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.

A Tale of Two Cities: Newtown, CT and Boston, MA

“A Tale of Two Cities: Newtown, CT and Boston, MA”

Parashat Beshalach/ Tu B'Shevat - January 25, 2013/ 15 Shevat, 5773

by Rabbi Charles Savenor

Recently, at the end December, 2012, I had the pleasure of attending the United Synagogue Youth (USY) International Convention in Boston. During the visit, I witnessed nearly 1,000 Jewish youth singing, dancing, davening (praying) and learning with purpose and passion. At one point, I just stood there and watched. It was simply inspiring.

As I watched these youth enjoying the blessing of community, I stopped in my tracks. This public joy and ruach (spirit) was immensely different from the recent mood of our country right now. Images flooded my mind from Newtown, CT, a place just days before stained with tears of sadness, shock and horror. 

The tale of these two cities, so different from one another, began to collide in my mind. While it feels strange to compare, it is not the first time it has been done.

Charles Dickens writes:

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

It was an age of wisdom; it was an age of foolishness.

It was an epoch of belief; it was an epoch of incredulity.

It was a season of light; it was a season of darkness.

It was the spring of hope; it was the winter of despair.

There was everything before us; there was nothing before us.

The comparisons between Newtown and Boston do not end there. In reading the papers, we know little about the assassin, Adam Lanza. He had few relationships in his town, except for his barber, the one service he could not procure online.

By contrast, the USY convention in Boston was all about relationships. Jewish teens traveled from all over North America to see old friends and make new ones. Over 200 alumni showed up to see friends with whom they grew up and shared many special formative moments.

The Newtown massacre created horror. The Boston convention created a haven. The Newtown massacre created chaos. The USYers created connections.

Just as we can ask why did the killings occur in Newtown, so too can we ask how and why USY has such a positive impact on our youth?

The success of USY in particular and Jewish youth groups in general is based upon building relationships with our teens and listening to what they have to say. It sounds simple, but it is quite challenging. An important element of the programs has been welcoming the feedback of youth and integrating their feedback into the programs, study sessions and meetings in a positive way.

To listen to another person, one signifies that the other party is important.  To listen to our youth, we show that we care about their ideas, their passions, their challenges and their dreams.  Around the country USY chapters make every effort to create a warm, engaging, and comfortable environment for our youth.  Like "Cheers", the goal is to create a place where everyone knows each other’s name and is respected for who they are and for their individuality.

By contrast, it does not sound like Adam Lanza ever felt accepted. What could have been if there was someone who could have understood whatever affected his soul?

It was an epoch of belief; it was an epoch of incredulity.

In Parshat Beshalach, we relive the miraculous Exodus of the Jewish people. With their backs to the Red Sea and the Egyptian army fast approaching them, the people feel great despair. Moments later they are marching through the divided waters to their salvation.

We can imagine their unbounded joy and spirited singing as each step brought them closer to freedom.

Inspired by the events on earth, the angels want to join in the celebration. Just as the angels begin to sing, God quiets them and asserts, "My handiwork is drowning in the sea, and you want to sing before Me?" (Talmud Sanhedrin 39B)

This thrust of this Midrash, which is frequently mentioned during the Passover Seder, is that we don't celebrate when other human beings suffer. This sentiment may explain why this year's USY convention was so powerful for me.

As happy as I was by the nearly 1,000 inspired and inspiring USYers at the convention, my heart ached then and now for the families who would never see their children reach high school. That USY had scheduled months in advance for Pastor Corey Brooks of Chicago and Colin Goddard of Columbine, CO, to speak against gun violence means that its leadership understand USY conventions need to be connected to and a forum to discuss the issues of our day.   

It was a season of light; it was a season of darkness.

Since the advent of the Internet researchers have predicted that the web and email would increase people’s connection to the outside world. I believe there is ample research that disproves this assertion. Spending huge amounts of time of the Internet can ironically make people feel more alienated and isolated.

From my experience as a rabbi and youth leader, I believe our youth are hungry for connections to living, human beings – parents, teachers, youth professionals and clergy. Part of what the Jewish community has done right with USY has been to provide our youth with accessible role models and real connections with their peers and adults.

What can we do today to address the needs of our youth? For parents, I implore you to connect with your children. Spend time together doing something that is positive, hand-on and team oriented. Something as mundane as family dinner, on Shabbat and during the week, can foster connection and communication.

For our youth, I make a special plea that you remember the words: “V’Ahavta Re’Aycha KaMocha,” “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Remember every time we open our mouths that our words can have a major impact on those around us. 

Choose to say the nice thing, give a compliment. There is a beautiful Yiddish folk saying:  “Kindness is remembered, meanness is felt.”  Choose kindness.

It is vital that we open up the doors of the synagogue as wide as the Red Sea so that Jewish youth - of all ages - feel comfortable walking in to connect, learn, grow and become engaged in the original and best social network, namely community.

It was the spring of hope; it was the winter of despair.

It has been a strange few weeks as our national pain and confusion stares across the table at our Jewish youth community's recent joy and feelings of achievement about this annual gathering.

As I think about the Newtown killings, the need to say the Kaddish becomes overwhelming. The Kaddish is not, however, the prayer for the dead. Rather it is the prayer for the living.  It challenges us not only to believe and have faith in God, but also to make the world a better, more welcoming, more peaceful place. That is our job today.

If we begin with a smile and an outstretched hand, we can turn this winter of despair into a spring of hope.

Inspiration is a Two Way Street

Over the next week we will welcome back the lulav and etrog to play a central role in our spiritual lives during Succot. Part of their allure is figuring out the meaning of this commandment and the four species of this ritual package - the palm, myrtle, willow and citron. Are they symbols of the harvest? Reminders of Eden? Tools for repentance?

The rabbis in the Talmud offer various interpretations about the symbolism of the lulav. One midrash explains that the four species represent body parts comprising a person in service of God. Others understand the lulav's components as different personality types found in a kehilla, a sacred community. 

That there are four components of the lulav brought together is significant. The number four reminds me of the four corners of the earth that we recall when we gather our tzitzit before reciting the Shema. We pray every day that Jews from every corner of the earth be united and reunited one day soon in the land of Israel. The gathering of our tzitzit is a spiritual symbolic microcosm of the in-gathering of the Jewish people.

While this prayer sets up a beautiful aspiration, our current reality does not feel so inspirational.

In his latest book, The Promise of Israel, Rabbi Daniel Gordis explores the increasingly distant relationship between Israel and diaspora Jews. While the ongoing conflict with the Palestinians is part of this divide, he believes that a more important reason is at play, namely that American Jews don't feel that they need Israel any more. Arguing that nothing could be farther from the truth, Gordis writes: "What Israel has done is to change the existential condition of Jews everywhere, even in the United States. Without the state of Israel, the self-confidence and sense of belonging that American Jews now take for granted would quickly disappear."

I agree with many of Rabbi Gordis' ideas, but he misses the point that inspiration is a two way street. The light does not just come from Zion to us in the USA; we, too, can be a light unto Israel.

The latest example of this phenomenon is Aly Raisman, from my hometown of Needham, MA. Aly won the gold medal at the London Olympics in the individual floor gymnastics. I want to share an open letter to Aly from an Israeli Soldier posted on Facebook on August 10, 2012:

Dear Aly,

I want to tell you about how you became the hero of a gym full of Israeli soldiers. The same Israeli soldiers who have to deal with Iran's nuclear threat to the Jewish state. The same ones who serve two-to-three years of their lives, because we have to; because there's no one else that would do it besides us, because our neighborhood sucks, and when the leadership next door in Syria massacres their own people, there's no way we would let them lay hands on our kids, as foreign dictators have done for thousands of years.

You picked a song for your floor routine in the Olympics that every Jewish kid knows, whether their families came from the shtetls of Eastern Europe, the Asian steppes of Azerbaijan, the mountains of Morocco or the Kibbutzim of northern Israel. It's that song that drew almost everyone at the Israeli army base gym to the TV as soon as the report about you came on the news this morning. After showing your floor exercise to Hava Nagila, the announcer told about your gold medal with unmasked pride, and of your decision to dedicate it to the Israeli athletes who were killed in the Munich Olympics in 1972.

There were some tough people at that gym, Aly. Men and Women, Battalion Commanders from Intelligence, Captains from the navy, Lieutenants from the Armored Corps and more. You probably understand that words like 'bravery' and 'heroism' carry a lot of weight coming from them, as does a standing ovation (even from the people doing ab exercises.) There was nothing apologetic about what you did. For so long we've had to apologize for who we are: for how we dress, for our beliefs, for the way we look. It seems like the International Olympic Committee wanted to keep that tradition. Quiet, Jews. Keep your tragedy on the sidelines. Don't disturb our party.

They didn't count on an 18 year-old girl in a leotard.

There wasn’t one person at the gym who didn’t know what it was like to give back to our people, not one who didn’t know what happened to the good people who died in 1972, not one who didn’t feel personally insulted by their complete neglect in the London Olympics, the 40 year anniversary of their deaths, and not one who didn’t connect with your graceful tribute in their honor.

Thank you for standing up against an injustice that was done to our people. As I was walking back to my machine at the gym, I caught one of the officers give a long salute to your image on television. I think that says it all.

Sincerely, Dan Yagudin, Officer, Israeli Defense Force

By choosing to compete to "Hava Nagila", Aly taught Israel and Jewry worldwide that diaspora Jews can be partners in healing past wounds, and, equally important, generating new forms of Jewish pride.

By living as a Jew with her head held high, Aly brought together Jews from all over the globe with a sense of purpose and connection similar to the four species of the lulav.

This year let's embrace the idea that the lulav and etrog can also represent Jews from the four corners of the world. Like the different components of the lulav, each one of us has a special role to play and something unique to contribute.  

By bringing the four species of the lulav together, we express our hope for unity, shared purpose and peace for Israel and all of humanity. Equally important, we are reminded that inspiration can come from many places.