Ode to Mister Rogers – Erev Rosh Hashanah 5779

When I was a child, I was fortunate to spend much of my time in my grandparent’s apartment in the Riverdale section of the Bronx. George and Sylvia’s love and care for me were foundational to my Jewish identity and truly unsurpassed…and grandma’s famous grilled cheeses…renown! Even more savory was sitting in front of their new “color” TV.

Many days, I watched….grilled cheese in hand…as on the tube, a man appeared, lanky and unassuming, coming through a door, slipping off his work shoes and blazer as he settled into sneakers and a colorful cardigan.

PBS’s Channel 13, home of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood was a warm and familiar world I entered regularly. In fact, it was one of the few television shows Grandma Sylvia even allowed at her house.

The Neighborhood was filled with people and puppets that many of us came to know and love. Each had a distinctive personality and unique ways in which they contributed to the community.

Perhaps we think nostalgically of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood as a relic of a simpler time, but in truth it first aired just a few months after the Cuban missile crisis. 1968 was far from a time of peace and harmony; it was a time when the world was seemingly on edge. Sound familiar? The notion of a worldwide neighborhood in which everyone belonged was hard to imagine. In some ways, I first learned about division at an early age from Mr. Rogers show. Do any of you remember when King Friday, the ruler of the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, attempted to build a wall around his kingdom to protect it from change?

While many years have passed since those days at Grandma and Grandpa’s, I was given an opportunity to briefly visit the Neighborhood this summer when Nicole and I went to see “Won’t You Be My Neighbor”. Glimpsing into his world, now as an adult, I was grateful and moved to reflect on the radical faith that Fred Rogers brought to his audience.

We were pleasantly reminded that the hip-to-be-square icon didn’t change all that much in the 35 years between the premiere of the show in 1968 and his death in 2003. He was an ordained minister – a man defined by his faith, who illuminated a singular message, as each show responded to the issues of the time. In his own words, the message is simple “Love is at the root of everything, all learning, all relationships, love, or the lack of it.”[1]

In this context, I am reminded of the familiar story from Rabbinic literature, often referred to as the golden rule. The ancient fable reflects the critical mandate I first learned from Fred Rogers as a young kid.

A non-Jew, wishing to convert to Judaism nearly 2000 years ago, went to the home of Rabbi Hillel, one of our greatest Rabbinic sages. He said, “Teach me the whole Torah while standing on one foot.” Hillel responded. “Simple! The Torah teaches: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Everything else is commentary. Now, if ‘you’re really interested, go and study.”[2]

The visitor was so impressed with Hillel’s response that he took Hillel up on his instructions, and began to study and ultimately became one of the tribe! Mr. Rogers translated that Torah mandate in every episode for his viewers. Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

The stories in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe portrayed common children’s concerns and explored the range of emotions that we all experience. Even the puppets had identifiable personalities, and they, like all of us, demonstrated the capacity for self-reflection and growth. They illustrated how people can work together and support one another, even in the face of adversity, anger and fear.

On this Rosh Hashanah, I am mindful, now more than ever, that we come together tonight in synagogue communities around the globe to commemorate the creation of the human race, to which we all belong. We observe by focusing on soul examination and heshbon hanefesh, personal inventory.

And we do so in the hopes that some space for a clear-head and heart might offer us the opportunity to identify our individual [and collective] wounds. From there, we can begin to do the work of healing those wounds, but we cannot heal what we cannot see.

These prolific words of our Leviticus text, “V’ahavta l’rayecha kamochah,” are referred to time and again throughout all Judeo-Christian traditions. It literally translates as “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Over the ages, the Hillel fable, this text and others like it, have been interpreted as a commandment to be kind to others, selfless even.

But if we look more deeply at the text, the message assumes that we love ourselves. So what is this message we may have never considered? Perhaps a radical idea for us to embrace – We must first love ourselves in order to love our neighbor.

But what do we even mean when we speak of love? Look it up in the dictionary and the varied “meanings” are vague and all directly attached to the feeling toward an object or a person. The implication is that love is external, we bestow it on those outside of ourselves.

It is also a word that we use constantly and often in mundane contexts. How many of us “love” ice cream, tennis, our cars, that particular movie or book? For me, love cannot be experienced in the mind. Real love is an intention of the heart, truly of the soul and so for me, to love means to have regard for one’s happiness and well-being, and this includes ourselves.

Mr. Rogers taught: “When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way we can do it is by accepting ourselves that way.”[3]

Acceptance, compassion, forgiveness, allowing myself humanness and error, giving to myself generously what I need and enjoy just because I am worthy and desire it and returning again and again to kindness toward myself. All these parallel exactly what we then are able to give to others. “V’ahavta l’rayecha kamochah, Love your neighbor as yourself”[4]… it is an internal job. This may seem like an impossible task in a culture so brutally focused on achievement and plagued by busy-ness.

In addition, there are powerful external forces we experience daily that create a labyrinth of potential obstacles in our culture: fear and divisiveness, technologically evolved ways of connecting, a more frenetic pace of life – to name a few. Our Jewish calendar affords us a real gift to have the space for a little distance to work on our own internal life. So, how do we get started?

Most of us define ourselves by the narrative we construct throughout our lives, weaving together experiences, relationships, skills, and labels in a way that makes us, make sense. I’m a good friend, I’m athletic, a procrastinator, I’m good with family, bad in relationships. Positive and negative and anywhere in between, all are part of my story! Even our traditional image of the annual we speak of at this time of year, can perpetuate the idea that the story is our essence. The “Book Of Life” many come to experience as one of judgement and decree.

While we may find power and meaning in this image, I think for most of us, it does not resonate entirely when we consider how to apply it on the ground in our day to day lives. Nor likely does a God on high who serves as the arbiter of an annual performance review. But the story is not our essence, the us that was created, B’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, as our tradition teaches.

So tonight, I offer a re-frame: What if that personal story of “self” fills the pages of the Book of Life during these High Holy Days, offering us a tool to study in order to learn how to love ourselves?

Our book has birthdays and setbacks, laughter and adventures, births and deaths, joy and pain, and it holds the moments we are at our best and those we’d like to forget.

The High Holy Days offer space and a request that we spend some time with the book of our life. That we look at our relationships and mistakes and our proudest achievements, our pain and fear and dreams yet unfulfilled.

As we do, the stories can serve as a window through which we can see the themes and patterns, uncover the wounds that need healing and then learn and grow from this “autobiography.”

Growth and healing come from action. All the meditating, therapy, yoga, “self-help” introspection in the world does not serve us until we integrate it into change, how we relate to ourselves and as a result, others.

I cannot tell you what your actions are but I can share with you ways that I cultivate self-love, compassion and kindness toward myself. Perhaps you will find a suggestion to try or perhaps nothing will resonate… but my hope is that it gives you a place to start.

I allow myself to close down the computer, while there are still a number of things to do, because I know that I am out of energy. I work, regularly, to let go of the negative voices that say “I’m not good enough or worthy” by actively responding to them with affirmations of kindness. I refocus from judgement of a final product to valuing the effort behind the task. I strive to practice true humility, which is to both own my strengths and weaknesses, my gifts and flaws with equity, as pieces of my whole self. I prioritize exercise, not to control my physical outcomes, but to feel healthy and strong in my body. I go to the movies by myself, at times. And I practice saying thank you after receiving a complement, without qualifications of denials.

This work is simple, so simple, but not at all easy and it will never be perfect, nor is there a graduation. Cultivating love in ourselves and then the world is the same as strengthening a muscle. We need to exercise it regularly. Sometimes we will consistently get to the love gym, and some days we won’t make it and all of it is ok – where we need to be. But we stay the course and I truly promise you, change happens. When we slow down, we reprioritize, the noise in our heads gets quieter and priorities shift. Doesn’t that sound like a much more likely place to be able to Love our Neighbor?

At this moment in our world, we all know, there are so many provocative topics that I could have taken on this evening. I could have united us in the fear and anger we feel around the state of our country or world. I could have made a much more direct call to social or political action. With all the noise that you and I encounter all day, every day – bringing all of that into this sacred space, as we first enter into this New Year, is contrary to everything offered up tonight. It is the quieting of that noise that I pray will allow us to do this work, and act accordingly. Rather, in this new year of 5779, my call to action is to…

Love your neighbor. Love that other person, because you struggle just like her. You love your family just like her. You make mistakes just like her.

Love your neighbor. Love that other person because you laugh just like him. You worry about your children just like him. You hurt just like him.

Love your neighbor: because like you, they need the basic stuff of nature to live – food, water, shelter and human connection.

Love that other person because, in the words of our Torah, you were both created in the image of God.

Every year we talk about the call of the Shofar as a wake up, that it’s role is to call us to action and activate us out of complacency. This year, I invite you to utilize those blasts to awaken to yourself, own all your parts out loud and celebrate your gifts, find honesty and then compassion for your flaws. It’s tough to be human, and some inward kindness can help us radiate it outward to others.

You don’t need a colorful cardigan or seminary ordination to become shofarot. Blast out the healing and light that comes to you from this holy work, and is so much needed in our world today. In 5779, may we start with ourselves. AMEN.

[1] http://www.mbird.com/2018/03/mr-rogers-on-the-root-of-everything/

[2] BT Tractate Shabbos 31a

[3] http://www.fredrogerscenter.org/about-us/about-fred/quotes/.

[4] Leviticus 19:18.

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Now Is The Time: A Reflection on The Inauguration 2017

“Kol HaOlam Kulo, Gesher Tzar Me’od: All the world is a very narrow narrow-bridgebridge – the most important thing is not to be afraid.” These are the words of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov.

Jewish leaders, throughout our civilization, have always found inspiration and insight in our textual tradition. And it is Rabbi Nachman’s words that seem appropriately fitting for me, and for us, in this moment of American [and more specifically, American Jewish] life.

The polarization and divisiveness that has plagued our political and social discourse has impacted ALL OF US in some way. Additionally, the intersection of Israel’s increasing alienation across the global community with the volatility of the U.S. presidential election generated a perfect storm of discord throughout the American Jewish landscape, even pitting loved ones against each other.

The narrow bridge, in which Rabbi Nachman speaks of, can challenge us. Yet, it can also serve as a motivator in which we cannot, and should not fear. exodus

So, on this inauguration day, as we usher in a new chapter of political leadership, I look to Torah as my inspiration and motivation. And perhaps, in some Divine way, we begin reading the chapters of the Exodus narrative this week: the story of an enslaved people, exiting the bonds of slavery, and journeying into the wilderness; embracing, and often, challenging the unknowns/unchartered waters.

Through the retelling of this journey, we should be encouraged by the words of Moses to Joshua toward the end of the journey: Chazak v’ematz – to be strong and of good courage; yet toward the beginning we are first reminded of “a new king, who did not know about Joseph, came to power over Egypt.” (Ex. 1:8)

The new king’s ascension to the top office in the land did not in any way indicate a change in the very nature of that land. In fact, Egypt was still the same Egypt. The Egyptians did not need to let the fears and insecurities of their new leader influence them to change their thinking, priorities, and ideals, such that the worst of the human condition was put on display. Several times in the book of Genesis, Egypt had in fact welcomed the tired, poor, huddled masses of the children of Israel so that they could flee famine. THIS was the ideal Egypt. Yet, in one generation, in one verse of Torah, Egypt became a nation that would enslave the Israelites for 400 years, due to the unwarranted fears of its new leader.

In today’s inaugural speech, President Trump noted that a nation exists to serve its citizens and that we share one heart, one home, and one glorious destiny.

I want to agree with these sentiments as well, but feel challenged today with our nation’s current reality. Recent weeks have brought difficult conversations and more to our family. And most recently, these past days, in our local school community as well. Swastikas were painted and carved into trees on two of our local school campuses; another at the seminary where I (and your other two rabbis) studied to be a rabbi.

My children may not yet be thinking actively about these incidents, or what’s in store for them and their futures – but I have no doubt, they have and continue to absorb the energy of the pains of our fractured world, and the questionable safety they now face as Jews in America.

On this Shabbat, as we reflect on today’s transfer of power, in concert with the ascension of a new pharaoh in this week’s portion, we must ask ourselves: how do we protect against allowing fear, our own and that of others to dominate our decision making? How do we fight anti-Semitism against us while simultaneously resisting our own inclinations to stereotype others? I believe, as Americans, and especially as a Jewish people, we must balance communal inclusivity with ideological integrity, balancing politics with the fearless hunger and timeless values of our tradition.

As an antidote to the fractures and narrow bridges we see and face, Nicole and I have noted at times around our dinner table, that our tradition commands: “You are not required to finish the task, but neither are you free to desist from it” (Pirkei Avot 2:21).

Indeed, each of us must do our part to protect the most vulnerable among us, and advance the progress in policies we wish to champion.

So tomorrow morning, our children will watch their mother and safta (along with countless others from our community) head down to march in the Women’s March on Washington,not in protest, but in solidarity – with those who identify as women, along with allies of all races, ethnicities, and religions –united in support of women’s equality in our coutry. I am so very proud of them for standing up for themselves and what they believe, and for refusing to shy away from the difficult task of moving forward in this new and challenging time.

On this inauguration day, I want my children to know enough about themselves, who they are and what THEY stand for; and unlike many of the Israelites at the beginning of their journey –feel free to be curious and not fearful of the differences or challenges that might lie ahead. They can, and should be part of the civil discourse, and in fact, our tradition mandates such.

As we move into this Shabbat, on the dawn of new political leadership, confronting the unknowns by walking the narrow bridge, what I have come to learn is that it was never about the new King who knew not Joseph. Rather, it was the fear that seemingly paralyzed the Egyptian Community. Today for me is about opportunity; it is about our personal and communal potential; it is about challenging ourselves to walk a path, no matter how narrow, that models the best within us, in order to champion our greatest love and potential as individuals who belong to something even greater.potential

Two of my colleagues, Rabbis Mona Alfi and Nancy Wechsler, created the following prayer, which beautifully expresses a prayer for a unifying vision based on the Declaration of Independence.

 

“Mi she’berach Avoteinu v’Imoteinu – May the One who blessed our founding fathers and mothers bless us as well, with comfort and inspiration as we begin this new year. We believe that some truths are self-evident, all people, in our many glorious manifestations, are created equal. We are all endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable Rights, Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

The burden upon our shoulders to remember the wisdom and courage of those who came before us, who dared to dream of a better future. Yet, to remember is not enough. In each generation we are called to take action, to preserve and protect the fragile dreams upon which our nation was founded.

In seasons of turbulence,

we pray for a steady hand to guide our ship.

As storms of anger rage, we pray for sanctuary.

As fists clench, we pray for open hearts.

When sharp words slash like swords,

we pray to transform them into plowshares

to sow seeds of understanding and respect.

Now is not the time to avert our gaze

from what troubles our hearts.

Now is the time to build friendships.

Now is the time to fiercely protect the earth that sustains us.

Now is the time to honor with our words, and with our actions,

the spark of holiness that resides in every human being.

And by so doing, we honor our country, our children and our

Creator.”

Amen.

Israel’s (And Our) Sacred Obligation

306085_10151369426699928_1255815395_nA recent post from Rabbi Nevarez – sermon that he gave on 7.18.14:

Parshat Matot/Israel’s Sacred Obligation

Almost one week ago, I returned from serving on faculty at URJ Eisner Camp in the Berkshires, where many of our young congregants, including my oldest, spend much of their time immersed in sports, arts, and strong friendships, all in a Jewish setting.

They call it the “Eisner Bubble”, where the happenings of the world around them typically remain at a distance.  Yet, as I wrote to the congregation two weeks ago, the situation in Israel permeated the Bubble, as many family members and friends of both American and Israeli staff are currently there.  Our hearts and prayers were with them each and every day.

And since my exit from the bubble,  I, like many of you, have been bombarded by article after email after article, and subsequently reminded me and had me fully appreciate those times in which being insulated and surrounded by community can be a beautiful, healthy, and healing part of life’s journey.

Specifically, upon exiting the camp community, amid the ongoing troubles between Israel and the Hamas, I have taken a particular interest into the many Americans and media commentators that are drawing disturbing lines of parallelism between the two societies, asserting a false moral equivalency to the actions of each.

The realities: four boys are dead and Israel is again on the brink of war: Three Jewish boys killed to provoke Israel into action that her enemies hoped would bring down the wrath and ridicule of the world; riots in Jerusalem, in France, in Los Angeles ensued. Hamas rockets fired into Israel, and Israel responds by flying sorties over Gaza and targeting Hamas operatives and rocket launchers.

Cease-fires, agreed to by Israel have been subsequently denied by Hamas. And just yesterday, Israel widens it Gaza offensive by sending in ground troops. The situation is a ticking time bomb.

And so it may seem ironic, or perhaps timely, that we read Parshat Matot this week, which teaches us much about raw and brutal revenge and retaliation in the guise of holiness. It is one thing to recognize our passion for revenge, but quite another to claim it is God’s bidding.

That is precisely what we find in Parshat Matot: We read: The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Avenge the Israelite people on the Midianites; then you shall be gathered to your kin.” (Numbers 31:1-2)

The very last public “service” of Moses, one who has models devotion and humility, will be to launch a bloody campaign against a notorious enemy.

Moses spoke to the people, saying, “Let men be picked out from among you for a campaign, and let them fall upon Midian to wreak the Lord’s vengeance on Midian. You shall dispatch on the campaign a thousand from every one of the tribes of Israel.” (Numbers 31:3-5)

Torah records that the Israelites slew men, women, and children. It is a shocking story. Were we to actually believe it to be factual history, it would be all the more horrifying. Yet, in the same sacred scroll, we have a very clear mandate as a Jewish people: You shall not take revenge or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord.

So how are we to understand these contradicting mandates of contradiction? All this stirs in my mind as I painfully contemplate the past few weeks, in which Israel has been engaged in military action in Gaza.  And as I write this the United Nations has reported that over 200 Palestinians have been killed in Operation Protective Edge in the past week, many of them children, and many more have been injured. More than one voice has proclaimed that Operation Protective Edge is an act of revenge. And it appears as though the American and western media revel in this verbiage as well. Yet, I believe we shouldn’t be so quick to label it as such because the evidence does not match up:

  • Israel has gone to historically unprecedented lengths to avoid civilian casualties in Gaza. Hamas targets have been warned by texts, cell calls, and leaflets dropped from the air to vacate houses targeted for destruction. Israel’s goal is to cripple the Hamas infrastructure, not harm the people of Gaza.
  • Hamas, which has won elections with the support of the population of Gaza, is a terrorist group that remains bent on the destruction of Israel and its citizens. Israel uses anti-missles to protect its citizens. Hamas uses its citizens to protect its rockets. Just yesterday, we learned that 20 rockets were found housed at a UN school in Gaza. Without provocation, the Hamas governing authority flings rockets over the border, all over Israel, without regard to civilian lives or public safety. In fact, the terrorists frequently target civilians. Their intent: to terrorize and inflict as much pain as possible. Hamas operatives have embedded themselves deep within the civilian population, increasing the likelihood of civilian casualties because this plays well in the media and the arena of world opinion. They have long employed the tactic of using civilians as “human shields.”
  • Israel worked out a cease-fire arrangement with the aid of Egypt. Israel has unilaterally initiated a cease-fire. Hamas has summarily rejected them, counting its bombardment of rockets toward Israel.
  • Iron Dome, Israel’s air defense system that intercepts and destroys short-range rockets and artillery shells whose trajectories would bring them to populated areas, is working well. Thank goodness.

I mention these pieces of the current situation to illustrate that Israel’s actions in Gaza, however much we might wish they hadn’t happened and Israel had not considered them necessary, are not acts of revenge. Rather, Marcus Aurelius says it best in his book, Meditations, when he writes: “The best revenge is not to be like your enemy”.

The killing of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali was an intentional act of provocation. Israel’s sorties over Gaza are to protect its population from the rain of rockets showering its nation, OUR nation.

I believe that never was there a more pointed contrast that, on the one hand, those in the world who dedicate their lives to engage and work toward peace, and on the other, others who become radicalized into violence in the name of God. And I believe that is the difference between a culture of life and one of death. This has become the battle of our time, not only in Israel but in Iraq, in Nigeria, and elsewhere throughout our world. For many of us, there is both a dynamic tension and troubling exhaustion from a conflict which seems to have no end; a world which seems to hang in the balance – not to mention ongoing questions about what it is that we might do ourselves to eradicate the perceived unsolvable hatreds over land, history and God.

The persistence of hatred and war after all these years combined with a broader extremism has the potential to confuse, to blind, to leave us grasping for the allure of dangerous totalities. Texts, FB messages, and selfies from bomb shelters with family and friends all over Israel. And the war of opinions and images, of news biases from Gaza to Tel Aviv, of what seems to be a hopeless search for objectivity in a land where rockets are falling, terror is looming, consensus is elusive. This war is taking place in the context of a region torn apart, not by the sheer weight of good people everywhere merely wanting to survive, but by bad people doing bad things and drawing the good into the line of fire; and good people being forced to do bad things in order to prevent more bad things from happening.

So what can WE do? Our tradition teaches that it is incumbent upon us to mourn the loss of life, on either side, with the promise to live life itself to its fullest expression; we must confront the deficiencies of life with a generosity of spirit. And for me, and all of us here, we must remember that to be a Jew in the world is a weighted privilege, which still, tragically, can come at the price of life itself.

Every day, we add another layer to the ongoing tensions. And while we can be sure that there will be more news updates and more emotions felt, I think back for a moment at the 3 young men we lost a few weeks ago. Some would say, the genesis of this most recent uprising. I will neither forget the young victims nor what they lived for: the right that everyone on earth should enjoy, to live a life of faith without fear.

I believe this is our charge, as klei kodesh, holy vessels, to be the bearers of light. Today, let us use our “light”, as we live outside our own “bubbles”, to remain as fortified as ever, resilient with hope, and faithful in our belief that the Jewish people need and deserve, like any other nation, a state of our own. We have the capacity, the potential, and the gifts to be those vessels, in which the lessons we learn can manifest into sacred teachings, and tempers the evils that exist in our world. May we all heed to call to teach these timeless lessons. AMEN.

Mahjong Thursdays

Mahjong Thursdays

This spring the NY Times reported:

WOODY ALLEN joked in ”Annie Hall” that after he was thrown out of New York University for cheating on a metaphysics final, his mother, a ”high-strung woman, locked herself in the bathroom and took an overdose of mah-jongg tiles.”

This illustrates not just the lengths to which a distraught Jewish mother might go to inflict guilt, but how much a staple mah-jongg was (and is) in Jewish-American life — up there with flanken, seltzer and schmaltz (at least in my family).

Mah-jongg is a game of chance and skill similar to gin rummy, in which each of four players is dealt either 13 pictographic tiles of different suits. The players then take turns drawing and discarding tiles, with a goal of making four or five combinations of tiles, or melds, and one pair, or head. It was a favorite at Catskill resorts and played incessantly by Eastern European immigrant Jewish women in the 1930s. The National Mah Jongg League was formed in 1937 by a group of German-Jewish women, inviting players to convene and standardize the rules.

I, myself play in a weekly game with 6 friends.  We rotate in an out of the game while simultaneously sharing news of our lives. Are you intrigued? Starting in the fall, Temple Shaaray Tefila will host Mahjong Thursdays from 11:00-2:00. If you want to learn, we will have beginner tables, if you know how to play and are perpetually looking for a fourth, come by and there will always be a game waiting for you.

Rabbi Stacy