand idly by when others are harmed.

Last March, here in Colorado, a bill was passed and signed into law called the Reproductive Health Equity Act – that guarantees the right of those who can become pregnant to have access to reproductive health care and abortion services – regardless of what actions the Supreme Court of the United States might take. I was honored to be asked to testify and share Sue’s and my story about how we had to terminate a pregnancy early on in our marriage because  the fetus we conceived was Tay- Sachs positive and carried a fatal genetic flaw. With the repeal of Roe V Wade- and the laws on the books in many states, we would not have been able to make that choice – had we lived in a community that passed those measures. We all are fortunate to live in a state where the rights of individuals to make choices about reproductive freedom are secure – at least for now. But if we look at the map of those states are poised to ban abortion, we realize that we are surrounded by communities hostile to reproductive freedom. This means that people seeking abortions will be traveling to Colorado – in many cases at great risk to themselves due to punitive laws that target individuals seeking reproductive health care – as well as targeting those who assist them. Temple Emanuel is currently exploring avenues to partner with other congregations and organizations – from multiple faith traditions – to find ways to support those seeking abortion care and coming to our state. Abortion providers are already overtaxed. The numbers of medical professionals who are trained to perform abortion services are limited. We will need to help people find housing, transportation as well as physical, mental and spiritual assistance. This is a fluid situation, and we are actively pursuing avenues of solidarity and support. For the time being, as I wrote in my letter to the congregation, if you would like to help, donate to the COBALT Abortion fund - 100% of the monies raised go to support abortion seekers and providers.

A word about language. There was a time that those of us who supported the right to terminate a pregnancy shied away from using the word “abortion.”  Instead we spoke about the right to choose. To state that one is “pro abortion” seemed to imply that we reluctantly engaged in a battle over freedom while still casting aspersions on the medical procedure itself.  I will no longer use this type of language. The fight ahead of us is about reproductive freedom. Period. I do not want to judge anyone’s choices. Abortion Rights are the issue at hand.  Any other terminology is obfuscation and misses the point.

My friends, the task that lies ahead of us is clear. We – as people of faith who stand as a beacon of hope and reason in the face of darkness and disinformation – we must never waiver in our work. No one knows the mind of God. No one has a monopoly on faith.

This week’s parasha commands us to be holy. Holiness is not always easy to understand. Sometimes it is messy. Sometimes it means marching in the streets, raising money or holding the hand of a scared young person who feels isolated and persecuted. This is our sacred task. We cannot desist from carrying it out.

We all are committed to working together to bring wholeness and holiness to our world. Let us start right now.

Shabbat Shalom

Jerusalem Needs Love. (C). Rabbi Joe Black. April, 2022. All Rights Reserved.

In cafes, waiters pour sweet wine

While shepherds call their flocks

A golden light that transcends time

Has bested all the clocks

Crosses clash with minarets

Push has come to shove

A city filled with deep regrets

Jerusalem needs love.

 

The blinding sun leaps up at me

Reflected from white stone

Although I’m here all by myself

I know I’m not alone

The weight of ancient history

Haunts me from above

These walls are filled with mystery

Jerusalem needs love 

 

CHORUS or BRIDGE:

Jerusalem needs love

Like a river needs the rain

Jerusalem needs love

To wash away the pain

To bring us home again

 

An ancient poem that’s filled with promise

Pierces my cold heart

Soldiers march in step with psalmists

Joined and yet apart

A young boy holds a well-worn stone

In his ragged glove

The song of conflict’s constant drone

Jerusalem needs love

 

Bullet holes and Bible belts

Sultans dance with sages

The twisted  awe crusaders felt

While burning sacred pages

A falcon casts his hungry eye

His prey, a frightened dove

I walk without an alibi

Jerusalem needs love

Testimony by Rabbi Joseph R. Black in support of House Bill 22-1279, The “Reproductive Health Equity Act.”

 I am here today because this is personal.  My wife and I are carriers of Tay-Sachs – a rare, incurable genetic disorder that primarily affects Jews of Eastern European descent. Tay Sachs babies endure a painful and gruesome death - usually within 5 years of birth.

31 years ago, we were blessed by the birth of a healthy daughter.  Our luck changed with our second pregnancy. Thankfully, at that time, abortion was legal and safe.  As difficult as it was to say goodbye to the hopes and dreams of a second baby, the thought of having to care for and eventually bury a suffering child was unpalatable.  We chose to have an abortion. My wife received excellent care and together we grieved the loss of what might have been.

This bill is designed to ensure that those who are able to become pregnant or terminate a pregnancy will have the right to do so. When government puts itself in a position to legislate how people can care for their bodies, unless that decision impacts the health of the general population, we have crossed a dangerous line of personal autonomy.

In the book of Deuteronomy, we find the following:

I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day: I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life, that you and your descendants may live! 

This text is often misunderstood and twisted to deny abortion care. For me – the words, “Choose Life” mean that we have a responsibility to live our lives in ways that honor God’s creation.  They command us to work together to respect individual choices and empathize with the difficulties faced by all. They do not mean imposing our narrow understandings of life’s questions, traumas and values on others – nor do they disavow us from disagreeing on the many complex paradoxes with which we are confronted on a daily basis.

The decision to terminate a pregnancy is very difficult and painful.  And yet, I also feel - passionately - that such a decision should be made by individuals- not elected officials or courts.

We can agree to disagree about the personal choices involved in having an abortion but when these disagreements become the basis for attempts to repress and demonize others, a dangerous line has been crossed. Please support the Reproductive Health Equity Act.

Thank you.

Ukraine: On Watching the Land of My Ancestors At War

Some of my Ancestors.....

My grandparents, Avram and Esther Kovalevsky (z”l), were born in the Ukrainian city of Zolotonosha – not far from Kharkov. My grandmother (a brilliant woman) received her MA in history from the University of Kharkov- not a small feat. As a Jewish woman, she was prohibited from attending classes. She studied on her own and passed all her exams with high honors. My grandfather received his MBA in Germany from the University of Leipzig.

After returning from his studies abroad, Avram married Esther in the early 1920’s. They hoped to build a home and raise a family in the city of their birth, but after a series of violent, anti-Semitic pogroms in Zolotonosha, they fled Ukraine on foot – journeying for several months until they arrived in Leipzig to begin a new life in a “civilized” country where they thought Jews would be safe.

My Grandmother's Family in Ukraine.  She is in the top row - far left.

My grandfather started a business selling wholesale hosiery and soon was very successful. My mother, Sophia Kovalevsky, was born in Leipzig in 1926. The Kovalevsky’s, despite their education and economic status, were never accepted by their German neighbors. They were considered foreigners- “Ostjuden” (Eastern Jews) who were ostracized by the German Jews who snubbed them and the general populace who were raised on the Jew-hating mother’s milk that paved the way for Hitler's ascension to power.

After the rise of Nazism, my grandparents’ dream of a safe haven fell apart. The Kovalevsky’s would have to flee again. Since they were not German citizens, their Soviet passports, in an ironic twist, saved their lives. In December of 1938, shortly after Kristalnacht – the “Night of the Broken Glass,” they left behind their comfortable life in Leipzig and came to America. By that time, the number of German refugees admitted into the United States was miniscule. The blatant anti-Semitism of the State Department prior to WWII has been well documented. The only reason they were able to get a visa was due to the fact that no one was able to leave the USSR, and quotas for Russian Jews at that time were not filled.

My Mother and Grandparents in Germany

I share this small piece of my family’s history while the world watches as Russia invades Ukraine. The names on my television screen of the cities currently under bombardment:  Kharkov, Kyiv, L’vov, and others are familiar to my ears. My grandmother – never one to wax nostalgic or dwell in the past - would, on rare occasions, share happy stories of her childhood in Zolotonosha with my sister and me. Despite the anti-Semitism that she endured and the horrors she witnessed, it was clear that she deeply loved her birthplace and the life she left behind. She never quite fit in anywhere else - whether in Germany or the United States.

My story is not unique. Many American Jews trace their history back to the former Pale of Settlement – the lands set aside for Jews to live in poverty and constant danger from official anti-Semitism and the murderous pogroms caused by rampaging Cossacks and other Jew-haters. Most of my mother’s family was murdered in Ukraine – both by Hitler’s forces and willing local collaborators. The graves of my ancestors bear witness to the horrors of our history.

To see these cities now prominently displayed as they face the brutal onslaught of Putin’s overwhelming force brings a variety of emotions. The fact that Ukraine now has both a president and a prime minister who claim Jewish ancestry, as well as the fact that just a few months ago the Ukrainian Parliament passed a law outlawing Anti-Semitism is a remarkable turn of events. Add to this the obscenity of Putin’s “anti-Nazi” ravings.  Currently, there are over 200,000 Jews living in Ukraine. Compared to the 1.6 million murdered in the Shoah, this is a small number.  And yet, this place that destroyed my family has now become a symbol of resistance to totalitarianism and a victim of megalomaniacal greed.

As we watch in horror as innocent people are slaughtered, let us strive to learn from our history. Totalitarianism and demagoguery pose real dangers to us all. As people who strive to live in peace, we also have learned the painful lessons of the past. If we do not call out atrocity – wherever it lives – we forsake both our birthright and our sacred responsibility towards all of who are created in God’s image.

If you would like to help support the Ukranian Jewish community, consider donating to one of the following organizations:

Jewish Colorado Fund for Ukraine:  https://www.jewishcolorado.org/jewishcolorado-ukraine-emergency-fund/

The World Union For Progressive Judaism:  https://wupj.org/give/ukraine/

Natan - an Israeli disaster relief NGO working with Doctors on the ground in Poland - helping Ukrainian Refugees:  https://www.facebook.com/NATANAID/

Pray for the peace of Ukraine.

Pray for the lands of our ancestors.

May sanity be restored before it is too late.

 

 

 

 

A Prayer For Reproductive Rights Shabbat - January 28-29, 2022

As the Supreme Court is about to rule on a case that challenges Roe V. Wade, Abortion Rights are in danger of being taken away. I strongly believe that women have the right to decide how to care for their own bodies. Questions around healthcare, reproductive rights and abortion should be left to individuals. This past Shabbat, Temple Emanuel joined with congregations around the country as we focused our learning and prayers around protecting women's access to healthcare, birth control and abortion services.  Here is a prayer that I wrote for the conclusion of our service: 

Source of Creation:

Your lines of possibility are scrawled in pencil. We redraw and refine them in Your image.

So much of what once was out of reach is now part of our daily lives.

The boundaries of earth and sky, sea and stars challenge us to continue the sacred work of Creation.

As we open new horizons of learning and understanding, guide us to choose the good as we confront the possibilities before us.

We, too, have created lines, O God. Some protect and others oppress.

With each successive generation we seek to grow, to learn, and to change patterns of persecution forged by ignorance, misogyny, and fear.

Help us draw lines of openness and understanding.

Guide us as we seek Your presence in the painful choices we must confront.

We see You in the wonders of nature, in the perfection of our bodies and the struggle to free ourselves from the desire to control the rights and freedoms of others.

May our sacred strivings bring us closer to You, O God.

AMEN

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