There was a long process before I could be approved to volunteer at the Center. I made my first trip to visit its residents during Passover last month. I visited again today, meeting with three adult Jewish men who have been found "not guilty by reason of insanity" (NGRI) by a Florida State Court.

There is a lot of misunderstanding about the insanity defense and what happens to people who are determined to be not responsible for their actions due to mental illness. Many people believe  that  defendants who are found NGRI are allowed to walk out of the courtroom and reenter normal society. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The three men I met with today all have been charged with violent crimes. After being found NGRI, they were sent to the Treatment Center, or other similar facilities. Technically, the Center is not a prison, but it might as well be one. It is a maximum security facility with lots of guards, lots of tall fences with razor wire, and lots of heavy metal doors that can only be opened by a security guard watching over a video monitor. Trying to escape is a bad idea. The facility is surrounded by nothing but miles of flat land with little cover, and plenty of alligators and poisonous snakes. 

The biggest difference between this facility and a prison is that the residents (that's what they call them) receive psychotherapy and medications to treat their illnesses. They also receive training on how the legal system works. This is especially important for residents who have been determined to be "not competent to proceed to trial" (NCP). The goal of the Treatment Center is to make them competent, so the Center teaches them about the charges they face in court, what those charges mean, and how the court system will deal with them. 

It is understandable that the three Jewish men with whom I met today are not very happy about being in the Treatment Center. They are glad not to be in a state prison, where there is more violence and where their mental health problems would go mostly untreated. Their fondest hope is to be transferred to a lower security facility, or, even better, to a halfway house where they could begin a transition to freedom. That day could come in a few years for some of them, maybe sooner, or maybe never. Not knowing how long they will have to wait for freedom is very difficult for them.

I spent about an hour with the men today. We talked about this week's Torah portion (Behar-Bechukotai), especially the part about how all Hebrew slaves in ancient Israel were released during the jubilee, which came every fifty years. The idea of having a definite date of liberation, even one many years in the future, would be appealing to these men.

I also answered their questions about Judaism. For the most part, they asked the same types of questions I hear all the time from people who want to know more about Judaism. One resident asked me if the tattoo on his shoulder would prevent his body from being buried in a Jewish cemetery. (No, that's a myth.) Another resident asked, "When did Israel last have a Jewish king?" (First century c.e.). "Could there ever be another king of Israel?" (Depends on whom you ask).

The conversation got to be the most interesting when we talked about divine reward and punishment. It is not surprising that these men wanted to know what Judaism teaches about God's punishment for sin. Does Judaism teach that sinners are punished with hellfire? Why do good people suffer in this lifetime? Do we live in a just universe? Does God not care about the suffering of the innocent?

If you are sitting in a prison after the state has told you that you are not guilty and that you are not responsible for your actions, these questions become rather poignant, wouldn't you say? People with mental health problems often feel like they live in a metaphoric prison—held captive by a mind that inhibits normal interaction with other people, distrusted and scorned by people who fear them. In addition to that, these men live in a  real live realty of razor wire and locked doors. Well, it's enough to make anyone crazy. 

Clearly, the Treatment Center is the right place for these men, even if it is depressing for them to be confined without much freedom. They are receiving treatment for their illnesses. They are safe. They are being cared for by a professional staff that treats them with courtesy and all the dignity possible under the circumstances. They even get visits from local clergy, if that helps. 

Still, no one would volunteer or choose to live in the Treatment Center. According to the state of Florida, these men did not willfully choose to do the things that got them here. Yet, here they are. And, I have to add, it's a good thing, too.

Do we live in a just universe? I'm not sure anyone can answer that question for these men. I'm just grateful for the opportunity to help people who could really use some. 


Other Posts on This Topic:
Ekev: Deuteronomy vs. Job
Behar-Bechukotai: Cycles of Time
Tazria: Newborn Spirituality

In last week's Torah portion, Emor, we learned about a larger cycle, also built on the number seven, that we are experiencing right now. The Counting of the Omer is a "a week of weeks" (seven times seven days) that connects the festivals of Passover and Shavuot. In this week's Torah portion, Behar-Bechukotai, the number seven radiates into an even larger cycle, the cycle of seven years that culminates in the Sabbatical Year. 

For six years you plant your field and six years you prune your vineyard and harvest their produce. But in the seventh year there will be a complete rest for the land, a Shabbat for Adonai. You shall not plant your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap the aftergrowth of your harvest or gather the grapes of your untrimmed vines. It shall be a year of complete rest for the land. (Leviticus 25:3-5)

Seven years is a long time. In our society, which seems to have a short attention span, we do not really have any major institutions that run on that long of a cycle. Our presidential elections and the Olympic Games run on four-year cycles, which seems to be about as long as we can focus on anything. We do have a national census on a ten-year cycle, but that does not command the attention of an entire society the way that elections do…and certainly not the way that a society would be focused on a national commitment to refrain from planting and harvesting food for a full year.

There is a scholarly debate about whether the cycle of the Sabbatical Year was ever observed in ancient Israel the way it is described in Leviticus. It does seem dangerous. The Torah promises that a year of extra abundance would proceed the Sabbatical year to provide enough food. But what of the surrounding nations that could take advantage of the Sabbatical Year to attack the nation while it is vulnerable? There are those who say that the Torah presents the practice more for its ideals than for practical implementation. What is that ideal? The point of the Sabbatical year is stated plainly in the text. God says, "The land is Mine, and you are foreigners residing with Me" (Leviticus 25:23). 

This idea is stretched even further in another cycle, seven times as long, also presented in this week's Torah portion. In the year that followed the end of seven Sabbatical Years (a total of 49 years) there was an extra year added to the cycle (a fiftieth year) that was called the Yovel (usually translated as "Jubilee Year"). In that year, not only were the fields left fallow for a second year in a row, all the fields that had been sold in the previous fifty years were returned to the original owner. All Hebrew slaves were freed in the Yovel.

As a side note, one cannot help notice the common theme in the Torah of cycles of time in the pattern of "seven plus one." The seven-day festival of Sukkot is followed by the one-day festival of Sh'mini Atzeret on the eighth day. The Counting of the Omer is seven weeks followed by an extra day to reach the festival of Shavuot on the fiftieth day. The Yovel is the largest "seven plus one" pattern, with an extra, fiftieth year to cap off the cycle of seven seven-year cycles. There must be a reason…

The words from this week's Torah portion that introduce the Yovel also are of interest for their connection to American history. "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof" (Leviticus 25:10), is the biblical quotation engraved upon the Liberty Bell that announced American independence from the British Monarchy in 1776. 

Ironically, though, we think of the Liberty Bell as a symbol of autonomy—the right to live as we choose to live. In the Torah, it is clear that the message of the Yovel year is, again, just the opposite. All of the earth is God's and God makes the rules; we cannot permanently own anything.

There is something quite beautiful about these large cycles in time, whether or not they were ever observed exactly as they are described in the Torah. They acknowledge that the earth has its own integrity and its own need for rest. "Owning" a piece of land does not entitle any human being to use it however he or she wishes. At best, we may have a piece of land temporarily assigned to us, but even that cannot undermine our obligation to treat the land with respect and give it the year of rest that is sacred to God. 

The same, of course, is true of human lives. We cannot be owned. We do not even own our own lives. In a cycle that takes up most of a typical human lifespan, we are reminded that our existence is temporary and beyond our control. Our highest aspiration in life, therefore, should not be to amass wealth or power, but rather to do joyfully all that we can to serve the higher purpose for which we were made. 

Our lives do not belong to us. We belong to God. Perhaps that is the lesson that we rehearse in small and large cycles throughout our lives. Yet, it requires a lifetime to learn it completely.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Behar: Do Not Wrong One Another
Bechukotai: Being Commanded, Choosing Joy

The president later went further to justify his position in religious terms. He said, "Obviously this position may be considered to put [Michelle and me] at odds with the views of others but, you know, when we think about our faith, the thing at root that we think about is, not only Christ sacrificing himself on our behalf, but it's also the Golden Rule, you know, treat others the way you would want to be treated" (paraphrasing Leviticus 19:18, "Love your fellow as yourself").

Predictably, this has set off a torrent of statements from religious conservatives who oppose marriage rights for gays and lesbians. Just as the president did, they have claimed that their position is rooted in the Bible.            

The Rev. Bryant Wright, president of the Southern Baptist Convention, called Obama's statements "a calculated, politically expedient decision that completely ignores the biblical foundation of marriage."  The Rev. Leith Anderson, president of the National Association of Evangelicals, said, "The evangelical community is broadly committed to define marriage as between one man and one woman and will not accept an unbiblical definition."

Each side claims that their position is informed by the Bible. Can they both be right? What, exactly, does the Bible say about marriage and homosexuality? Does the Bible define marriage, as Rev. Anderson states, as "one man and one woman"?

Not much and not really. 

Both the Hebrew Bible and the Greek Scriptures (which Christians call the "Old Testament" and the "New Testament") have opinions and laws regarding marriage, but there is no one, consistent view throughout. What is clear, though, is that the biblical view of marriage is very much unlike modern conceptions of marriage. 

For example, the idea of fidelity in marriage only works in one direction in the Bible. The sin of adultery is limited to the case of a man who takes another man’s wife. Because the Bible permits polygamy, a man cannot commit adultery by having multiple sex partners, as long as none of them is married to another man (Leviticus 20:10).

Marriage, in some parts of the Bible, is defined by nationality. In the books of Ezra and Nehemiah, marriage is exclusively limited to the union of two Israelites. All other marriages were null and void. (Ezra 9:12, Nehemiah 9:2). 

Also, marriage in the Bible could be coerced. The book of Deuteronomy defines rules for a man to acquire as wife a woman captured in battle (Deuteronomy 21:10-14). There are circumstances in which a man is required to marry a woman whom he has raped (Deuteronomy 22:28-29).

Contemporary Judaism and Christianity do not accept marriage as it is defined in the Bible. Both traditions, over the centuries, have created new models for marriage in which both partners mutually agree to marry and in which both partners are bound by oaths of fidelity. To claim a single "biblical" or "traditional" definition of marriage, as have the opponents of equal marriage, is to invent an idealized past and to deny thousands of years of change.

And the change and adaptation are ongoing. Marriage today is not the same institution as it was even two hundred years ago, let alone two thousand. Before the Civil War, most states in the United States gave married women little control over the property they brought into a marriage. A woman's rights to buy, sell and to keep the money she earned was given to the husband upon marriage. Part of the effective definition of marriage in that era was the acquisition by a man of the wealth and livelihood of his wife. Times do change, and so does marriage.

Some opponents of equal marriage claim that marriage between gay and lesbian couples violates the Bible's denunciation of sexual relations between two men. Indeed, Leviticus does say that for a man "to lie with a man, in the manner of lying with a woman," is an "abhorrence" or an "abomination" (to'eivah in Hebrew; Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13). This is a strong condemnation, but it is not the only time the word is used in the Bible. 

Other practices were equally abhorrent to the Bible's culture of more than 2,000 years ago. The word to'eivah is used to revile the eating of shellfish (Leviticus 11:10), a woman wearing men's clothing (Deuteronomy 22:5), a man remarrying a woman he previously had divorced (Deuteronomy 24:4), and the practice of predicting the future from signs (Deuteronomy 18:9-12), to name a few. There certainly are religious communities that observe these prohibitions strictly to this day. I, myself, do not eat biblically prohibited food like shrimp and lobster, but I would not want to see those foods banned for everyone. I am quite certain that we will not see religious conservatives filing legislation to ban crab cakes and pants suits as "abhorrences." 

Central to the faith of many religious people today is the concept of continuing revelation. As human beings continue to learn about our world, we continue to develop new understandings of the Divine will. Slavery, for example, is ordained by the Bible, but it is universally condemned today as a violation of religious values. Many today similarly see the need to reconsider the ancient attitudes towards homosexuality expressed in the Bible. 

Will legal acceptance of equal marriage damage the institution of marriage? Quite the contrary. Marriage strengthens society as a whole. We want people to get married. We want all people to formalize their loving relationships so they will benefit from the support of the community. We want to impress people with the serious nature of the marriage commitment. Denying gays and lesbians the right to legal marriage sends the wrong message. It promotes a society in which marriage is "optional" for people who share their lives. It weakens marriage both for homosexuals and for heterosexuals. 

Six states currently recognize marriage for gay and lesbian couples:  New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Massachusetts, the first state to legalize marriage for these couples, has the lowest divorce rate of any state in the Union (50th of the 50 states). The other states that recognize equal marriage rank 47th, 40th, 46th and 27th. Marriage is doing quite well in those states. Of the fourteen states with the highest divorce rates, all of them ban same-sex couples from marrying.

And what of the claim that marriage between gay and lesbian couples is harmful to children? The question, I believe, is, "Which children?" Will the thousands of children in the United State whose parents are same-sex couples benefit from a legal system that refuses to recognize their family? Will their lives be better without the right to health care from one parent's insurance? Will they be better off because one of their parents cannot visit them in the hospital? Or will they profit from a society that says that the people who love them, raise them and take care of them are not really married at all? Honestly? 

Who would benefit by outlawing these marriages? It seems that the opponents of marriage equality believe they can legislate same-sex couples and their families out of existence. It is not so. Families with gay and lesbian parents are part of our communities. They pay taxes, go to houses of worship and send their kids to school. Laws may unfairly discriminate against them, but these families are not going to disappear. 

Finally, this is not a conflict that pits religious Americans versus secular Americans. Wherever there have been proposals to prevent gays and lesbians from marrying, the opposition has included numerous religious laypeople and their clergy. The supporters of same-sex marriage rights include clergy and laity of Congregationalists, American Baptists, Episcopalians, Jews, Unitarians, Methodists and many other faith groups. For these people of faith, the defense of the civil marriage rights for same-sex couples is a matter of religious conviction. 

I respect the rights of those who do not recognize same-sex marriages as “holy matrimony” within their religious traditions. As a member of the clergy, I myself have refused to officiate at weddings that do not meet my religious standards. However, I would not seek to outlaw those marriages that I or my denomination would not solemnize. In a free society, no one religious perspective should be allowed to trample on the rights of others. 

People will pick and choose the biblical verses that suit them when arguing about the right to marry. For me, the only relevant religious principle is the one that says that human beings are created in the image of God. That means that whether people are born gay or straight, they all are due the same level of respect and civil rights in civil society. No people should be considered to be "mistakes" because of the way that God has chosen to make them. 

The counting of the forty-nine days (a week of weeks) from Passover until the day before the festival of Shavuot has been imbued with different meanings over the course of Jewish history. In the days of the First Temple, its was primarily agricultural—a way to set the date of harvest festivals. The later rabbis of the Talmud made it a period of semi-mourning in memory of Torah students killed by the Romans. In Kabbalah, the Counting of the Omer became a mystical journey through forty-nine gates of divine emanations to reach the transcendent moment in which Torah is received from Mount Sinai on Shavuot. 

Last year, I wrote a post for each week of the Counting of the Omer to describe my journey through the mystical associations of each day. The first week is devoted to the divine emanation of Chesed, or "lovingkindness." The second week is focused on G'vurah, understood as "strength" and "discipline." The third week is Tiferet, the emanation of "harmony," "balance" and "splendor." The fourth week takes us to Netzach, meaning "eternity" and "endurance." The fifth week is about Hod for "humility." The sixth week is based in Yesod, the emanation of "foundation," "groundedness" and "connection." Finally, the seventh week we reach up into Malchut, "sovereignty," "nobility" and "leadership."

Today is the thirty-third day of the Counting of the Omer, the fifth day of the fifth week. It is a semi-holiday called Lag B'Omer. The "Lag" is an acronym in Hebrew for the number 33. (The letter Lamed = 30; Gimel = 3). Like the Omer period itself, Lag B'Omer has many meanings. In Israel, it is celebrated with bonfires and outdoor games. Lag B'Omer also is regarded as the yahrtzeit, the anniversary of the death, of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. That association gives Lag B'Omer great mystical importance.

According to tradition, Rabbi Shimon was the author of the Zohar, the greatest book of Jewish mysticism. He also is the central character of the book. A famous passage in the Zohar  (III, 287b -296b) tells how Rabbi Shimon made his final revelation of the Torah’s secrets to his disciples on the night he died, Lag B'Omer. The passage is known as the Idra Zuta, and it describes how Rabbi Shimon did not just die a normal death that night. He left this world in a torrent of supernatural fire that surrounded him as the words of his revelation came pouring out of him in ecstasy. His disciples heard his words, but they were unable to reach him through the fire.

"The light that is revealed is called the Garment of the King," declared Rabbi Shimon from the midst of the divine fire. In language that is obscured by mystical terms that each resonate with multiple meanings, Rabbi Shimon says that all that we know and experience about God is nothing more than an outer garment that hides an unrevealed truth beyond our conception. "The light within, within is a concealed light. In that light dwells the Ineffable One, the Unrevealed."

Finally, Rabbi Shimon's revelation was crowned with the greatest truth of all about the "High Spark," the most hidden truth that lies at the foundation of all reality. Rabbi Shimon cried out, "There is nothing but the High Spark, hidden, unrevealed!” If we were able to truly know and understand God, we also would know that there is nothing but God. Everything that appears to exist is merely a ripple upon the surface of God. That is the great truth, the only truth, that lies at the center of all.

On this day every year, tens of thousands of people travel to Meron, the place where Shimon bar Yochai is said to be buried, to celebrate the revelation of all revelations.

I led a group today of seven 15-year-old Confirmation students and five of their parents on a trip to Jewish sites in Miami. The day was a great success, if I do say so myself. We travelled to the Holocaust Memorial of Miami, the Jewish Museum of Florida, and Temple Beth Sholom of Miami Beach. We finished off the day by going to a concert in West Palm Beach by the Jewish reggae artist, Matisyahu. 

One of my goals for this trip was to give these young people a taste of life in a large, urban Jewish community. For the most part, the Confirmation class students have lived their lives in a place where the Jewish community is very small and the opportunities for Jewish experiences are scant. I wanted them to see that, just two hours to our south, there is another kind of Jewish world. It is a world inhabited by tens of thousands of Jews who live in relatively close proximity to each other. The culture of Miami Beach is inseparable from the large, thriving Jewish community that has been there for more than seventy years. Jewish food, Jewish music, Jewish learning and Jewish people are to be found on every city block.

Here are some of the highlights of our trip:

• At the Holocaust Memorial, we heard a concentration camp survivor, Isaak Klein, tell his story. WIth frightening details, he told us of his experience as a boy in the cattle cars, the unspeakable misery of the camps, the death march from Auschwitz, and the inhuman medical experiments of Josef Mengele that he was forced to endure. 

• Our trip to the Jewish Museum coincided with a visit from Rep. Debbie Wasserman Schultz,  the first Jewish Congresswoman ever elected from Florida. That fit nicely into the theme of celebrating the role of Jews in the history of the state of Florida.

• At Temple Beth Sholom we met with senior Rabbi Gary A. Glickstein, who talked about the history of the very diverse Jewish community in Miami Beach, and Rabbi Amy L. Morrison, who took us on a tour of the building and talked about some of the congregation's innovative projects. I was particularly impressed by the way the congregation has put substantial resources into reaching out to twenty-something and thirty-something Jews in the community with no effort or expectation of recruiting them to become dues-paying members of the congregation. This congregation is thinking outside the paradigms that close many young, unaffiliated Jews out of Jewish learning and Jewish experience.

Of course, I hope that the students will remember this day for a while. I hope that it made an impression on them about the possibilities of Jewish community beyond the limited experience they have had in our small (but lively!) congregation. I hope that it makes them think about Judaism as a fun, vibrant, living and changing tradition—one that they can help shape in the future with their own Jewish choices. I hope that this trip might inspire them to look for new ways to connect with Jewish community, even after they leave their parents' homes and find their own place in the world. 

It's May Fourth and I find myself listening, as I always do on this date, to a song from more than forty years ago, wondering. Miller, Krause, Schroeder and Scheuer would be in their early sixties if they were alive today.

It happened when I was too young to understand, but I went to college in northern Ohio ten years later. In those days, in that place, the tin soldiers still left a long shadow.

I wonder how, or if, to talk to my children about it. What lessons would I want them to learn? 

People who seem normal and well meaning can turn fanatically cruel if they are given a reason to hate and fear. 

Speaking truth, even today, is a dangerous business, but it is what we are obligated to do. 

Elections have consequences.

The rabbis warned us about power and what can come of it. They warned the leaders of their day to love service to others, but to fear the power that comes with authority (Pirkei Avot 1:10). We have seen, in our own country, in my own lifetime, how twisted power can become, how ideology without compassion can turn into murderous brutality. I fear it could happen again.

How many more?

I know that those two words can seem contradictory. We tend to think of relaxation as a state of internal quiet, and meditation does help a person calm his or her stormy emotions and thoughts and find a place of repose. For me, though, meditation is about more than just putting the motor of my mind into neutral. It is about aiming for a deep place within that is fundamentally, exuberantly joyful.

I believe that happiness is the normal state of human beings. For me, meditation is about a feeling of "aliveness." It is a state of being attuned at at a heightened level to the miracle of our existence and to the pleasure of inhabiting a body that sustains us from moment to moment. How could that not be happy? How could it be that in our most basic state—once we clear away the worries and anxieties of everyday life, the striving and the struggle to make sense of things—that we are not joyfully amazed by just being alive?

The meditation service I lead begins with a brief relaxation exercise in which we take inventory of the body—step by step, relaxing and releasing the feet, legs, hips, back, belly, shoulders, neck, head and face. I then guide people into focusing on the breath and allowing the mind to become curious about the flow of air, in and out, and how breathing is experienced throughout the body. I then direct meditators to notice how the mind—doing what it does naturally—will drift away into memories, thoughts, images, stories and other distractions. I ask people to notice the mind, pay attention to how it does what it does, to let go of the distractions and gently come back to focussing on the breath. 

(There is an audio file of a meditation service at the bottom of this post that you are welcome to use. It's about 31 minutes long and includes about fifteen minutes of silence that starts at about 15:00. The chant at the beginning and the end is a Satmar niggun I learned from Rabbi Michael Strassfeld. I have practiced Jewish meditation with several teachers, but the guidance of Rabbi Sheila Weinberg is closest to my heart.)

Following this general mindfulness meditation, at our Friday morning service I also lead a meditation specific to the particular day and its associations in the Jewish calendar. Often it is based on an idea or a story in the weekly Torah portion.

I won't pretend that meditation is easy. I often find it hard to motivate myself to sit and practice meditation in the morning. Having a group to do it with certainly makes it easier. Think of it as a spiritual practice, like yoga. Think of it as something that you do for yourself, like running, that requires a commitment, but that pays off in the long run.

That "pay-off" for me has been a greater capacity to pay attention to my own state of mind, and that has helped me to be calmer in difficult circumstances, to listen better to other people, and to be patient and open-hearted. Not in any great, overwhelming way, but in a million small and barely noticeable ways, it has helped me to become happier.

Other Posts on This Topic:
Meditation

In the film, bar and bat mitzvah students are depicted as bored from memorizing Hebrew they don't understand. Even the rabbi is skewered as a pompous figure who cares more about his book tour and television appearances than actually teaching Torah. Of course, the movie exaggerates all of this to make its points, but it is funny because the caricatures are recognizable.

In 2007, Rabbi Eric Yoffie, President of the Union for Reform Judaism, spoke to the Reform Movement's biennial convention in San Diego and bemoaned how Shabbat morning worship has been "appropriated by the Bar and Bat Mitzvah families," and how congregants "who come to pray with the community often sit in the back of the sanctuary and feel like interlopers in their own congregation." Ouch. We do seem to have gotten seriously off-track if the experience of becoming a bar or bat mitzvah has turned into a circus of overblown egos that actually keeps faithful worshippers away from the synagogue.

This is not what becoming a bar mitzvah was meant to be. 

The origin of bar mitzvah is in a simple statement from Pirkei Avot. One of the sages teaches the appropriate ages for different milestones in life. "Age thirteen," he says, "is for fulfilling the mitzvot (commandments)" (M. Avot 5:21). By tradition, a boy at age thirteen is called up for an aliyah during a regular worship service. Typically, the child also chants one or more of the sections of the weekly Torah reading and the haftarah reading from the Hebrew Prophets. All of this is a way for the child to publicly acknowledge acceptance of the obligation to do mitzvot. He is called a bar mitzvah, Aramaic for, "one who embraces the commandment." 

(Despite the common misuse, "bar mitzvah" is not the name of a ceremony. The bar mitzvah is the person, not the service. "Bat mitzvah" is the feminine form. The plural of bar mitzvah is "b'nei mitzvah." The form, "b'nei mitzvot," is incorrect. Also, "bar mitzvah" is not a verb. You cannot be "bar mitzvahed." All Jewish children become b'nei mitzvah when they come of age, whether or not they celebrate the occasion at a worship service.)

In a perfect storm of religious schools that want to "get serious about standards" and parents who want to put their child on a stage, the "Bar Mitzvah Service" has become something distant from its original intention. Instead of a rite of initiation into the mitzvot, the service has become a kind of recital performance that caps years of preparation. Often, the child is expected to lead much of the service. That may be appropriate for the rare thirteen-year-old who is able to lead a congregation in worship with understanding and competence, but few actually are. No wonder most of the synagogue regulars stay away.

I should not complain too much. I have been fortunate to serve congregations that manage to keep the Torah, not the egos, at the center of the service. Maybe it is because they have been off the beaten path, on the outskirts of the urban American Jewish scene, that these congregations have a better perspective on the meaning of a Jewish child coming of age.

So, what does this have to do with this week's Torah portion? When a young man or young woman reaches the age of accepting the mitzvot, the celebration is about choosing to live a holy life. This week's Torah portion contains explicit instructions on what that means. 

Parashat Kedoshim (the second half of this week's Torah double header) opens with the verse, "You shall be holy, for I, Adonai your God, am holy" (Leviticus 19:2). It concludes with, "You shall be holy to Me, for I, Adonai, am holy" (Leviticus 20:26). In between those bookends, the portion offers instructions on the need for employers to treat their workers justly, on being honest in business, on treating rich and poor alike, on not taking advantage of the ignorance of others, on not indulging in inappropriate sexuality, and on respecting ones parents and the elderly. 

The portion includes some of the most powerful ethical teachings of the Torah, such as, "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Leviticus 19:18). The emphasis is on being holy by being a mensch. 

These are the lessons we want every bar and bat mitzvah to remember for decades to come, long after the service and the party are over. We want them to feel that they have entered into a covenant that offers them the opportunity to live lives of holiness by doing what is right, honorable, and just, even as they live in a world with many temptations to do otherwise. Becoming a bar or bat mitzvah should not be about leading more of the service than the neighbor's kid. It should not be about throwing a lavish party. It certainly should not be about the end of Jewish learning when it has only just begun

Becoming a bar or bat mitzvah is an invitation. It is an invitation to live a holy life.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Writing a Word of Torah
Kedoshim: Being Holy

This is the talk I gave tonight at the Havdalah service that included my installation as the Spiritual Leader of Temple Beit HaYam in Stuart, Florida.

First of all, I want to say, Thank you. 

Thank you to Cantor Beth for bringing your gift of music to this occasion. Thank you to Steve Rozansky for organizing tonight’s event, for your kind words, and for being my partner as the president of this congregation through my first nine months here. Thank you to our other speakers from the congregation this evening, Doris Etelson, Tara Zweben and Joan Burton. I so much appreciate, not just your words, but all the things you, the Board and general membership have done to welcome me to Temple Beit HaYam. I must also thank Linda Oliver, Temple Beit HaYam’s event planner extraordinaire, who has set the decor, the tone and the everything for tonight’s celebration.

I want to thank Rabbi Jonathan Kendall who has made this congregation his life work and, without whom, none of us would be standing in this room today. 

Of course, I also want to thank my friend and colleague, Rabbi Michael Birnholz, who was not only gracious in accepting the invitation to be our guest speaker today, he took it on as a personal challenge to make it as meaningful and pertinent as possible. Rabbi Birnholz and I have gotten to know each other since last summer, primarily in our work together on the Treasure Coast Jewish Film Festival. He has become a trusted friend, advisor and Cracker Barrel breakfast buddy. Thank you, Michael, for your kind words, your penetrating insights, your good humor and your friendship.

Now, for the rebuttal.

Inevitably, the question is raised: Why wait nine months to install a new rabbi? You have attended High Holiday services with me. We have celebrated Chanukah, Purim and Passover together. Your children have spent nearly a full year in religious school with me. If “installation” is the time when the delivery truck pulls up to your house and the new dishwasher, refrigerator or air conditioning unit is put in, surely I already have been plugged in and mounted, happily serving Temple Beit HaYam.

Well, yes and no.  We have gotten to know each other, but we still have a long way to go before anyone will regard me as a fixture here. This installation service can be regarded as both the “end of the beginning,” and the beginning of the next phase of the process in which we form a lasting covenant as congregation and rabbi.

It is altogether fitting that we have waited until this point in the process. If we had done this installation last summer, it would have been a ritual in which I would have greeted people I did not know and the congregation would have greeted a rabbi that it did not know—very lovely but not very real. By waiting some time after we have had a chance to get to know one another, we are making this installation one that has real meaning, the formal declaration that this rabbi and this community belong together in mutual understanding, respect and joy.

Looking back at the last nine months, I see the beginning of a promising future to complement this congregation’s brilliant past. Temple Beit HaYam was founded nineteen years ago by Jews who loved living on the Treasure Coast, but who knew that the experience would not be complete without a place to express themselves as Jews. This congregation was founded to give our children a place to learn their tradition and to celebrate their lifecycle events. It was founded to provide a place for us to come together for meaningful worship and social gathering. It was founded so that, together, we could make the Jewish community in our region known and recognized by the broader community as a force for doing good and for representing our faith and our people with pride. That vision is still present in this congregation and it is still growing. 

We now have about 100 students enrolled in our religious school. This year, we made improvements to our program by stepping up our commitment to training our existing teachers in classroom management skills and by bringing in more teachers with extensive classroom experience. We have extended our commitment to education by offering more to our adult learners. Our Temple’s commitment to education is alive and thriving.

Over the last nine months I have learned more from you about what you seek in worship experiences. Our Friday night services have been very well attended this year, and you tell me that it is because services have been lively, joyful, engaging and intellectually stimulating. There is nothing I enjoy more in our services than seeing all the people who get up out of their seats to join us when we dance to L’cha Dodi and circle the bimah, sometimes two rows deep. If weekly worship services are the heartbeat of a congregation, the cardiologist will be very happy with Temple Beit HaYam. Our heart is beating strong.

Temple Beit HaYam is now reaching out into the community in ways that are being noticed. Every month, we send a crew of volunteers to Immanuel Lutheran Church in Palm City to prepare and serve meals in the Souper Sunday program that feeds some of the many in Martin County who are food insecure. We’re making a difference and, increasingly, people know that we are here. I have found terrific partners for interfaith dialogue and action among the clergy in Martin County, and I am honored that some of them are here with us this evening. Thank you, my friends, for being here.

The greatest promise, though, that I see in Temple Beit HaYam is not to be found in any education program, worship service, or social action project. The greatest promise and the greatest asset of this community is the very people of the congregation. You are warmly welcoming, not only to a new rabbi, but to every person who walks into this building. I have seen it in the way that you greet newcomers and the way that you make everyone feel that they belong here. You are tremendously generous and giving. I have seen it in the way that our congregation’s leaders and volunteers devote themselves to this community as a labor of love, and also in the way you, our members, support this congregation financially. You are joyful in your Judaism. I have seen it in the way you rise to every challenge I offer to study, worship, sing and dance our tradition together with delight. If we hold on to those qualities, there is nothing that we cannot do together. 

Our vision for the future of the congregation is still taking shape, but some things are starting to come into focus. In the coming year, I would like to see our commitment to education deepen. I would like to  explore the ways we engage our post-b’nei mitzvah students, deepening and strengthening their experience in our youth groups and Confirmation process. I would like to expand our social action efforts so we can do more good for more people in the community. I would like to deepen our congregation’s commitment to the State of Israel, and that may include a congregational trip to Israel next year. I would like to create more opportunities for us to talk to one another so that we can dream together about what our congregation could yet be. 

Last summer, I had a marvelous introduction to this congregation in a series of “Meet and Greets” in members’ homes. Our incoming president, Karen Weisberg, and I are planning a similar series of “Town Meetings” this coming summer for members to talk with each other about their experiences as congregants and to share their hopes for the Temple’s future. It’s a conversation I look forward to continuing with you.

I know that most of you have heard about the curious list of so-called “top” rabbis on which my name appeared last week. I’m delighted that the congregation has taken pride in the distinction. However, it is with a bit of embarrassment that I have to admit that the idea of “top rabbis” is foreign to my sense of what a Jewish community is all about. To me, Jewish communities are dynamic organisms in which all the parts must work together for success to be achieved. You cannot have a top rabbi without a top congregation. Even if a rabbi gives wonderful sermons, shows great  compassion to people in need, and leads memorable and moving lifecycle rituals, it will not matter without a congregation that also has a thirst for learning and a commitment to leadership, a congregation that demonstrates care for mourners and rejoices with every bride and groom and every bar and bat mitzvah. I thank you for being that kind of congregation.

Rabbis and congregations enter into new relationships with each other with a little bit of trepidation and with a lot of hope. In all humility, I want you to know how grateful I am for the opportunity to serve this community that has taken a great leap of hope in entrusting me with its spiritual leadership. I know that change is difficult, and you have shown a remarkable amount of trust in me. I promise you my every effort to make myself worthy of it. I look forward to a long journey in which you and I build a relationship of mutual understanding, respect and joy.

Let us continue the journey together.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Beginnings and Endings

The commentary observes, as did Rashi, that these verses about the ritual of purification for such a woman appear to be out of order:

[The priest] shall offer [the mother’s offering of a sheep and a dove] before Adonai and make expiation on her behalf; she shall then be pure from her flow of blood. This is the Torah of one who gives birth to a male or female child. If she has insufficient means for a sheep, she shall take two two pigeons or doves, one for a burnt offering and one for a purgation offering. The priest shall make expiation on her behalf, and she shall be pure. (Leviticus 12:7-9)

Why, they wonder, is the offering of the sheep and dove followed by the statement that "This is the Torah"? Is the offering of the poor woman who can only bring pigeons or doves not also Torah? The classical answer is that the offering of the wealthy woman is the way that it ought to be for everyone—that is the Torah. The Torah acknowledges that there are poor women who give birth who cannot afford the prescribed offering, but that is a disgrace. It should not be that way.

The Belzer Rebbe taught, "In truth, 'The Torah of one who gives birth' is that she should have the means to bring the offering of a wealthy person. According to the Torah, any woman who gives birth must have her needs met and more.  But, if it sometimes happens that 'she has insufficient means' this is not according to the Torah."

Whose responsibility is it to make sure that her material and spiritual needs are met? The Torah seems to say that we should not expect God to provide for her. God has made provisions for her in the case the responsible party fails to do the right thing. Who is the responsible party? It is all of us, of course. As the famous statement from the Talmud declares, "All Israel is responsible for one another" (B. Shevuot 39a). 

We can have delightful discussions and arguments about how this should happen. Should the government be responsible for caring for her needs? Should it be the responsibility of private charities to support women's reproductive health care? Our texts do not say. Yet, there is no ambiguity in our tradition about communal responsibility. It is up to us to make sure that the disgrace of a poor pregnant woman never happens.

We are responsible for each other, particularly for those in need, particularly for those who give life. No woman, regardless of who she is or how she came to be pregnant, should be left without all her needs (and more) met as she brings new life into the world.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Tazria: Newborn Spirituality