Shabbat-O-Gram For Jan. 18

Shabbat-O-Gram

In the wake of Newtown, it feels like a tipping point has been reached on the issue of gun violence.  I've been invited to participate in a select national gathering of clergy in Washington DC on January 28-29 to discuss, "Healing the Soul of America from Gun Violence."   We'll be speaking with Administration and Congressional officials abouthow religious groups can help to facilitate this national dialogue.  I look forward to reporting back to you on it.  See more on the effort to curb gun violence at the bottom of this O-Gram.   What better time to discuss this subject than MLK weekend, when we celebrate the life - and reflect upon the violent death - of this great leader.  See this Prayer for MLK Day.  Also, see the articles, Jews in the Civil Rights Movementand Jews and Blacks Entangled. How fitting that the Inauguration coincide with Dr. King's birthday.  It came close to that four years ago (in a much more historic moment).  At the time I reflected on that historic juxtoposition.  As I wrote in the Jewish Week that week, for Jews, racism should now be officially over.     "Look not at the flask," we learn in tractate Avot, "but at what is within it." Long before Gutenberg, Jews were teaching their children not to judge a book by its cover. But while our sages dared to hope for an end to worldwide prejudice and our liturgy resounds with the desire for Oneness, after services we retreat to psychological ghettos of similitude. We cry for unity but settle for uniformity. It is understandable to want to live among like-minded neighbors who can reinforce our deepest values. But somewhere along the line, we convinced ourselves that like-minded people have to look alike too. Fortunately, the Internet generation has grown up in a much smaller world, where those barriers have begun to dissolve.... That old joke, "Funny, he doesn't look Jewish," isn't so funny anymore. With the proliferation of conversion, adoption, donor eggs and surrogate motherhood, too many Jews simply don't. Interracial Jewish couples are becoming more common both here and in Israel, where, while Ethiopian Jews still face challenges, the assimilation of Ashkenazim and Sephardim is nearly complete. Increasingly, we've become fascinated by exotic Jewish communities like the Abayudaya of Uganda, Cochin and Bene Israel of India, the Igbo of Nigeria and the Ethiopians.  ...The Jewish family tree is more colorful even than Barack Obama's. He may hail from Kenya and Kansas, but we come from Babylonia and Beverly Hills, Yemen and Ypsilanti, Toledo and, uh, Toledo, and in my case, Brooklyn and Brookline. Now that we live in a country where Deborah the judge and her sidekick Barak could each legitimately aspire to be President, we should pick up that flask and take a good, long drink.   On MLK Weekend, nothing could taste sweeter. Also, a reminder that morning minyan is at the special federal holiday tie of 9 AM on Monday.  And from the archives: We used to do congregational Shabbatons on MLK Weekend. Here are some photo albums: 2001, 2002 and 2003. Bee Season at T-Bee-E With Tu B'Shevat coming next week, I thought it would be a nice idea to direct our thoughts to nature a little early.  On Shabbat morning, TBE's Beth Boyer will be discussing her fascinating hobby of beekeeping.  This week we read the portion Bo, which includes some of the ten plagues.  Note that none of the plagues involves bees, though flying insects definitely get their due.  But in Jewish tradition, the bee has been less a foe than friend.  According to legend, King Solomon befriended a bee (it's a great children's story) and the heroine of next week's Haftarah, one of the great women in all of Jewish history is someone whose very name MEANS bee  (Deborah).  When the Torah calls Israel, "The Land of Milk and Honey," what does that mean?  Honey is something we eat for Rosh Hashonah, so what connection does honey have to Tu B'shevat? Come learn the answers and hear why honeybees are really gentle creatures, and why we can't live without them.  Bees, like Jews, tend to be the canary in the mine shaft.  When people attack Jews, they eventually attack others.  And bees tend to be sensitive to environmental shifts long before we notice them.  Find out more this Shabbat morning. Service begins at 9:30, presentation around 11. Oh yes, and Beth is bringing a hive with her (Bees not included, though). Also this Shabbat, we will send off Elana Leichter, a 12 grader at Solomon Schechter High School in Westchester, who will be traveling with her class to Poland and Israel for the next two months. Israeli Elections, and Beyond The US inaugurates on Monday, and Israel votes on Tuesday.  All signs point to a new government that will veer rightward, though the final polls show a narrowing race, and Prime Minister Netanyahu has really no competition to take his place.  Hovering above it all is the specter of newly elected and emboldened leaders of both countries who simply do not trust each other.  See "An Obama-Netanyahu Primer" and Jeffrey Goldberg's report on what Barack Obama had to say about Bibi - perhaps a tit-for-tat interjection into the Israeli election campaign, after Netanyahu's perceived buddying up to Mitt Romney. However the Israeli election turns out, you'll get first hand analysis here next weekend from our scholar in residence Gershom Gorenberg.  On Friday night his topic will be, "How it Broke, How to Fix it: The Crisis of Israeli Democracy," and on Shabbat morning, "Isdael and the Diaspora: A New Relation for a New Generation."  Don't miss it! The Coolest Temple Rock Ever Have you made reservations yet for Temple Rock Café on Feb.2nd?  I've heard on excellent authority that the entertainer, Dave Binder, is a favorite among students at a certain Ivy League university in providence, R.I., appearing at Spring Weekend every year.  How's that for an endorsement!   Just check out his schedule!  Read more about him here and by all means, make reservations here. March for Change: Feb. 14 We had a marvelous briefing session on gun violence and effecting change here last Sunday evening, targeted (pardon the expression) to teens and parents and coordinated by Rabbi Dardashti and Rob Lesser.   A new congregant active in this cause sent me the following update as we begin recruitment efforts to send a large TBE delegation to the March for Change to take place in Hartford on Feb. 14: In the days following the shootings at Newtown, a group of women from across Fairfield County, came together out of a strong desire to do something to promote change, so that this tragedy did not happen in vain. The women, mothers of babies, preschoolers, and/ or school-age children, all expressed the same sentiment:  "Enough senseless violence in our community!"  The asked the same question: "What can WE do to help spread this message?" This group has evolved into a non-partisan grassroots movement advocating for sensible changes to help prevent gun violence, called The E.N.O.U.G.H. Campaign. I am proud to be part of this growing movement and support like-minded movements addressing this issue with sensible solutions. We believe in Empowering the Non-violent Opposition to Unnecessary Guns in Homes. We are encouraging others concerned about gun violence to feel more comfortable discussing the relevant issues, as there can me much reluctance to discuss "touchy" subjects. Additionally, we are providing support to those who want to express their concerns to lawmakers. Because, right now, law makers ARE listening, and it is indeed possible to make a difference.  As many who know the political landscape well say, the power to change will come from the public, when they say that they have had enough. We are encouraging the public to have a voice. In addition to emailing, calling, or visiting lawmakers, one thing that everyone can do (of any age) is to come to Hartford on Feb 14th, the two month anniversary of the Newtown tragedy, to participate in the March for Change. There will be buses running from all over CT, but you must register well in advance. Information about the march is: http://www.marchforchange.org/  and busing information is at:    http://www.ctmomsonline.com/marchforchange/   For more information on The ENOUGH Campaign, please visit: www.theENOUGHcampaign.com (website to be updated very soon) and visit us on Facebook (please "like" our page if you do). Finally, I would like to sincerely thank the clergy at Temple Beth El for providing me the opportunity to talk about this important work, and for their commitment to helping our community and our world be the safest place we can make it. Marni A., member Temple Beth El Have a peaceful Shabbat, a great holiday wekeend - and GO PATS!

Jews in the Civil Rights Movement - My Jewish Learning

Jews in the Civil Rights Movement - My Jewish Learning

Jews in the Civil Rights Movement

Working to extend America's freedoms.

By Howard Sachar

Reprinted with permission from A History of Jews in America, published by Vintage Books.

Nowhere did Jews identify themselves more forth­rightly with the liberal avant-garde than in the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s. It was an uneven identification. For Jews living in the South, the issue of racial integration posed unsettling questions. They constituted barely one percent of the region's total population. Among their white neighbors, they had long been accepted as "honorary white Protestants."

Even Senator Theodore Bilbo of Mississippi was prepared to draw distinctions between Northern Jews and "good" Southern Jews. The latter were circumspect, in any case, unprepared to question the South's social order.

But in 1954 that social order was challenged head-on. It was then that the United States Supreme Court rendered its judgment in Brown v. Board of Education, striking down racial segregation in public schools. Within the next dozen years, as a series of federal laws and court orders shattered every legal support of racial segregation, Southern Jews faced an agony of indecision. A very small number responded by joining the ardent segregationists. They were entirely atypical of Jews even in the Deepest South.

Black-Jewish Relations in the South

As far back as the 19th century, Jewish storekeepers were virtually the only Southern merchants who addressed black customers as "Mr." and "Mrs." and permitted them to try on clothing. By the early 20th century, a few Southern Jews even ventured to speak out against the evils of white supremacy. In 1929, Louis Isaac Jaffe, editorial writer for the Norfolk Virginia-Pilot won the Pulitzer Prize for his denunciation of lynching and the reactionary Harry Byrd political machine.

Julius Rosenwald chairman of Sears Roebuck, contributed more generously in behalf of Southern blacks than did any philanthropist in American history. Rosenwald was Chicagoan, but his munificence was continued by his daughter, Edith Stern of New Orleans, whose Stern Family Fund in later years contributed vast sums to civil rights activities in the South. It was known, too, that Southern Jews privately tended to be more liberal on the race issue than Southern gentiles, and often quietly provided manpower and funds for civil rights causes.

Yet, away from large, modern cities like Atlanta and New Orleans, Southern Jews felt obliged to walk a narrow line. Most were merchants, dependent on the good will of their neighbors. In the Deep South, if they hesitated to join White Citizens Councils, they felt the pressure immediately. "The money dried up at the banks and loans were called in," recalled a Jewish storekeeper "If you had a restau­rant, linen was not picked up. If you owned a store, the local police could play havoc with you on the fire laws."

Low Profile

Most local Jews then tended to adopt a low profile on the race issue. At the express wish of their congregations, a majority of Southern rabbis similarly agreed to be restrained. No more than six or seven of them in the entire South worked openly to promote the cause of civil rights. But, of these, Rabbi Julian Feibelman of New Orleans opened the doors of his Temple Sinai in 1949 for a lecture by Ralph Bunche, the black United Nations ambassador, permitting the first major integrated audience in New Orleans history.

At the height of the anti-integration effort, in 1957, Rabbi Ira Sanders of Little Rock testified before the Arkansas Senate against pending segregationist bills. Rabbi Perry Nussbaum of Jack­son, Mississippi, also courageously lent his support to the integration effort, as did Rabbis Jacob Rothschild of Atlanta, Emmet Frank of Alexandria, and Charles Mantingand of Birmingham. Yet these men stood well ahead of their constituencies.

If Southern Jews believed that a low profile would permit them to continue living peacefully, they were wrong. Klan groups exploited the integration crisis to launch acts of anti-Semitic violence. In one year, from November 1957 through October 1958, temples and other Jewish communal edifices were bombed in Atlanta, Nashville, Jack­sonville, and Miami, and undetonated dynamite was found under synagogues in Birmingham, Charlotte, and Gastonia, North Carolina. Some rabbis received telephone death threats.

No one was injured, and local and state authorities in every instance joined newspapers and communal leaders in condemning the outrages and in tracking down, prosecuting, and convicting the perpetrators. Much of the South was urbanizing and modernizing, after all. But an older residue of folkloristic suspicion evidently survived even against veteran, local Jews.

Northern Jews

More than any other factor, it was the participation of Northern Jews in the Civil Rights movement that tapped that residue. These were the people, it is recalled, who were the earliest supporters of the fledg­ling National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. In 1914, Professor Emeritus Joel Spingarn of Columbia University be­came chairman of the NAACP and recruited for its board such Jewish leaders as Jacob Schiff, Jacob Billikopf, and Rabbi Stephen Wise.

Jews also were the earliest supporters of the Urban League, founded in New York in 1911 to help newly arrived black migrants from the rural South. The International Ladies Garment Workers Union and the Amal­gamated Clothing Workers took the lead in organizing "our black brothers" for union membership (over the opposition of the American Federation of Labor national board). And, in the climactic civil rights drives of the 1950s and 1960s, Jewish participation was all but overwhelming.

In the landmark 1954 Brown v. Board of Education ruling itself, the Supreme Court accepted the research of the black sociologist Kenneth Clark that segregation placed the stamp of inferi­ority on black children. Clark's study had been commissioned by the American Jewish Committee, and it appeared in the amicus curiae brief the Committee submitted to the court. The Anti-Defamation League and the American Jewish Congress also submitted amicus curiae briefs in behalf of the cause. Once the judgment was issued, these Jewish defense organizations continued to file legal briefs in civil rights cases dealing with housing, employment, education, and public accommodation. Many local and state desegregation regula­tions actually were drafted in the offices of the Jewish agencies.

Individual Heroes

Jewish participation in the Civil Rights movement far transcended institutional associations. One black leader in Mississippi es­timated that, in the 1960s, the critical decade of the voting-registration drives, "as many as 90 percent of the civil rights lawyers in Missis­sippi were Jewish." Large numbers of them were recent graduates of Ivy League law schools. They worked around the clock analyzing welfare standards, the bail system, arrest procedures, justice-of-the-peace rulings. Racing from one Southern town to another, they obtained parade permits and issued complaints on jail beatings and intimidation.

Jews similarly made up at least 30 percent of the white volunteers who rode freedom buses to the South, registered blacks, and picketed segregated establishments. Among them were several dozen Reform rabbis who marched among the demonstrators in Selma and Birming­ham. A number were arrested. Others were taken into custody for attempting to desegregate a swimming pool in St. Augustine, Florida. One of the demonstrating rabbis, Arthur Lelyveld, was severely beaten in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. A young physician, Edward Sachar, vol­unteering his medical services to the freedom marchers, nearly lost his life as his automobile was forced off a Mississippi back road by local rednecks.

Two young New Yorkers, Michael Schwerner and An­drew Goodman, served in 1964 as voting-registration volunteers in Meridian, Mississippi. One of their coworkers was a young black Mississippian, James Cheney. Together they were waylaid and mur­dered by Klansmen, their bodies dumped in a secret grave. As much as any single factor, it was the nationwide attention given the discov­ery of their corpses that accelerated passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. The Jews had long since achieved their own political and economic breakthrough. Rarely had any community gone to such lengths to share its painfully achieved status with others.

---

Howard M. Sachar is the author of numerous books, including A History of Israel, A History of the Jews in America, Farewell Espana, Israel and Europe, and A History of Jews in the Modern World. He is also the editor of the 39-volume The Rise of Israel: A Documentary History. He serves as Professor of Modern History at George Washington University.

Keeping the Dream Alive: Prayer for MLK Day

TBE's Vision, the Conservative Movement and our New Roof

  

The latest news about the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism's budget woes is not good.  When our board decided to step back from membership in the USCJ a couple of years ago, it was with deep reservations and concern for the future of Conservative Judaism.  I had some hope that the synagogue arm of the movement would revitalize itself with the implementation of its new strategic plan.  That may or not be happening, but we, for our part, are making a greater contribution from the outside, using the tens of thousands of dollars formerly given to the national organization to hire new staff and upgrade our programming. 

We've done our part.  The past two years have been a time of growth for TBE, as we have refined our mission and drawn in scores of new families and individuals looking for a vision of Judaism that is inclusive, egalitarian, open, honest, spiritually engaging and vital.  Just last week our Shorashim nursery school welcomed its second class and we are nearly full for the fall.  Our January class for twos and not-yet twos is also nearly full.  

If you've happened by TBE this week you might have noticed quite a bit of activity going on, especially if you happened to look up.  We are getting a new roof (I call it our Uf-ROOF :)).  You may notice that the workers, in strict accordance with Deuteronomy 22:8, installed a parapet at the edge to minimize the danger of falling.  When our James Taylor sound-alike joins us for Temple Rock Cafe on Feb. 2, no doubt we'll expect him to sing, "Up on the Roof."

This new roof is part of a long-term project that will ultimately bring us to the forefront of environmentally friendly religious institutions in the country.  We already enjoy the fruits of our Mitzvah Garden, but the current project will propel us light years beyond that.  More details will be shared over the coming weeks.  Being the greenest synagogue isn't about being trendy, or, for that matter, thrifty (although the project will save us lots of money).  It's about being God's stewards in sustaining our fragile planet, at a time when we've experienced the hottest year on record and one of the most devastating storms ever.  That photo of our Shorashim students with the hard hats is a perfect way of demonstrating TBE's vision.  Those hard hats are our kippot.  From the very youngest to the oldest, we roll up our sleeves to repair our fragile earth - and in doing so, we engage the world on so many levels.

We are leading the effort to educate our families about the dangers of gun violence, to engage interfaith dialogue, to support both public and Jewish education, to encourage voluntarism of all sorts along with vibrant, life-affirming prayer and meaningful engagement with Israel.  In short, we are doing what a Conservative synagogue should be doing and, as such, are making an important contribution to the movement.   But for us to be able to make those investments, we needed to, ironically, leave the synagogue arm, at least temporarily.  We are still very much Conservative, but we are helping to reinvent it.

Our board has been engaging in a process of strategic planning, and very soon, the congregation will be invited to participate in that effort. As we move forward along this path, one thing is clear about this congregation:

  

We are determined to make a difference.

Jerusalem of White

This week's record storms left Jerusalem coated in white, and sent Israelis of all backgrounds out into the streets to celebrate.  They also brought their cameras, as you can see below.  Snow coats the grimy pavement of conflict with a glowing veneer of tranquility,  which, unfortunately, soon melts away.  Let's hope this melting does not portend cloudier skies on the political horizon.  The bottom photo, of a snow woman wearing a Women of Wall tallit, tells an interesting tale.  As the snow fell, the barriers for women to bring tallitot into the Western Wall plaza also drifted away. Even the snow itself was able to wear a tallit.  And lots of people posed for photos along side.  A nice way to enter the new month of Shevat, which begins this Shabbat.

Shabbat-O-Gram for January 11: TBE's Uf-ROOF Vision, Understanding Islam, Jerusalem in Snow, the Mitzvah of Being There, Shabbat-O-Gram

Shabbat Shalom!

Join us this Shabbat morning as we welcome Azra Asaduddin, an active member of the local Muslim and interfaith communities.   Azra participated in last year's Interfaith Seder and when I brought her in to speak with the teens in my Kulanu comparative religions class, she wowed the kids.  Service begins at 9:30 and Azra should begin her presentation in the 11 range. Of course, Friday night services continue to draw big crowds. Join us at 7:30 tonight.  And this weekend we are several important new programs, a women's Rosh Hodesh Havdalah program tomorrow and a conversation on gun control with our teens this Sunday night, led by Rabbi Dardashti, and on Sunday morning a brunch for our day school families.  Our past presidents will also be sharing breakfast this Sunday morning here.  And join us next Shabbat as Beth Boyer talks about her bees and in two weeks, Gershom Gorenberg is our scholar in residence.

And the beat goes on.

  

TBE's Vision, the Conservative Movement and the New Roof

The latest news about the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism's budget woes is not good.  When our board decided to step back from membership in the USCJ a couple of years ago, it was with deep reservations and concern for the future of Conservative Judaism.  I had some hope that the synagogue arm of the movement would revitalize itself with the implementation of its new strategic plan.  That may or not be happening, but we, for our part, are making a greater contribution from the outside, using the tens of thousands of dollars formerly given to the national organization to hire new staff and upgrade our programming. 

We've done our part.  The past two years have been a time of growth for TBE, as we have refined our mission and drawn in scores of new families and individuals looking for a vision of Judaism that is inclusive, egalitarian, open, honest, spiritually engaging and vital.  Just last week our Shorashim nursery school welcomed its second class and we are nearly full for the fall.  Our January class for twos and not-yet twos is also nearly full.  

If you've happened by TBE this week you might have noticed quite a bit of activity going on, especially if you happened to look up.  We are getting a new roof (I call it our Uf-ROOF :)).  You may notice that the workers, in strict accordance with Deuteronomy 22:8, installed a parapet at the edge to minimize the danger of falling.  When our James Taylor sound-alike joins us for Temple Rock Cafe on Feb. 2, no doubt we'll expect him to sing, "Up on the Roof."

This new roof is part of a long-term project that will ultimately bring us to the forefront of environmentally friendly religious institutions in the country.  We already enjoy the fruits of our Mitzvah Garden, but the current project will propel us light years beyond that.  More details will be shared over the coming weeks.  Being the greenest synagogue isn't about being trendy, or, for that matter, thrifty (although the project will save us lots of money).  It's about being God's stewards in sustaining our fragile planet, at a time when we've experienced the hottest year on record and one of the most devastating storms ever.  That photo of our Shorashim students with the hard hats is a perfect way of demonstrating TBE's vision.  Those hard hats are our kippot.  From the very youngest to the oldest, we roll up our sleeves to repair our fragile earth - and in doing so, we engage the world on so many levels.

We are leading the effort to educate our families about the dangers of gun violence, to engage interfaith dialogue, to support both public and Jewish education, to encourage voluntarism of all sorts along with vibrant, life-affirming prayer and meaningful engagement with Israel.  In short, we are doing what a Conservative synagogue should be doing and, as such, are making an important contribution to the movement.   But for us to be able to make those investments, we needed to, ironically, leave the synagogue arm, at least temporarily.  We are still very much Conservative, but we are helping to reinvent it.

Our board has been engaging in a process of strategic planning, and very soon, the congregation will be invited to participate in that effort. As we move forward along this path, one thing is clear about this congregation:

  

We are determined to make a difference.

  

BEING THERE: A Guide for Bikur Holim

On Wednesday, I had the privilege of speaking with TBE's new Bikur Holim Committee, dedicated to visiting people in need.  About 30 people were there, which bodes well for this important in-reach project.  

It has been said that 90 percent of life is just showing up.  In that case, so is 90 percent of being Godlike simple a matter of being there.  Being there: so simple, yet so important.  How often do we say of a friend or relative: "He was really there for me."  How often are we brought to tears by the thought of that person who traveled that far to visit while we were sitting shiva; how often do we gain strength from the phone call or visit received from that person when we've been hospitalized. 

Most of us know how good it feels to be there; but sometimes it's hard for us to get there: We're all busy.  We all have numerous burdens, numerous people who count on us.  We often have baggage in dealing with the person in need.  At times we've not been on speaking terms with that person.  Often there is an air of alienation or guilt to overcome.  We all know how that feels.  We all want to have done more.  We all fear the lashing out, the anger that often accompanies grief.  But once we get there, we are almost always glad we came.  The rewards are intrinsic, mostly, a sense of warmth and connectedness, to the person we've helped, to the web of relationships that connect us to not only that person, but that family, that group of co-workers, that congregation.  And that connectedness, also helps us feel closer to God.  One could easily envision God as, in some manner, that glue, or that thread, that holds us together, that brings us together, that helps us to be there for others and others to be there for us.

One woman, who had just moved into the community, lost her father to cancer.  She knew no one, and in fact belongs to another synagogue elsewhere in the New York area; but she began to come to our minyan in the morning to say kaddish.  A few weeks later she sent me a note. 

"Dear Rabbi Hammerman,
It is thirty days since the death of my beloved father. I want to express my profound gratitude to you and the members of the daily minyan. From the very first day of my joining the minyan, I was welcomed and included with warmth, friendliness and sensitivity. I have truly felt healing and comfort during this period and want you to know how much I have appreciated the community in the small chapel."  

The fact that those who attended our minyan during those weeks could make such a profound difference in the life of a person none of us knew, simply by showing up and an occasional kind word, is simply astonishing.  It is also terrifying. Because each of us, myself included, held the power of life and death over that person.  Not just spiritual death; not just hope and despair.  Yes, we held the key to helping her go from despair to hope -- but even more than that.  We can never know when a person comes through this door, whether this is that person's first stop, or the last stop.  I shudder when I think of this.

As a rabbi, I understand that the pastor's role is special.  At any given time, there might be hundreds of people who could be helped immensely by a simple call or visit, a kind word, or even a knowing glance.  I also understand that of those hundreds, I might be aware of only a fraction who really need me.  I also understand that when the rabbi is not there at that one time when needed the most, it is almost as if God has forgotten us.  There is no lonelier feeling.  Any clergy person with a conscience goes to sleep every night knowing that, without knowing who, he or she has let someone down that day; knowing that there is someone out there screaming for help at that moment; knowing that, no matter how much he has done, there is always more that must be done.  It is at times an unbearable burden.

           

But for Jews, it is a burden we all share.  For rabbis are not supposed to be surrogates for the rest of us.  We are no closer to God, no holier, no greater healers, no more human or compassionate -- and the mitzvah of being there is incumbent on all of us.  Anyone with a conscience should be feeling the same burdens every night.  What more could I have done for my child?  What more could I have done for my friend?  What more could I have done for that stranger?  Who needs me now that I cannot possibly know?

I'm not asking you to share my burden; I can handle it. For in fact, it is a privilege to be entrusted with that responsibility.  While time is limited and I might sometimes collapse with exhaustion, our human capacity to love is infinite.  My work has helped me to understand that it is possible to love one's family with all one's heart and yet still have enough love left for everyone else.  As the demands on one's care grow, one's capacity to care also grows.  The heart is, after all, a muscle.  It gains strength when we exercise it.  

But I am asking more of congregants to consider "Being There" by joining our new Bikkur Holim group.  See more of my Guidelines for Bikur Holim, including some supplementary resources.

Jerusalem of White

This week's record storms left Jerusalem coated in white, and sent Israelis of all backgrounds out into the streets to celebrate.  They also brought their cameras, as you can see below.  Snow coats the grimy pavement of conflict with a glowing veneer of tranquility,  which, unfortunately, soon melts away.  Let's hope this melting does not portend cloudier skies on the political horizon.  The bottom photo, of a snow woman wearing a Women of Wall tallit, tells an interesting tale.  As the snow fell, the barriers for women to bring tallitot into the Western Wall plaza also drifted away. Even the snow itself was able to wear a tallit.  And lots of people posed for photos along side.  A nice way to enter the new month of Shevat, which begins this Shabbat.

See photos here.

Being There: Guidelines for Bikur Holim (Visiting the Sick)

Gemilut hasadim means "Acts of Kindness," and although the category is broad, it most often is employed referring to six specific acts mentioned in our sacred texts:  Malbish Arumim, providing clothes for those who need them; Bikur Holim, visiting the sick; Nichum Avelim. comforting mourners; Levayat Ha-met, accompanying the dead to their final resting place; Hachnasat Kallah, providing for brides; and Hachnasat Orchim, hospitality. 

The Torah shows us that God clothed Adam and Eve, visited Abraham when he was sick, comforted Isaac when he mourned and buried Moses.  So when we do these acts of kindness, we are in essence imitating God.  The funny thing is that these acts, like those random acts discussed yesterday, are all pretty easy to do.  You don't have to be God to visit a sick person.  You don't have to prepare much or spend anything.  You simply have to be there.

G'milut Hasadim is all about being there.  It has been said that 90 percent of life is just showing up.  In that case, so is 90 percent of being Godlike simple a matter of being there. 

Being there: so simple, yet so important.  How often do we say of a friend or relative: "He was really there for me."  How often are we brought to tears by the thought of that person who traveled that far to visit while we were sitting shiva; how often do we gain strength from the phone call or visit received from that person when we've been hospitalized. 

Most of us know how good it feels to be there; but sometimes it's hard for us to get there: We’re all busy.  We all have numerous burdens, numerous people who count on us.  We often have baggage in dealing with the person in need.  At times we've not been on speaking terms with that person.  Often there is an air of alienation or guilt to overcome.  We all know how that feels.  We all want to have done more.  We all fear the lashing out, the anger that often accompanies grief.  But once we get there, we are almost always glad we came.  The rewards are intrinsic, mostly, a sense of warmth and connectedness, to the person we've helped, to the web of relationships that connect us to not only that person, but that family, that group of co-workers, that congregation.  And that connectedness, also helps us feel closer to God.  One could easily envision God as, in some manner, that glue, or that thread, that holds us together, that brings us together, that helps us to be there for others and others to be there for us.

One woman, who had just moved into the community, lost her father to cancer.  She knew no one, and in fact belongs to another synagogue elsewhere in the New York area; but she began to come to our minyan in the morning to say kaddish.  A few weeks later she sent me a note. 

"Dear Rabbi Hammerman,
It is thirty days since the death of my beloved father. I want to express my profound gratitude to you and the members of the daily minyan. From the very first day of my joining the minyan, I was welcomed and included with warmth, friendliness and sensitivity. I have truly felt healing and comfort during this period and want you to know how much I have appreciated the community in the small chapel."

The fact that those who attended our minyan during those weeks could make such a profound difference in the life of a person none of us knew, simply by showing up and an occasional kind word, is simply astonishing.  It is also terrifying. Because each of us, myself included, held the power of life and death over that person.  Not just spiritual death; not just hope and despair.  Yes, we held the key to helping her go from despair to hope -- but even more than that.  We can never know when a person comes through this door, whether this is that person's first stop, or the last stop.  I shudder when I think of this.

Being there can work wonders.  That's why Judaism can't exist in isolation.  We shun asceticism and encourage even the simplest prayer service to include at least ten adults.  We study best in groups, not alone.  And we bring about healing not by prayer to God so much as our own human presence at bedside.  Being there might not cure a sick person but it almost always engenders healing.  When Rabbi Akiba went to visit a sick student, people cleaned and swept the house in his honor, and because the student was able to take his mind off his own tzuris, he recovered more quickly.  And Rabbi Yochanan, a 3rd century leader, did wonders for his sick student and friend, Rabbi Eliezer. The Talmud tells us that the recovery was brought about as much by his affection and friendship for the sick man as by any medicines he might have carried with him.

         

As a rabbi, I understand that the pastor's role is special.  At any given time, there might be hundreds of people who could be helped immensely by a simple call or visit, a kind word, or even a knowing glance.  I also understand that of those hundreds, I might be aware of only a fraction who really need me.  I also understand that when the rabbi is not there at that one time when needed the most, it is almost as if God has forgotten us.  There is no lonelier feeling.  Any clergy person with a conscience goes to sleep every night knowing that, without knowing who, he or she has let someone down that day; knowing that there is someone out there screaming for help at that moment; knowing that, no matter how much he has done, there is always more that must be done.  It is at times an unbearable burden.

           

But for Jews, it is a burden we all share.  For rabbis are not supposed to be surrogates for the rest of us.  We are no closer to God, no holier, no greater healers, no more human or compassionate -- and the mitzvah of being there is incumbent on all of us.  Anyone with a conscience should be feeling the same burdens every night.  What more could I have done for my child?  What more could I have done for my friend?  What more could I have done for that stranger?  Who needs me now that I cannot possibly know?

I'm not asking you to share my burden; I can handle it. For in fact, it is a privilege to be entrusted with that responsibility.  While time is limited and I might sometimes collapse with exhaustion, our human capacity to love is infinite.  My work has helped me to understand that it is possible to love one's family with all one's heart and yet still have enough love left for everyone else.  As the demands on one's care grow, one's capacity to care also grows.  The heart is, after all, a muscle.  It gains strength when we exercise it.   I feel extremely lucky to be doing this sacred work.

So by calling on all of us to fulfill the mitzvah of being there, it is not to lessen my burden, but to help us all increase our capacity to love.  And all we have to do is show up.

We talk so much about Jewish literacy.  You might recall the sessions I taught a few years ago called "Davening for Dummies."    And many of us do feel Jewishly illiterate and uncomfortable.  But that is almost irrelevant in the end, because to fulfill the basic values of our faith all you have to do is be human.  Just smile and care and hug and empathize.  To be a good Jew, all you have to do is be.   And the more we do just that, the more everything else falls into place.

I admit, it's not always easy to be.  Sometimes we have to let down our guard and be vulnerable; for if one is truly to give love, one must be open to receiving it in return.  We have to relate to the other person with complete openness, with honesty and without the fear of embarrassment.  We have to show our weakness, even to strangers.  We have to let down our guard.  We have to admit to being fallible.  Sometimes that's hard, especially in a community where such an admission could have severe social consequences.  It's hard to let down one's guard when we always have to keep up.  But the rewards of such exposure are infinite.  Because the love is there for each of us to share.  We can each drink from that jar.

     

I implore you to be there: at minyans, services, hospitals, nursing homes and shivas; at Bar Mitzvahs -- even of those we're not invited to, at homeless shelters and World AIDS Day interfaith services; anywhere there is pain, anywhere there is need.  But when you show up, all of you must be present, at that moment, open to loving and being loved.

Did you know that to assure a well-attended funeral, Japanese families frequently place orders for actors to show up at the home pretending to be mourners, for the neighbors to see?  Afterwards, if the grave site is too far away, relatives can pay agency employees to visit it and keep it tidy, heading off gossip about an inattentive family.  One bride paid $10,000 for 40 fake friends and family.  To maintain their cover, all had been briefed on family history, hobbies and work.  The better actors even managed tears.  Some even delivered speeches at the wedding reception.  In this world, nothing is real; no emotion is genuine.

That won't do in the Jewish world, the world of being there.  Rabbi Avis Miller, who created a strong committee of those who visit the sick in her former congregation, writes of a famous psychiatrist who worked with severely psychotic patients, who visited the same patient every day.  The patient lay there, staring at the ceiling, never speaking.  After months of talking to the patient, holding his hand, giving him a taste of food, the doctor started to leave the room, thinking to herself, "I've failed. I'm no good."  Suddenly she heard a weak voice say, "Please stay." She turned, and when their eyes met, each saw tears.

 One elderly patient saved every card left by members of Rabbi Miller's Bikkur Holim (visitation) committee. When he died, the cards were found in an envelope labeled, "most treasured possessions."  All that mattered was to show up.

          

Showing up is hard.  How hard it is for those of us who fear illness to visit a hospital.  How hard it is for those of us terrified of mortality to visit a shiva house.  How hard it is for a childless couple to attend a friend's bris.  It's hard.  But it is beautiful.  It is the fulfillment of that word spoken by Abraham.  God calls to him to offer up Isaac atop Mount Moriah and Abraham answers, "Hineni."  Here I am.  That expression, heneni, echoes itself again and again in that epic story.  Each time the person is fully there: Abraham for God, Abraham for Isaac, Abraham for the angel.  That's all he had to say, and that's all we have to say: heneni.  I am here.  That expression has even found its way into the Musaf service on the High Holidays, as the cantor chants the Heneni, saying to God, on our behalf, I am here.  When I went to Hebrew school, that's how we responded when the teacher took attendance.  Heneni.  I am here.  Imagine the beauty of our sacred tongue: it teaches a prime Jewish value before the class has even begun!

           

A while back I was visiting an elderly woman at a local nursing home.  Her family is far away and her loneliness was palpable.  While it might be beyond anyone's capacity to resolve all of her inner turmoil, I could not get over the fact that a visiting companion from this temple would help her immensely.  "Where are the women?" she kept asking, indicating that years ago, the sisterhood did lots of visitations.  "Of course," she added, "I didn't do it at the time.  If only I had known then what I know now.  If only I could help others now, but I can't.  If only I'd known how important it is to have people visit."  A congregant is now visiting her regularly.

  

On the same day, I visited another congregant, who was about to undergo major surgery and needed help upon her return home.  So many are evicted from their sick beds long before they are ready to go home.  But this woman exposed her need, her vulnerability just enough to enable us to that fill that jar with our love; and thanks to another dedicated congregant and many kind volunteers, this woman had continuous support at home for well over a week following her return from the hospital.

That is what we are all about. 

It is wonderful that we are doing what many other synagogues have done by creating a Bikur Holim Committee.  This committee will consist of a dedicated group of congregants who have agreed to open their hearts for a very limited investment of time -- an hour a week maybe, or even an hour a month -- to visit fellow creatures in pain in local care centers and those who are shut in or sitting shiva in their own homes.  The investment in time will be minimal, but the return will be immeasurable.  This new committee will be called simply the "Being There" group, those who have elected to "pray with their legs" by going out to where the need is greatest.  Through their efforts, hopefully no congregant will slip through the cracks, and our embrace will extend far beyond the reach of our own congregation. We'll have four training sessions, to take place on consecutive Wednesday evenings beginning in about a month.  We'll learn how to approach a patient in a hospital or resident of a nursing home; what are the right things to do and say.  What do we say to mourners in a shiva house and how can our actions comfort them?  Even those who aren't sure about volunteering for this project could all learn from these sessions, which will be open to everyone.

I hope to also have some special healing services here, inviting in those who are suffering from illness or depression, those who are lonely and in need, both from within and outside of our congregation.   We need to let everyone know that we care; be they in cancer units or suffering with AIDS, be they in deep mourning over the loss of a loved one, or pained over the loss of a job or breakup of a marriage.  Those who are facing end of life issues and those facing midlife crisis; those facing life with his first set of reading glasses, and those no longer able to see their world through rose colored glasses.  Anyone who is in pain will gain from these healing services and our visitations.  No one would be embarrassed, because the list of those in pain includes all of us.  All of us unfortunate, and so, so lucky, to have been condemned to be mortal.

Of course, all our services are in fact Healing Services (especially Friday night, which is the most soothing moment of our week here).

           

Above all, this is our mission: those who walk through our doors must find only comfort and security here.  And we must reach out beyond these walls to find them, and to find one another.

I close with a prayer penned during the Civil War by an anonymous Confederate soldier:

I asked God for strength that I might achieve;

I was made weak, that I might learn to serve.           

I asked for health, that I might do great things;           

I was given infirmity, that I might do better things.

I asked for wealth, that I might be happy;

I was given poverty, that I might be wise.      

I asked for power, that I might earn the praise of all men;

I was given weakness, that I might feel the need of God.

I asked for all things, that I might enjoy life;

I was given life, that I might enjoy all things. 

I got nothing I asked for, but all I hoped for. 

Despite myself, my unspoken prayers were answered.   

And I am, among men, most richly blessed.

SOME GREAT RESOURCES: 

About Being a Visitor: A Guide for Leaders and Visitors  and 

Bikur Holim: Traditional and Practical Guidance on Visiting the Sick