Dear Friends,

I am writing these words in mid-November. The pain of Pittsburgh is still raw as we mourn our loss and look to our own safety. At the same time, intense political turmoil in Israel has called the future of the current government into question. I learned long ago never to make any predictions about Israeli politics, so I do not know what the reality will be when you read these words, but the combination of events in Israel along with the rise of anti-Semitism around the world has placed Israel very much at the center of my thoughts.

First, I have always been and remain a proud Zionist. As a child, I remember my incredible pride following the Yom Kippur War, and again after the Camp David Peace Accords with Egypt. Israel was a living example of the Zionist dream to protect our people, live in peace with our neighbors and bring light to the world. I never doubted that we would succeed, eventually, in all three areas.

That said, for well over a decade there has been a growing divide between Israelis and diaspora Jews, especially those of us living in America. As a rabbi, I felt an obligation to support the State of Israel; yet more and more I found myself in tension with the policies of her government. I understood that my children were not at risk the way Israeli children are, that it was not for me to try to dictate how a sovereign nation should govern itself. And, I mourned for the seemingly intractable problem of finding a way to live in peace and security with our Palestinian neighbors, and the senseless and cyclical loss of life for which there seems no end in sight.

Then, over the past two years, the government of Israel issued a series of decisions and statements which effectively denigrated and delegitimized diaspora Jews, especially those of us who are not orthodox. My sense of betrayal, disappointment and anger could not be exaggerated. At my lowest moments, I came close to giving up on Israel altogether, cutting my losses and just focusing on Jewish life here.

Yet, I still believe in the Zionist dream. I still believe in a State of Israel which can be a beacon for all Jews: not because of rising anti-Semitism, not because of fear, but because the dream has intrinsic value, and if we will it – it will be more than a dream.

For those of us who are worried for our safety here in the States, I would remind you that those who would cause us harm are the outliers, not us. In Nazi Germany there were no solidarity rallies after attacks on the Jews, and in America the government does not seek to harm us, but rather seeks justice against those who do.

Could that change one day? Yes, perhaps. But we are nowhere near that kind of crisis, and I do not recommend making Aliyah to Israel because we are afraid.

I do, however, think that Israel deserves our support, and we hers. In fact, I think we need each other now more than ever.

The Jewish people has become just as tribal as anyone. We are split not only by where we locate ourselves on the political spectrum, but also by our denominational affiliations (or lack thereof) and whether we live in Israel, in America or elsewhere in the diaspora.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I read an Israeli newspaper article describing an extraordinary response to Pittsburgh by Israeli law makers from across the political spectrum. On November 7, a group of about 25 Knesset members came together in an emergency meeting to demand that the government of Israel recognize the non-Orthodox Jewish movements. They were convened by six MKs, including two from the leadership of the current coalition. The government is unlikely to listen, but what makes this so important is how it breaks down the divisiveness of our own Jewish inner tribalism. Following the tragedy at Pittsburgh where Conservative Jews were attacked, these MKs recognize that the Zionist dream is for all of us, not just for Israelis and the orthodox. That is an important and valuable concept, fully in consonance with the Zionist ideal. Yet, we must also remember that Israeli politicians are practical. While this meeting took place before the challenge to the current government, the MKs were also shown a startling new statistic: fully 13% of Israelis now identify as either Reform or Conservative. This does not mean that they necessarily affiliate, but it does mean that they share our commitment to pluralism.

Whether we agree or disagree with its policies, Israel is a true democracy; her government represents the will of the people. More and more Israelis are coming to understand and appreciate that they do not need to make the binary choice between being religious (orthodox) or secular when deciding how to express their Jewish identities. I am confident that this is only the beginning and look forward to an Israel which truly represents the pluralism of the larger Jewish world.

As American Reform Jews, we have a vested interest in helping to ensure the continued growth of Reform Judaism in Israel and strengthening our personal connections with our Jewish homeland. In the next several months there will be two ways for you to make a meaningful difference.

First, please look for information about to 2019 World Zionist Congress elections. While the specific date of the elections has yet to be determined, our participation is critically important. The WZC determines not only how millions of dollars will be allocated by the World Zionist Organization and the Jewish Agency in Israel, but even more importantly, who will be responsible for working together to implement the decisions of the WZC. This is how real pluralism is built; as secular, Reform and ultra-Orthodox Jews work together towards common goals, we break down the barriers between us. When we have more information about the elections, we will send the information to you, but please make sure to vote! Every vote for the Reform block is a vote for greater pluralism in Israel and around the world.

Second, I am pleased to announce our next congregational trip to Israel, scheduled for July 2020. A complete itinerary with pricing (apart from airfare) should be available no later than the end of January. I hope that you will join me on the trip of a lifetime! For more information, or if you have any questions please don’t hesitate to give me a holler.

Shalom u’vracha (peace and blessing),

Rabbi Gary Pokras

Why is this year different from all other years? On all other years we gather in close around our tables with family and friends …

The Passover seder combines all the things we love most: food and wine, storytelling, and home hospitality. Perhaps this is why, of all the Jewish holidays, Pesach is the most observed by American Jews – regardless of their level of affiliation or engagement.

The other Jewish holidays have a lot to offer, but none of them combine food, storytelling and hospitality as powerfully as the seder. Which begs a question:

Why didn’t the rabbis give us similar rituals for the other holidays? What is so special about Pesach?

The answer is “telling:” on Passover we recount our primary defining narrative – the Exodus from Egyptian slavery towards freedom. The seder leverages all five of our senses to remind us who we are, where we have come from, and where we have yet to go. For that reason alone, it deserves special treatment.

However, we are Jews, which means that among other quirks, we look for meaning in the details. Consider, for example, these words which Moses spoke to the Israelites about the future observance of Passover:

“You shall observe this as an institution for all time, for you and for your descendants. And when you enter the land that the Eternal will give you, as God has promised, you shall observe this rite. And when your children ask you, ‘What do you mean by this rite?’ you shall say, ‘It is the Passover sacrifice to the Eternal, because God passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when God smote the Egyptians, but saved our houses.’”  [Ex. 12:24-27]

This passage is all about l’Dor vaDor – transmitting our tradition through the generations. Moses emphasizes the concept of l’Dor vaDor multiple times throughout the Exodus story. It is no surprise, then, that education became a core value of Torah and therefore also Judaism. What makes this particular passage different is not what Moses said, but when he said it. At God’s command, Moses instructed us to teach our children about the Exodus while we were still in Egypt!

Why would Moses tell us to teach future generations during our most frenetic preparations before the final and most horrible plague arrived?

I have long thought that it was to reassure the Israelites that, on the darkest night of their lives, they had a future. However, over time I have come to understand that Moses was not just speaking to them, but to us. Our laws, values, and traditions are not just about the past, they are about the future. So in each generation, we are instructed to teach our children that we were slaves in Egypt, and that God redeemed us from servitude with awesome wonders and a mighty outstretched hand. We teach our children that no matter what the rest of the world may say, human dignity and freedom are sacred gifts to treasure and protect. We teach our children not to accept the world as it is, but to work towards creating the world as it should be. We teach our children that there is a higher purpose and a deeper meaning to our lives. We teach our children, l’Dor vaDor, so that they will be inspired to act and achieve. We teach our children so that they will teach their children.

Why is this year different from all other years? This year we all feel our oppression, not by Pharaoh but by the virus. This year we all pray for a different kind of redemption, for a life without the disease and quarantine and fear and uncertainty. This year we recognize that we are all children, on the receiving end of the generations who have transmitted our story to us, a story of resilience, of strength, and of hope.

We will celebrate Passover this year, just as our forebears did in Egypt, while still awaiting an end to the plague. Well, not exactly as they did. We will connect digitally, with video and with sound. Our tables will stretch across miles and miles as we share and celebrate together even while we remain physically separate. In the midst of our pain, I hope that we will also find some joy and especially some meaning.

As we gather around our tables this Pesach, I invite us to share how we are bringing l’Dor vaDor (the transmission of our tradition in our new generation) to life. Try going around the table and asking everyone to share their answers to any or all of the following questions:

1. Why (for what purpose) do I think God brought us out of Egypt?
2. How has that purpose played out in history?
3. What is my part in all of this? How am I doing?
4. What is the single most important Jewish value I want to pass on to the next generation?

We won’t all agree, that’s for sure, but as we share our ideas, we may discover or rediscover something deeply meaningful about ourselves, our place in history, and our hopes for the future. If you would like, I invite you to share your answers on our Facebook page. We would love to celebrate your answers and enable each of us to learn from one another!

Warm Wishes for a zissen Pesach, a sweet, meaningful, and healthy Passover,

Rabbi Gary Pokras

Leviticus 16:1 – 20:27

This week’s double Torah portion is simultaneously challenging to read and rich with deep meaning. I have written extensively on it, but this week encountered a commentary so beautiful, I just had to share it with you. It is written by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, whose writings I read ‘religiously,’ and it spoke to me in a powerful way. I hope you find his words as meaningful as I. The link is below. For those who do not want to read the entire piece, here is the conclusion (but, even knowing the end, reading how he builds the case is worth taking a few minutes to consider):

“I believe that there is something unique and contemporary about the ethic of holiness. It tells us that morality and ecology are closely related. They are both about creation: about the world as God’s work and humanity as God’s image. The integrity of humanity and the natural environment go together. The natural universe and humanity were both created by God, and we are charged to protect the first and love the second.” – Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

https://mailchi.mp/rabbisacks/acharei-mot-kedoshim-244711?e=a005653552

Leviticus 16:1-34

It may still be Passover, but our weekly Torah portion is about to redirect our attention to Yom Kippur. Acharei Mot describes the sacrificial service for Yom Kippur as it was thousands of years ago, and although we no longer follow this rite, there is still much we can learn.

So, let’s talk about what’s been on all of our minds lately: oxen and goats.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook, the first modern chief rabbi of Palestine, observed that the Yom Kippur sacrifices contained a unique chattat (sin) offering. During the rest of the year, a chattat offering would be made with a goat. However, on Yom Kippur, the chattat offering must consist of a goat and an ox.

Why does this matter?

HaRav Kook explained that the ox is a symbol of great strength. Oxen were used to cultivate the land and for construction – their effect on human habitation was generally positive. On the other hand, the Hebrew word for goat is se’ir, which shares a root with the verb “to storm and rage.” Kook notes that goats, when they forage, consume not only the leaves but also the roots of plants. When they overgraze they can devastate a land. He notes that both goats and oxen can be used for good, or for bad. Sometimes we need to destroy before we build, and sometimes we can overbuild or over cultivate.

In other words, both constructive and destructive power can be abused or overused. This leads us back to the chattat offering. It makes sense that the more usual sin offering uses a goat, the symbol of our destructive power gone amok. However, on Yom Kippur, when we step back to look at the larger picture of our lives, we also think about those times when we meant well and yet still caused harm. These too require action on our part. We may no longer participate in the sacrificial rites, but we still make the same mistakes, and to be Jewish is to look year-round at how to mend our errors, heal the harm we have caused and bring redemption to our communities.

Perhaps it makes sense after all to read this passage right after Pesach, to remind us that with freedom comes responsibility. As we count the Omer and remind ourselves of our ancestor’s journey from Egyptian slavery to the Revelation at Sinai, perhaps we should also consider our own personal and communal journeys. Why wait until Yom Kippur? Let’s see if we can examine how we are using our freedom now. What are our intentions? When are we working to bring good into our world and when harm? What can we do now to correct our missteps and strengthen our more life-affirming choices?

Redemption, it seems is not a single event in time, but an ongoing process. “It is not up to you to finish the work,” said Rabbi Tarfon, “yet you are not free to avoid it.” [Pirkei Avot 2:16]

Leviticus 26:3 – 27:34

Can a Torah commentary start with a Santa story? You decide.

Rabbi Paul Plotkin shares the following:

Jane and her older sister had been fighting a lot this year. Jane’s parents warned her that Santa Clause was watching, and Santa does not like it when children fight.

Well, that did not have much of an impact! So, the mother said, “I’ll just have to tell Santa about your misbehavior;” and she picked up the phone and dialed.

Jane’s eyes grew big, as her mother said,

“Hello, Mrs. Clause? [It was really Jane’s aunt; Santa’s real line was apparently busy] Mrs. Clause, is it okay if you could put Santa on the line?”

Jane’s mouth dropped open, as mom described to Santa [Jane’s uncle], how the three year old was acting. And then mom put Jane on the phone.

Santa, in a deepened voice, explained to Jane how there would be no presents on Christmas morning to children who fought with their sisters. He would be watching and expect that things would be better from now on.

Jane solemnly nodded to each of Santa’s remarks, and silently hung the phone up, when he was done.

After a long moment, mom asked,“What did Santa say to you, dear?”

And in almost a whisper, Jane, sadly, but matter-of-factly, stated, “Santa said he won’t be bringing toys to my sister this year.”

Jane was three, and already had it figured out! It’s not about me! I can’t be held responsible for what I do! It must be somebody else. If Santa is not going to give a gift because we are fighting, it’s my sister’s fault, not mine!

What does this have to do with the Torah? Everything! B’Chukkotai brings the book of Leviticus to an end. The opening (and shorter section) of the parasha consists of a series of blessings which will come if we follow God’s law. Then the tochecha (the admonition) takes over, detailing a much longer series of devastating curses which will result if do not follow the law. According to tradition, these curses are chanted rapidly and “under the breath” (in a soft, hard to hear tone) during a single long reading. We don’t like to listen to the curses, and in some synagogues, it is difficult to even find someone to read them. Yet, there is wisdom in their placement at the end of Leviticus, the book of Torah most concerned with holiness.

B’Chukkotai is not simply about divine reward and punishment, it is about human agency. Rabbi Plotkin shares the story of Jane because it exemplifies why we need this parasha: our actions have consequences, and we are responsible for the choices we make. Put differently, our choices and actions create consequences which we experience regardless of whether we take responsibility or not. So, if we want to have any sort of influence over what comes back our way, we need to take responsibility for choosing well. This is the beginning of Jewish mindfulness as a practice. The more attention we pay to how we make decisions and how we take action in our lives, the more agency we gain over what we do.

However, our responsibility extends far beyond ourselves. The point is not just to act for our reward and to avoid punishment; in the kind of just community Torah commands we also take responsibility for each other. If we see a wrong, we are required to right it. If we witness a crime, we cannot claim to be innocent bystanders. Either we act to stop or at least to report the crime, or we enable the crime to happen.

Whether we like it or not we are responsible – and that means we have the power to bring great pain or great blessing to the world.

As we conclude the book of Leviticus and contemplate how to bring more holiness into our lives, but one question remains: how shall we choose?