Shattered Glass and Sorted Clothes

Shattered Glass and Sorted Clothes

By Rabbi Charles Savenor

Visiting Auschwitz is a transformational experience that evokes more questions than answers. We may understand the historical facts about Nazi Germany’s “final solution” death machine, but one can never understand what would motivate a modern nation to harness their resources to exterminate millions of human beings.

I recently led a trip to Poland and Germany for Park Avenue Synagogue with my colleagues, Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove, Cantor Shira Lissek and Beryl Chernov.  Our synagogue trip focused on the themes of tragedy and rebirth, a cycle repeated by Jews too many times to count in this part of the world. Even after Auschwitz, Jews once again have rebuilt their lives and communities as we saw firsthand in Warsaw and Krakow.

A day after standing at the ruins of the crematoria in Auschwitz, we departed for the second half of our trip in Berlin, a city still littered in my mind with shattered glass of 1938.  The question in the forefront of our minds was how German society deals with its unique legacy of mass extermination. On a simpler level, many of us wondered whether Germany has changed.

In the weeks leading up to our trip, headlines around the world focused on the most recent wave of refugees streaming out of the Middle East and specifically Syria, where their country has been ravaged by war and killings by their own people and government.

Equally interested in the present as the past, our group watched with great interest the refugee situation taking place in Germany today. While Germany has opened its doors to those in need, their government’s unilateral action is complicated and riddled with unintended consequences.

First, there are scores of shelters and camps for the refugees just in the Berlin area, yet there is little infrastructure for this massive undertaking across Germany. Staffed mainly by volunteers, these shelters have been organizing systems as they go. Shelters have made it clear to their local officials that photo ops are less important right now than creating homes for newcomers. 

A second unintended consequence has to do with the refugees’ political orientation. There is some concern that Muslim refugees are from countries where democracy is not the bedrock of their society.  The fact that some of these countries are explicitly anti-Israel may create future complications for Germany, which recently celebrated 50 years of diplomatic relations with Israel.

Third, some members of the Jewish community have experienced this opening of the gates with bittersweet emotions. They certainly admire the great humanitarian efforts of their government, but the public elevation of tolerance and diversity has reopened an old wound about the plight of Jews that many local senior citizens still remember. 

Furthermore, a floodgate of “what if” questions has opened about the not so distant past that still hovers over modern Germany like a dark cloud. What if German citizens had done more 70 years ago to stand up against Nazism? What if the League of Nations and Catholic Church had demanded that morality and humanitarianism be the standard? What if the world had opened its doors to Jews seeking sanctuary when life truly hung in the balance?

We were delighted to learn that the Jewish community of Berlin has been playing an active role in helping with the Syrian and Middle Eastern refugees for over a year. Our synagogue group was invited to not just donate clothes, but also to volunteer at one of the shelters. 

With a degree of trepidation and countless questions, we arrived at the shelter in Wilmersdorf that is run entirely by 1500 volunteers working 8 to12-hour shifts. After a brief orientation at the shelter, we were put to work sorting the countless boxes of clothes arriving daily for distribution.

For over an hour we worked with a variety of German citizens for the sake of people seeking safety for themselves and their families.  For a moment my mind was transported to a picture in Auschwitz that depicted the same kind of sorting of goods, but the difference was those were the spoils of war and these were donations from the heart.

Seventy years after the Holocaust the descendants of perpetrators and the children of victims and survivors worked shoulder to shoulder to help those in need. Side-by-side we worked to create a world that was different than that of our ancestors.

But that was not the only moment that stood out for me. Our Park Avenue Synagogue group was the first synagogue group from outside of Germany to volunteer at this shelter, and in many ways our visit was a pilot experience for English-speaking groups. It was clear from our yarmulkes that we were a Jewish group. During our visit we had some contact with refugees in the shelter where we stood next to one another, made eye contact and exchanged greetings for peace and security. What a miraculous and strange turn of events that in Berlin, of all places, Jews, Christians and Muslims could come together for a common purpose.

As we left the shelter that day I spoke with a woman who had been volunteering for over eight hours. Hearing about her experience, I expressed how inspired our group was by what we saw and thanked her for all that she's doing. With tears in her tired eyes, she responded: “I needed to do something. It's the least that I can do.”

At that very moment, I reflected on our question about where German society is today 70 years after Auschwitz. I would like to believe that these shelters reflect the society they hope to become and that the shattered glass of Kristalnacht many years ago has been mended and reconstructed into something positive for the sake of humanity.   

Only time will tell.

Crossing Over and Jumping In

“Crossing Over and Jumping In” - Parashat Lech Lecha 2014

Rabbi Charlie Savenor

One of the bumps in Abraham and Sarah’s journey to the Land of Israel is the war between the kings, during which Lot, their nephew, is captured. Upon hearing the news, Abraham immediately springs into action to save him.

In the context of this biblical battle Abraham is referred to as "Ha-Ivri", which we understand as “The Hebrew”.  Since this is a regional conflict, it makes sense that Abraham’s allegiances be identified.  However, this moniker is complicated because “Ha-Ivri” literally means “one who crosses over”. Our traditional commentators believe that he got this name because he crossed over the Euphrates River to reach the Land of Israel.

According to the Midrash, this name is not about Abraham’s origins, but rather his place in the world. The rabbis teach that the whole world stands on one side, and Abraham and Sarah on the other. This is true not just in their acceptance of only one God, but also their commitment to justice, peace and action.

I believe that Abraham’s dramatic response to the news of Lot’s predicament teaches us another aspect of what it means to be an "Ivri". Embedded in our spiritual DNA is the inclination to cross over from passive spectators to history to proactive shapers of the future. To be an "Ivri" connotes the willingness to jump in when we can make a difference.

Another biblical figure who identifies himself as an Ivri is Jonah. This puzzling prophet receives his calling, and, instead of leaving for Nineveh, flees to the Jaffa seaport and catches the first boat out of town.

Only hours after setting sail away from Nineveh, God creates a storm to stop the boat. This storm is so horrible that every passenger on the boat prays to their God for help, except Jonah.  In order to attribute responsibility for the storm, they draw lots. No surprise to us, Jonah draws the short straw.

After explaining that he is running away from God, he assures them that he knows how to quiet the sea.  He tells them: “Pick me up and throw me overboard.” One can read this directive as Jonah’s desire not just to escape from his responsibility of going to Nineveh, but also his yearning to leave this world entirely.

While suicide appears to be one plausible explanation for his desire to be thrown overboard, I believe that there is a clue that Jonah's actions communicate other intentions.

With the ship in danger, the crew and other passengers turn to Jonah and ask him, “What do you do? Who are your people?”  “Ivri Anochi,” Jonah replies, “I am a Hebrew.” I am a Jew.

Witnessing first-hand a boat being battered by the sea and countless lives at stake, Jonah's description of himself sets off a flare gun in his heart, mind and soul. At that very moment, Jonah realizes he can save these people.

Through this lens, we might understand his words as not "Throw me overboard", but rather "Help me jump in".  Jonah knew what needed to be done to save a ship full of people, so he embraced the opportunity to make a difference.

With many challenges facing the world today, Abraham and Jonah remind us that we have a responsibility to act because "Ivri Anochi", we are Jews. The world needs our help, so now is the time to jump in.

Hope Is Not Enough

Rosh Hashanah is not just the beginning of the year, it also marks the new month of Tishre. It is a day when we are supposed to raise our heads high, to hope about tomorrow and to dream about what we can become.

Psalm 27, the psalm that we recite from the beginning of Elul through the haggim, ends with "Be Strong. Have Courage. And place your hope in God."

Clearly hope can be a powerful tool, yet it is somewhat limited. Frankly, when life is at stake, hope is not enough.

To create the necessary changes in ourselves and in the larger world, hope needs to be coupled with action.

In Pirke Avot (the Sayings of Our Ancestors), Rabbi Eliezer advocates that we live in a state of perpetual reflection, repentance and teshuva. I can't think of a more appropriate message for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  I believe his idea holds the key to not just responding to our contemporary challenges, but also to unlocking the door to a more meaningful life.

But how do we do this?

Bronnie Ware, an Australian nurse, spent several years caring for dying people in their homes. In her role as a palliative care nurse, she listened deeply as dying patients voiced what they regretted most in life. She recently wrote a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying.

The first regret of the dying is that they ignored their dreams. It's easy to let our responsibilities take over, and then suddenly we look back and many years have gone by without any progress on those aspirations that animate our souls. It might just be that as adults, we stop dreaming. I don't mean dreaming about pitching for the Red Sox; but rather dreams about places we want to visit, experiences we want to try, accomplishments we want to achieve.

The second regret has to do with working too much. All of these hours away from family and friends begin to add up. During an age of economic uncertainty hard work is a value, but what is the cost on our personal lives. Are we really present when we are home today, especially with our smart phones? 

The third one ironically left me speechless. People regretted that they didn't speak up. They didn't speak up about inequality and injustice, they didn't challenge authority and some mentioned that they didn't say I love you enough to family.

People's fourth regret was losing touch with friends. No explanation needed.

Finally, people regretted that they did not choose to be happy. What is most amazing about this regret is that people realize that happiness is a choice, even a habit that can cultivated. We can choose how we respond to the world around us and about whether to sweat the small stuff. We can embrace an attitude of gratitude instead of letting fear, pettiness and conflict tarnish our appetite for life.

While we may be able to predict most of these regrets of the dying, there are countless people who  live with regret and fear. The question is, what holds us back? And how can we move forward?

The good news is that we don’t have to wait until we are on our deathbed to appreciate the opportunity that God gives us today on Rosh Hashanah - and everyday - to begin anew.

The experience of our Patriarch Isaac opens our eyes as to what happens when we live in fear.

While it is true that Isaac’s life is deeply affected by the Akeidah, his binding on the altar, he goes on to create a full life. He has other moments besides the Akeidah that define him as a person. He gets married, has children and becomes the second patriarch of the Jewish people. Eventually he develops his own dreams about the future and shares them with his children.

Despite the violence and anxiety that permeate our world today, we have the opportunity to live full lives, hopeful lives, happy lives, and lives without regret.

Walt Disney once said, "All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them." It is vital that the courage to hope be coupled with the conviction to pursue our dreams.

By living a life surrounded by those we love and living in concert with our principles, we have the power to transform our homes, our kehilla and our community into the "happiest place on earth"!

Shanah Tovah!