The Challenges and Opportunities of being a Minority Religion in an Increasingly Secular and Pluralistic Society by Rabbi Joe Blair

Posted on May 19, 2013 by Rabbi Joe

The Challenges and Opportunities of being a Minority Religion in an Increasingly Secular and Pluralistic Society
“Lil’ Ole Us – Being a Minority”
Some Thoughts from the Perspective of a Rabbi to the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Waynesboro
Rabbi Joe Blair
May 19, 2013/10 Sivan 5773

Good morning. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to join you this morning. I appreciate your indulgence and hospitality. Particular thanks to Rev. Piper who has again graciously agreed to this pulpit exchange, and who presented his fascinating, informative, and challenging thoughts yesterday morning at Temple House of Israel in Staunton.

A side note: Ed – I thought I told you not to be too good – it makes me look really bad! In the words of Oliver Hardy, “Now look at the fine mess you have gotten me into!”

Some of you were present yesterday morning when Rev. Piper spoke. He talked a little about the history of the UUs, and the philosophy of openness and inclusion that guides them, which he described as both a strength and a weakness.

I open with an observation that Judaism is a fairly old religion, so has a long tradition, a sacred text, and a set of rituals and practices that is relatively unchanging, though certainly not static. Divisions in Judaism tend to be more along the lines of practice – how strict you are about observing the rules – rather than along theological lines. We don’t really have any heresies, after that big one a couple of thousand years ago about the assigning of divinity and godhead to a human being – apparently a position we share in common with many UUs. ?

Another thing we share in common is a strong commitment to the following of an ethical system, which we measure by how well it is acted upon in the world: deed, not creed.

And Judaism teaches that all faiths, and none, are to be honored, so long as those who follow them incorporate and act on what are referenced as the seven Noahide Laws. We are taught that one does not need to be a Jew to be a good person, doing godly work in the world. So Judaism, like UU, is tolerant and accepting of other faith paths.

But Judaism differs from UU in a significant fashion in that Judaism is very much a particularistic faith, and not universalistic in its’ focus. There is the clear understanding that you either are a Jew, or you are not. The rules that apply to Jews are many and varied. Jews are obliged to certain things; others are not. There is a clear understanding of membership, a sort of tribal connection, of being ‘in’ or ‘out’. The boundaries are not tremendously porous, and the process of crossing them can be daunting, as well as difficult and time consuming. You can’t become a Jew simply by wanting to, or believing any one thing, or by joining a congregation. The process of conversion is long, and hard, and requires a significant commitment and much effort. We don’t seek converts – and in fact, we are required to discourage them. A pretty good formula for remaining a minority religion, wouldn’t you say? ?

We don’t need to argue about which way is better, or to resolve what is more likely to work. We have neither the time nor the inclination to do so today. Instead, our focus is on the challenges and the opportunities that our conditions and situations as UUs and as Jews present.

If you came today to hear the golden honeyed drops of wisdom, or to receive pearls of understanding, we had best head for the food now. I have few answers, but I know the questions that are circling for me, and I will share my thoughts, briefly, then ask for yours.

Rev. Piper spoke yesterday about those who identify themselves as ‘none of the above’ when asked about religious affiliation, and in my response I raised the issue of the ‘spiritual but not religious’ group. Between these two large and growing groups, I think we are seeing our numbers for potential membership in our respective communities dwindling, because these are the people with whom the concept of religious community and the more traditional worship forms do not connect. We also noted that this tends to be generational for the most part. With that in mind, we need to be thinking of what it is that speaks to these groups, as well as our current membership.

We all know that we live in a time when things are changing fairly rapidly due to technology. One of the things we are all able to observe is that there is a massive invasion of communication devices that are showing up in places and being used in ways that we never would have imagined in past. And those devices are shifting the users’ ideas and experiences of what it means to relate and communicate – and therefore what it means to be in community.

It would have never occurred to me when I was in college to imagine that by being online – tweeting, emailing, sending texts, posting videos, or sharing photos – with people at three different locations simultaneously, I was somehow in conversation with all of them, and also participating in the party or other communal activity in which they were engaged, and about which they were tweeting, emailing, sending texts, posting videos, or sharing photos – but that is precisely what we see today. It has gotten to the point that it is not uncommon to see or hear about couples or friends sitting in the same room, and communicating with each other, and others, all by posting online – and feeling that they are communicating and relating to each other in community.

I admit that I am not part of that trend. I still have a ‘dumb phone’ and I don’t enjoy texting to communicate. I suspect that many of us who are of a certain age are not making that shift. Some of us are trying to do so, while still remaining in the world we knew and know. It is a time of transition, and it is not clear where it will go from here. But whether we ourselves wish to enter that mode or not, we need to accept that it is here to stay, and deal with it, or we risk cutting ourselves off from those who operate that way.

To make the point plainly; I don’t know how many of you have seen the humorous, but very relevant you-tube video about cell phones in church. You can find it online at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2_c81Nnsc0. The end result is that the person whose cell phone goes off during the service is condemned to oblivion – technology intruding is bad!

The focus is from the viewpoint of people like me who don’t understand the need for technology or how it fits into the worship or communal experience. The upshot is that anyone using technology in the service will be punished – which is funny, because it speaks about responding against a trend we don’t want to see, and at the same time very sad, because it says that we are ‘right’ and the technology users are ‘wrong’, and we don’t want them to be in our group. It is exclusionary and judgmental.

And yet, the very sense that is expressed that technology takes away from the experience of community and relationship is not the experience or view of others, mostly younger than I. They are feeling that if they connect to an event via smart phone or tablet, they are present and participating. They can ‘be’ in multiple places at once.

Even in staid, slow-to-change Judaism, this is creeping in and becoming a reality as some congregations are moving to having the liturgy projected on screens, or broadcast on tablets or smart phones, doing away with prayer books, streaming the service live – and lately I have even heard of some efforts to tweet the service: sending out a sequence of 140 character messages to ‘involve’ remote participants. Admittedly, I don’t ‘get it’. But it is not about me, and we need to recognize that there are people for whom this works.

At the same time, we have plenty of evidence that there is a deep and abiding sense of lack in people we see on the street, a desire for connection, and a hunger for something of meaning that is spiritually nourishing and substantive. We see that in the numbers that flock to anything that promises to fill that void for them, usually with most of them leaving those ‘quick fix’ panaceas disappointed and empty – and often poorer in pocket.

So the five broad question areas that I want to pose today are these.

1) Who are these people? What do they want and need? How do we find and communicate with and attract them, or are they so different from us that we need to let them go their way?

2) What does it mean to commune and to be in community? Can there be community without face-to-face interaction? What is a relationship, if it is remote, and only via electronics?

3) How do we offer a meaningful experience to people whose very idea of what it means to communicate is so different? The model of our worship services is one that is not working for them, and apparently it does not speak to them. Can we, should we, and how would we incorporate them into our worship and our community – or join theirs – without losing our own sense of what is meaningful and valuable about coming together? Is this possible to do while maintaining the integrity of our beliefs and practices?

4) Is the very concept of a ‘membership model’ for religious communities outmoded and no longer viable? What else is possible, and what could work that can address both the needs of our current community members and these other unconnected folks?

5) And how do we do all of this in the face of the reality of being a minority, with a fairly muted voice in the larger cacophony of “communications” that are constantly being broadcast at warp speed and maximum volume?

There are no easy answers, but I recall now the teachings of Rabbi Tarfon in Pirke Avot: “You are not obliged to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.” Our task is to wrestle with this. We may – probably will – reach different answers for our two faith communities, but we can talk together about the issues, and learn from each other.

Now I ask you to share your wisdom with me.

Reverend Piper, I turn first to you.

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RELIGIOUS IDENTITY AND PLURALISTIC CULTURE by Rev. Dr. Ed Piper

Posted on May 19, 2013 by Rabbi Joe

RELIGIOUS IDENTITY AND PLURALISTIC CULTURE
Reflections by Rev. Dr. Ed Piper
Temple House of Israel (Staunton, VA)
May 18, 2013

I am grateful to Rabbi Blair for suggesting this pulpit exchange and to the members of your congregation for your kind hospitality. I especially like the idea of inviting members of each of our congregations to attend one another’s services this weekend. Our service is held on Sunday morning at 11:00 a.m., and I look forward to seeing some of your members there, just as I see that some of the members of our Fellowship are here this morning. Let me invite them to raise their hands [pause] . . . Think of them as the “Unitarian Truth Squad”—making sure that I don’t misrepresent our faith tradition to others in our community. Rabbi Joe and I have agreed that we will open the floor to discussion after our presentations, beginning with each other as “first responders.”

Each time I have attended an event in this historic building, I have been struck by its elegance and dignity — unlike our Fellowship Hall with its coffee-stained carpet and uneven rows of chairs, including what we call a “wiggle zone” where families with active young children can sit without being concerned about disturbing others around them. The quiet beauty of this setting, combined with the rich language and rituals in your worship service, somehow make me feel a bit over my head whenever I come here to speak as a Unitarian Universalist minister.

I am reminded of the story of the man who since childhood had dreamed of someday owning a fancy sports car. Many years later, he had finally saved up enough money to buy his dream car: a Lamborghini, one of the fastest and most expensive cars in the world. For him, this was such a significant milestone that he thought it deserved some sort of divine recognition, and so he decided to ask for a prayer of blessing from one of the local clergy.

1st stop: Catholic church. Priest: “Perhaps in exchange for a small donation to our church, but first let me ask you: What is a Lamborghini?” Disappointed in this response, he drove on down the street.

Next stop: local synagogue. Rabbi, who replied that, if the man would make a contribution to a local charity, the rabbi would be willing to offer a prayer of blessing for the car, “But first let me ask you: What is a Lamborghini?” “Ah, never mind!” and on he went.

Desperate, the man finally turned up on the doorstep of the local Unitarian Universalist congregation, where he repeated his request for a prayer of blessing. “Wow, a Lamborghini!” exclaimed the UU minister. “Will you let me drive it around the block? But first let me ask you: What is a prayer?”

This story seems appropriate, because we Unitarians have sometimes been accused of being so open-minded about religion that we begin our prayers with the words, “To Whom It May Concern.” Indeed, at times it seems like UUs are so committed to tolerance and diversity that we don’t really have a core identity of who we are and what we believe. Unlike Judaism, we don’t have a sacred text such as yours to which we can turn for inspiration and guidance. Because we profess to being open to spiritual wisdom from many sources, we risk losing our sense of direction. We have much to learn from a mature faith tradition such as yours, which is a couple of thousand years older than Unitarian Universalism.

Our historical origins can be traced as far back as controversies within the early Christian church about the doctrine of the Trinity and the concept of Original Sin. On both of these issues, our side lost, and our Unitarian and Universalist forebears were declared heretics by the Catholic church and persecuted accordingly. The long and bloody history of religious persecution in Europe inspired our nation’s founders, including Unitarians such as Thomas Jefferson, to hard-wire religious freedom and tolerance into our Constitution and our culture. E Pluribus Unum—“From Many, One.” This motto on the Great Seal of the United States expresses the greatest promise our nation offers to all who come to us. Throughout our history, our national motto has also posed the greatest challenge to those who are already here. The dynamic tension between the one and the many permeates our nation’s history, and it fuels the current debate about our nation’s future. How can we forge a One out of the Many? This continues to be the great American dilemma we must face together.

Let me offer one dramatic example: the growth of Islam in America.
In 1934 there was only one mosque in the entire nation and about 20,000 scattered followers. Today there are more than six million Muslims and hundreds of mosques. As a denomination, Islam is larger than several “mainstream” Protestant denominations, including the Episcopal Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A), and the United Church of Christ. [James Davison Hunter, Culture Wars, p. 73] That, my friends, is the new multireligious America. The new multireligious America poses a direct threat to those who cling to the image of a “Christian America.” As historian of religion Diana Eck observes, “The new American dilemma is real religious pluralism, and it poses challenges to America’s Christian churches that are as difficult and divisive as those of race. . . . The ideal of a Christian America stands in contradiction to the spirit, if not the letter, of America’s foundational principle of religious freedom. . . . Our new religious diversity is not just an idea but a reality, built into our neighborhoods all over America. Religious pluralism is squarely and forever on the American agenda.” [Diana Eck, A New Religious America, pp. 46-47]

There is another dimension to religious pluralism: the rise of the religious “nones.”
A recent large-scale survey of the American religious landscape revealed that one-sixth of all adults claim no religious affiliation. They are the fastest-growing “religious” population in our country. Among young American adults ages 18-29, one in four say they are not currently affiliated with any particular religious group. [www.religions.pewforum.org/reports] If this trend continues, we will repeat the pattern in Europe, where active participation in institutional religion has dwindled to a fraction. Even though the very vocal critics of religious faith have proclaimed that these statistics foretell the death of traditional religion in America, only four percent of those surveyed identified themselves as atheistic or agnostic. Nearly half of the remaining religiously unaffiliated say that religion is nevertheless important to them. They are searching for something that organized religion is not offering.

How should we respond to the challenges of religious pluralism and lack of religious commitment? I am convinced that we can benefit from one another’s experience. Both Judaism and Unitarian Universalism are grounded in our shared commitment to ethical living.

Deeds are more important than creeds. Jews and UUs have often stood together shoulder-to-shoulder to support social justice and social change in civil rights, opposition to war, gender and marriage equality, and immigration reform. We are kindred spirits.

But we must also acknowledge that we are a tiny minority. In the survey I mentioned earlier, only 1.7 percent of Americans are affiliated with a Jewish congregation and only 0.7 percent with UU or other liberal congregations. Here in our local community, we are an even tinier minority. In a county with a population of 70,000, there are 150 adult members of the UU Fellowship and [how many?] members of this congregation. Historically, our two faith traditions have exerted influence far beyond our small numbers. How might we continue that proud tradition here in our community? How might we tap into the deep resources that each of our faith traditions has to offer as we move forward into the 21st century?

What can we Unitarians learn from you? First, we need to learn how to celebrate our heritage. Even though we are a relatively young”religion, we do have a history worth learning and affirming. Our sacred literature is found mainly in the writings of the Transcendentalists of the 19th century, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, but also in the passionate commitments to social justice of Theodore Parker and Susan B. Anthony. We need to rediscover our roots in the writings of the Hebrew prophets, who challenged the comfortable religion of their times. We UUs also need to temper our idealism and optimism with the realism and pessimism of our Jewish counterparts, arising from centuries of persecution and the indelible memory of the Holocaust. From all of these sources, we UUs need to rediscover the meaning of perseverance in the face of adversity.

What might we UUs pass along to our Jewish sisters and brothers? I would say first and foremost the value of interfaith understanding. This involves learning about not only the basic beliefs of other faith traditions, but also the values we share in common—values that are expressed in all of the major faith traditions: compassion, mercy, hospitality, service. [Eboo Patel, Sacred Ground, pp. 95-96] While differences in belief often divide us, commitment to shared values and common causes can unite us. We can discover these common values in dialogue on a personal level, as described in the best-selling book The Faith Club, based on a mutually respectful interfaith conversation involving a Jewish, Muslim, and Christian woman following the 9/11 attacks. Living as we do in a community that is so overwhelmingly Christian, opportunities like that are very rare. However, the opportunities for interfaith community service are unlimited. Over the years, our Fellowship has collaborated with other churches in local community service programs, even though we are aware that some of the people we are working with may sincerely believe that we may eventually be going to hell. Our united commitment to service is far more important than our divided beliefs. This is the path that will lead us forward in the 21st century. Let me close with the words of Unitarian minister Theodore Parker:
Be ours be a religion which, like sunshine, goes everywhere;
Its temple, all space;
Its shrine, the good heart;
Its creed, all truth;
Its ritual, works of love;
Its profession of faith, divine living.

DISCUSSION (beginning with Rabbi Joe Blair)

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Yom Kippur 5773 – Number Our Days

Posted on October 2, 2012 by Rabbi Joe

Yom Kippur 5773
Rabbi Joe Blair
Congregation Beth El, Harrisonburg VA
Temple House of Israel, Staunton VA
“Number our Days”

Shanah tovah, Chag Sameach.
Jews are crazy.
No, really.
In the New York Times for September 25th, 2012 – today/yesterday – in the NY Region section, there was an article by Joseph Berger which describes a large room set aside in the Bobov Hasids’ synagogue in Borough Park, Brooklyn, with medical equipment and cots set up so that about twenty people at a time who are too frail or too ill to be able to fast for Yom Kippur will be given intravenous nutrition drips to assist them so they won’t have to eat. They will lie on cots for 20 to 30 minutes at a time, receiving these fluids, then go back to the service. Last year, 200 people took part in this – more are expected this year, each saying that they had approval to do so from both a doctor and a rabbi. And it is not just there – the same service is offered in Hasidic communities in Williamsburg, NY, and other places. This, despite the fact that the ‘affliction of the soul’ prescribed for today does not specifically say fasting, and that rabbis have consistently held that preserving life trumps almost any other commandment, so those on critical medications, too frail, or in a condition that would be endangered by fasting are not only exempted from fasting, but actually obliged, required to eat.
And this extreme behavior, behaving in a fashion that can endanger life, seems to fly in the face of this holiday, when we are praying to be sealed in the book of life for a good year! How can we pray for life when flirting with death? Is this simply aberrant behavior? Not typical Jewish thought or practice? Completely outside the mainstream and the norm of Judaism today? Can we, should we just write these folks off as crazies, not like us, not representative of Jews and Judaism?
The short answer is, no. To understand why, we need to look at what Yom Kippur is, what it means and represents.

Aside from the fasting and sitting in shul, praying for forgiveness and for life for much of the day, the symbolism and meaning of Yom Kippur carry a very specific image and message. Here is some of what we abstain from doing on Yom Kippur:
eating
drinking
washing
annointing ourselves
sexual behaviors
study
working
And here are some things we do on Yom Kippur that are not usual:
refrain from wearing leather
refrain from wearing jewelry
wear a kittel or white robe
So I ask you – who else abstains from and/or does these things?
The dead.

The dead don’t eat, drink, wash, annoint, study, work, or engage in sexual behaviors, they don’t wear leather or jewelry, and traditionally they are dressed simply in a white linen or cotton shroud. In short, Yom Kippur is a day of rehearsal, a foretaste of our death.
Not that I want to be morbid or depressing! On the contrary, by giving us a day to be in touch with the reality that we will all one day die, we are sent back to life for the rest of this year with a rejuvenated sense of purpose, a reinvigorated desire to participate in lving, and a renewed appreciation for the precious gift of life. And maybe that will help us to appropriately “number our days”, as we say in the liturgy.
I want you to understand, however, that this is not a ‘one-day wonder’, not something that we recognize on Yom Kippur, and forget about the rest of the year. It is an opportunity for us to absorb this lesson, to take it to heart, and to act on it each time it appears before us. In that way, we will be enriched, and we can affect the world in which we live.
How do we do that?
It has to do in part with how we deal with life and death.

In life, we all know, there are those among us who become ill, or who are ‘unable to go out and come in’, in the words of Moses towards the end of his life, which we read just last Shabbat.
At that point, there is a mitzvah which is incumbent on all of us, the mitzvah of bikkur cholim, visiting the sick to comfort and cheer them. I will talk about this mitzvah more later this year, but for now, I simply point out that it is the obligation of every Jew to take this on.
When the person who is ill comes towards the end of their time, they enter a state called ‘goses’ – one who is presumed to be, technically, within 72 hours of death. Of course, we don’t really know specifically in most cases when death may come, or if the person will in fact rally and recover. Nonetheless, Jewish law prescribes that during this period of goses, the person is to be given all possible means to enhance their comfort – physical, emotional, and spiritual – but nothing that will disturb them is to be done in their presence or to them. The medical personnel, family, and community members are responsible to provide comfort and a peaceful environment, to the greatest degree possible, easing any concerns that the person may have in this time of transition.
Once the person has died, the family members enter a new status, called ‘aninut’. Their major focus is to prepare for the funeral of the deceased. They can do so themselves, or they can call on others to assist them.
Either way, there are in a special status or state, almost limbo, because their focus is still on the deceased and the honor due them, but they are obliged to also think about practical matters, things like a cemetery plot, which funeral home to deal with, what sort of funeral arrangements are to be made, how much it costs, an obituary, and who will take care of the arrangements.
This can be a really difficult time for the family. Those who are able to think ahead to their own death can ease this with pre-planning and leaving written instructions about what they want to happen. Again, I will talk about this more through the year, but not today.
Now we come to the heart of the process, and the place that the imagery and symbolism of Yom Kippur appear in this process.
Whether the body returns to and/or remains at home until the funeral, as in the past, or is taken to a funeral home prior to the funeral, as is more customary today, this is where the Chevrah Kadishah can enter the picture. The Chevrah Kadishah, or Holy Society, is a group, usually of volunteers, who will take on the task of performing the ritual of Taharah, purifying the body and preparing it for burial in a caring, traditional Jewish fashion. Some of the components of what they do include washing (both for cleanliness and ritually), combing the hair, cleaning the nails, drying the body, dressing it in shrouds, including tying the knots in a particular fashion, placing the body in a casket (if one is to be used), closing the casket, and reciting the liturgy that runs along with this entire process.
This is connected to Yom Kippur because the shrouds in which the deceased is dressed are modeled on the description of the clothing of the High Priest; the knots that are used are tied in a fashion that represents the letters of a name of God, as incorporated in the clothing of the High Priest; the preparations follow the sequence, and the liturgy used is drawn, in part, from the same sources as the liturgy of the High Holiday service where we describe and imagine the High Priest preparing to be ritually pure and ready to enter the Holy of Holies and encounter God. In a sense, we are readying this deceased person to be the High Priest, and to enter God’s presence.
As you might imagine, those in the Chevrah Kadishah generally take this task with great seriousness, and most see it as a way to honor the deceased, to serve the community, and to praise God.
We read that the High Priest did not go to the Tabernacle alone, but was accompanied by throngs of people as an honor guard. So too, with the deceased. Ideally, there is someone with the deceased from the time of death until the funeral, serving as Shomer (guard). In many cases, our community has been too small, and there have been too few who were able or willing to take on this role, but we have done the best we could. As with the High Priest, throngs do accompany the deceased – the process called levaya – on the way to enter the presence of God, by attending the funeral and the burial. The similarity to Yom Kippur ends with the funeral, when the deceased enters the holy of holies to encounter God, at the moment of burial. The deceased is remembered in the community and by loved ones through the mourning period, and on each of the holidays when Yizkor is recited, as well as the Yahrzeit – the anniversary of death.
With the conclusion of the funeral service, the attention of the community turns towards those who are living, whose status changes from ‘Aninut’ to ‘Aveilim’, mourners. The community takes on the mitzvah of ‘Nichum Aveilim’, comforting the mourners. This is when Shiva begins, the meal of condolence is provided, and community members come to the home of the mourners to show their support.

I am fairly sure that some of you have been experiencing an ‘ick’ factor today.
I realize that this topic is not to everyone’s taste, but let me share with you the view of a fellow student in the Gamliel Institute’s Chevrah Kadishah courses. Rick Light describes his participation with the Chevrah Kadishah as the joyous process of ‘mid-wifing a soul’ as it begins it’s journey of ascent. Whatever you may believe about what happens after death, this image is both beautiful, and powerful. Anyone who has ever had any experience with birth and ushering in new life knows that the process is not pristine, pain free, or easy, but the results are amazing and miraculous, and it is well worth what it took in the process.
In this light, the work of Chevrah Kadishah can be seen as both sad and joyous, as are so many of life’s liminal moments, those instants of transition and change. And in that way, the work of the Chevrah Kadishah shares both with the role of the Cohen Gadol, the High Priest, and with all of us on Yom Kippur.

I will close with the request that you think about learning about the work of the Chevrah Kadishah. Those who think it is something they would be able to take on, please speak to me. And those who are sure it is not for them, I hope, will consider asking that this ritual be performed for them at their own death, so that members of the community can express their care, their affection, and their desire to serve through this ritual, when that time comes. I am happy to respond to any questions you may have, to talk to you about this, and to answer as best I can whatever concerns you may have. Perhaps in this way, when we talk about ‘numbering our days’ we will mean not ‘counting our days,’ but ‘making our days count.’

It is customary that the members of the Chevrah Kadishah not be publicly named. I will follow that custom, but here, today, I offer my thanks publicly to each of them, and acknowledge the significant and meaningful role that they have undertaken in our community. They are few in number, but they have done important things that have meant a great deal. Chazak, Chazak, venitchazek. May they go from strength to strength, and may they be strengthened.
Similarly, may our community, and each of us, enter this new year ritually and spiritually pure, and be sealed for a good and sweet year.

Gmar Chatimah LeshanahTovah Umteukah!

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Praying with our feet – Rosh Hashanah 5773

Posted on October 2, 2012 by Rabbi Joe

Praying with our feet
Temple House of Israel, Staunton, VA
Temple Beth El, Harrisonburg, VA
10 Tishrei 5773
25/26 September 2012

Ten days ago, Jews around the world were preparing to celebrate Rosh HaShana. Many had spent hours in their kitchens preparing special dishes to welcome the New Year. Some had spent time readying the synagogue: preparing for a special oneg, changing the Torah covers to High Holy day “whites,” polishing the Torah breastplate and rimonim. Others were enjoying the presence of friends and family, telling stories of the year that has passed and remembering those with whom we shared precious days.

Some members of this community rearranged their Rosh HaShana eve to stand in solidarity with the members of the Islamic Association of the Shenandoah Valley at their modest center in Harrisonburg. As many of you know, just before our holiday, vandals defaced the IASV center, as well as a local church and a school. Rabbi Blair wrote a strong letter of support to the mosque leadership, and several of you, because of your connections with community members from your shared work serving the homeless, joined the hundreds of members of the larger Shenandoah Valley community with a clear message: we say no to hate.

We come here tonight, on this solemn Kol Nidre eve, to look within. Over the years, I have learned, from many of your examples, as well as from others, that the self reflection of these Days of Awe does not end when we conclude our prayers tomorrow evening. Rather, the work of our high holiday season, most powerfully articulated in the liturgy of Yom Kippur, this work begins within and then takes us into the world. We strengthen ourselves by repeating the prayers of our ancestors, and by adding the words of our hearts. And we are fortified to go from this sanctuary and into the world, taking the messages of this day and this season into our lives.

Those of you who pushed back—or forward—your Rosh HaShana plans so that you could stand with the IASV folks and others were, in the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, praying with your feet.i

For centuries, rabbis have used the High Holidays to encourage Jews to pray with their feet. Some rabbis have taught their faithful the details of Jewish law, halacha, to show the path that they should “walk.” (The words halacha, the way, and halicha, walking, are a favorite pun of our tradition.) In the last century, American Reform rabbis have urged their congregants to rescue European Jews, to engage in the epic civil rights struggle, to protest war and stand up for peace, to mobilize for the rescue and freedom of Soviet Jewry, to march for reproductive rights, and to recognize and welcome home LGBT Jews.

On this night, I would like us to turn our attention to a challenge that faces every contemporary American, a challenge that I believe we Jews must embrace as our own. We are living in a culture where fear is our first response to difference. For too many of us, natural curiosity and wonder about those who are different from us has been replaced by aversion, distance, anxiety or disinterest. The other is demonized, mocked, ridiculed or ignored. Too many Americans have lost our sense of decency, civility, and a sense of shared destiny.

And we are Jews! We are the people of the Book whose book, the Torah, tells us no less than 36 times that we must not oppress the stranger. Why? You can finish this sentence:
Because we were strangers in the land of Egypt.

We have been strangers in many lands. And so we should know the heart of the stranger. Every one of us in this sanctuary tonight came from somewhere else. We may have been, like Bruce Springsteen, born in the USA. But where were our parents or our grandparents or our great-grandparents born? Some of us might have to go back three or four or five or maybe even six generations, but unless our families can trace their history to the First People/Native Americans, all of us came to America from somewhere else. And that is, of course, true for most Jews across the world. In fact, being a stranger is what our foundational Jewish story is ABOUT. Adam and Eve left Gan Eden, Cain became a wanderer, Noah left his land, and Abraham and Sarah started over in a new place. And we Jews have been wandering ever since.

When we actually settle down, we are challenged by our tradition to be mindful of others whose arrival may be more recent than ours, whose assimilation may be more challenging than ours, whose acculturation may be different than ours.

As we stood at the beginning of this twenty-first century, we Jews could look back at a successful century of becoming Americans, over one hundred years of becoming settled and then taking our place as leaders in welcoming and insuring democracy for others. Many of us gathered here tonight continue this essential social justice work.

Yet tonight we remember the wisdom found in Pirkei Avot: “It is not up to you to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it.” Tonight we are reminded of the urgency of the work of welcoming the stranger. No other commandment is repeated so many times in the Torah.

How many of us really know “the heart of the stranger”? How many of us are engaged, in a serious way, with someone who is different than we are? How many of us have been in the home of or shared a meal with or visited a place of worship where we were the stranger? And how have we considered, thought through, and shared that experience with others, reflecting on what we have learned, and how we have grown?

Five years ago, Rabbi Eric Yoffie, the president of the Union for Reform Judaism, was invited to address ISNA, the Islamic Society of North America. Yoffie realized, as he prepared for that meeting, that few in his community, our community, are either knowable about or comfortable with our Muslims neighbors. Yoffie reached out to Ingrid Mattson, ISNA’s president, and together they initiated a educational project to bring Muslims and Jews together to learn about one another’s history and stories. And Rabbi Yoffie invited Dr. Mattson to address the URJ Biennial later that year.

Our URJ convention delegates passed a resolution that read, in part:
“We recognize that there exists in our community a profound ignorance about Islam, along with a real desire to learn about what moves and motivates Muslims today.” The resolution then urged the 900 congregations of our movement to engage in a project entitled “Children of Abraham: Jews and Muslims in Conversation.”ii

Many congregations embarked on this study program. Other congregations continued programs they had previously initiated with Muslim or Christian communities with whom they shared a neighborhood, or a social justice commitment, or a dream.

I have learned from many of you that real connections, real relationships change us. And when we are able to get out of our own way and make connections with others who may initially seem very different than we are, we may be surprised and delighted to discover that what binds us together as human beings, as Americans, as the children of a gracious and loving Source—that our common humanity is always, finally, much more powerful than our differences.

But such learning takes time and care and persistence and patience. And laughter and often many shared meals.

We are now ten days into our new year. Next Rosh HaShana, the 1st of Tishrei 5774, falls on September 5, 2013. What this means is that —we have three hundred and thirty-six days until next Rosh Hashana. Here is my modest proposal.

If we are to know the heart of the stranger, let us begin tonight. Are you, in the next 336 days, willing to take some concrete action to reduce the distance between yourself and an other? Our tradition is built on the power of stories. Begin with a book, fiction or non-fiction, that opens a world of difference. And then seek out an individual whose story may have touched your heart, both because of and in spite of what seems to divide you. Make a connection, by email or snail mail or in person. Then expand that connection, sharing more, eating together, learning about one another’s families, and choices, and lives. Working on a project together, sharing a book, joining in one another’s celebrations.

Stand in the place of the stranger, and perhaps you will make a friend.

I am suggesting that each of us takes one small step and meets an “other.” Rabbi Yoffie and Dr. Mattson suggested that we begin with communities of Muslims and Jews. I suggest that we begin with individuals. Because as all of us knows, we are changed by the individuals we are privileged to come to know. Relationships happen one by one by one.

Last week, I attended a gathering of feminist scholar in Boston. As I spoke with Aysha, a young Muslim professor of religion, she shared this part of her story. “I was moving into apartment about to begin my doctoral studies when 9/11 happened. I realized then,” she said, “ that I would have to change my field of study.” She explained that she had devoted her subsequent scholarly work to interpreting Islamic texts. She is an American and a Muslim. She feels it is her responsibility to help those with whom she lives to better understand her and her community. Aysha’s words entered my heart. The next day, another professor, Zayn, also a Muslim, asked those of us who gathered to learn from her research, “Do you realize what it is like to be always on the defensive for being a Muslim woman?”

Zayn’s words reminded me of a Talmudic dictum that we must know not only what causes us pain, but what causes our neighbor’s pain.iii Zayn’s words jolted me into the realization that I do not know how hard it is to be a Muslim living in America after 9/11. My meeting with Aysha and Zayn challenged me. How can I begin to listen to their stories, and to the stories of others whose lives are very different from mine?

We begin by opening our hearts to ourselves. And then, with work, we can open our hearts to one another. In this modest way, one of us at a time, we work towards improving the world. Seeking out another and hearing another into speech, is, I believe, what Rabbi Heschel was referring to when he speaks about praying with our feet. When we reach out our hands, when we open our minds and hearts, our feet will follow. Each of us can take our place on a journey to understanding. And this New Year is a propitious time to begin.

Avinu Malkenu, hanenu v’anenu, ki ain banu ma’asim.
Aseh imanu tzedakah v’hesed v’hoshieinu.

This sentence concludes each collection of requests that we repeat throughout these days. Yet it may be so familiar that we may fail to truly listen to the words. This sentence serves as a summation of the cascade of requests that we place before the Holy One. Here’s the translation in our Gates of Repentence:

Avinu Malkenu, be gracious and answer us, for we have little merit. Treat us generously and with kindness, and be our help.

Another translation: Avinu Malkenu, have mercy on us, answer us, for our deeds are insufficient; deal with us charitably and lovingly, and redeem us.iv

Even though we come before you empty-handed. with “little merit,” with “insufficient deeds,” even so, “treat us generously and with kindness, deal with us charitably and lovingly, and be our help, redeem us.”

Each year, we come before God as if empty-handed. On this Yom Kippur eve, I propose that we commit ourselves to a modest effort in this coming year: to meet and to get to know another, one who is different, one whose story will help us see our own with new perspective. Come to know another, and each of us will return stronger to our own families, and our own communities. One by one by one, we can work towards changing our fearful, embattled, divisive world. We may still feel, a year from now, that our deeds are insufficient. But we will have made an effort “in good faith,” because of our faith. And one year from now, when we gather again in this sacred space, perhaps we’ll share our stories of what we have learned, and how we have grown. And perhaps we’ll share part of our celebration of the new year with one of our new friends.

Join me in reaching beyond the confines of our lives and discovering the heart of the stranger. Join me in praying with our feet. Together we can forge paths of greater understanding, deepen our appreciation for others’ gifts, and work towards building a world for our children and our children’s children where our hopes and dreams of true justice and peace will be realized.

Ken y’hi ratzon. May this be so.

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