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Shabbat Pinchas - July 11th 2009 (Rabbi Neil Janes)
Posted by Rabbi Neil Janes on 07/17/09
Shabbat Shalom, I’m delighted to welcome here Sarah with all your family and friends. Especially all of your mother’s family together for the first time in ages – flying in from such places as Melbourne Australia and your father’s mother and brother too. Sarah, I know how worried you were about today and all I can tell you is that you should be very proud of yourself. But we’ll come back to that later.
Sarah, when I was your age I drove my rabbi mad, well I drove lots of people mad, but this morning let’s not go down that route. Yes, Sarah I was no angel in my Hebrew classes – unlike you of course. Far from it. In fact, as a slight aside, I’m not sure what exactly I learnt in class, except the ability to argue and make mischief in the face of outright boredom. In clearing out old papers at my parents’ house recently (for some reason my mother seems to think that by my age, married and with a house I should stop storing stuff at their house!) I discovered three folders. They were the folders from my Bar Mitzvah year at religion school. Inside there was, well, nothing of great import. But on the front of each folder was a name. On the first two, respectively, were the names: Rabbi Dr Leo Baeck and Rabbi Dr Abraham Joshua Heschel. In terms of Second World war/post-war Rabbinic leadership these two men figure highly in the non-Orthodox world. Two of the most inspiring leaders of the Jewish world and I suspect many of you have heard of them. The college where I trained was named after Rabbi Dr Baeck and not a social justice sermon or programme exists without a pithy quote by Rabbi Dr Heschel.
Then the third. Well the third was named after someone called Henrietta Szold. Have you heard of her? Some of you involved in the Jewish world may have done, but I would hazard a guess that many of you have not. In any case, I have mentioned both Baeck and Heschel in sermons before, but never Szold.
I drove my rabbi mad because, well, she was an outspoken feminist. Actually, I don’t think it was because she was a feminist. In my post adolescent rationalisation I see the trouble I caused as a reaction to the meaningful relationship that she had built up with my older sister – who became Bat Mitzvah before me. Nonetheless, at the time I used argue with her about everything. If she said something about God, I’d point out that I didn’t believe God existed, if she said something about women, I’d point out, frequently with some offensive joke, that women were inferior to men. I think the latter was more downright rude than the former.
Sarah, what did I learn in class. I learnt to hone my skills at being obnoxious. I know, I’ve come so far since then…
So, with this little vignette of my relationship with my Rabbi and her outlook you will begin to understand why the third folder had the name Henrietta Szold on the outside. Amidst the patriarchal world of Judaism from the ancient world to modernity (and beyond), it was only proper that a woman’s voice and contribution should be heard. Henrietta Szold is credited with establishing the largest organisation in American history – Hadassah. Szold joined six other women to found Hadassah, which recruited American Jewish women to upgrade health care in Palestine. Some of you may even have visited Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem – one outcome of her work.
Not only that, she was a scholar of Judaism, having attended the Jewish Theological Seminary (the conservative seminary in New York for training Rabbis). And we are told a famous story about her, concerning the death of her mother. To appreciate this, you have to understand that Szold was one of eight children – all of them women.
We are told that when her mother died in 1916, a close male friend, Haym Peretz, volunteered to say the Mourner's Kaddish for the dead woman. Szold graciously refused the offer. "I believe," she wrote to him, "that the elimination of women from such duties was never intended by our law and custom - women were freed from positive duties when they could not perform them [because of family responsibilities] but not when they could. It was never intended that, if they could perform them, their performance of them should not be considered as valuable and valid as when one of the male sex performed them."
The custom of saying Kaddish is a mourners’ rite, which in most Orthodox circles is reserved solely for the men who are mourning. In cases like Henrietta Szold’s where there are only women as immediate mourners, it is frequently the practice to deputise the responsibility to someone else – a man.
In fact, if you wanted evidence that some behaviours, though learnt, are frequently modelled on other family members. My grandmother tells how when her mother died she, as an only child, felt that it was only right to say Kaddish. The Rabbi did not want her to do this, but after a little assertiveness on my grandmother's part he agreed to her saying it with him.
Anyway, Szold in this account demonstrates her determination, scholarship and self-belief. She is what we call in Hebrew a ‘dugma’ – an example. An example of women engaged in serious Jewish learning, in Jewish communal organising and in religious rite and practice. On the one hand, today, we might think there is little import in mentioning that she was a woman. She is just an example of an adult expression of Judaism. But on the other hand, that she is a woman seems crucially important. There are many male examples – like Rabbis Heschel and Baeck. Men’s writing is preserved, men were giving the position of responsibility, leadership and power. Men, in the guise of Rabbis, successfully excluded women from various areas of Jewish life – like the study hall and the synagogue – at least in theory. Until, that is, we reach modernity, with the slow development of equality and the evolution of progressive Judaism (to which Orthodoxy was a reaction, not the other way around).
I drove my Rabbi mad, (Sarah, I’m not quite there…yet) and on reflection the lesson which I had forgotten is important. Women have been marginalised from the institutions of Judaism, thankfully not in our Synagogue, and women like Szold reaffirm their rightful place as one half of the Jewish world and influencing it to that degree and more.
Perhaps the daughters of Zelophehad are a similar ‘dugma’ (example) for us. Now Sarah I'm fairly cynical about reading your portion as a feminist piece. It seems to me it is not about the women specifically, but about ensuring that land remains in the tribe - even down to allowing women to inherit it. Women are still second class, just a better option than losing one’s possessions from the family estate. So in that light it reads like money is the most important thing and women only serve a useful purpose if they're protecting your interests.
I think the potential is to read this as a stand for feminism when that is really anachronistic and isogesis – reading our own ideas into the text – rather than a critical reading out (exegesis). A friend of mine, in talking about this, asked the questions: Why do we want to find certain things in our Torah and where should we stand in using the Torah as our springboard for ideas? My sense is, one follows the other. We have a legitimate desire to find expressions of women and their role in ancient Israelite society and to see the correspondence between that and the contemporary issues in society. I just think we need to do it with a careful eye.
Professor Tamar Eskinazi, Professor of Bible at HUC-JIR (the rabbinical seminary for progressive Judaism in the USA) writes the following:
"The story is important for several reasons: First, it establishes inheritance rights for daughters when there are no sons, thus securing their social and economic welfare. Second, it shows that a biblical law can emerge not only from the top (from God to humankind), but also when persons identify a human need and initiate a process to address it. God is responsive to human initiative. Third, in so far as this law was initiated by five women, it establishes their teaching or law as “Torah from Sinai,” a teaching that was created first and foremost by daughters. "
I differ slightly in my take on this, mainly because initiating law and making law are two different things. Nonetheless, the daughters of Zelophehad show that laws which exclude and customs and rites which do the same should be challenged. The Torah and its teachings are not ‘out there’ in the domain of a privileged few – however much they want to give that impression. The story shows how a group, specifically women, who recognise injustice and exclusion can have their voice heard. Whereas the daughters, Mahlah, Hoglah, Noa, Milcah and Tirzah, force Moses to reconsider the law, initiating change, Henrietta Szold, one of eight sisters, makes the change. Both ‘dugma-ot’, examples, give us food for thought with regards our own communities and can inspire us to do what is implied – to challenge injustice, oppression and exclusion and change it.
Sarah, when I asked you whether you were honestly a feminist (having heard your Davar Torah) you said you weren’t sure. I think that is a very honest answer for you to give. Sarah, don’t get caught up in the labels for a moment. Just consider the lesson of your Torah portion and of Henrietta Szold. The dugma (the example) is one of challenging exclusion and making one’s voice heard – the minorities and the 50% of women. It is overcoming oppression, seizing Torah to make it your own. Not allowing the hierarchy of the great and the good to tell you what to think, but to seek equal access to learning, equal right to Jewish practice and independence of mind and action. If that makes you a feminist, then I don’t think it’s such a bad thing after all. So Sarah, my wish for you is that you will always carry the role-models of people like Henrietta Szold and the stories of the daughters of Zelophehad in your heart. That you will not forget them like I did at your age. That they will inspire you fight for justice (just like your commitment to the charity PLAN on this special occasion) to be the strong minded woman that you have already shown yourself to be and that you will make yourself and your friends and family as proud as you have done today. May this be God’s will. Keyn yehi ratzon. And let us say: Amen
Parashat Chukkat - June 27th 2009 (Rabbi Neil Janes)
Posted by Rabbi Neil Janes on 07/03/09
Shabbat Shalom. I’m delighted to welcome Louis and all your family and friends to this great celebration this morning. Louis you have come a long way on this journey and worked hard, you have shown yourself to be perhaps more headstrong than either of your parents imagined in your desire to achieve what you have on this – a very proud day.
Louis, when we met a few weeks ago at your house, you asked me a fairly familiar question. How do you come up with your sermons each week? Most people suspect me of subscribing to ‘rabbisermons.com’. The truth…yes, I write them each week and sometimes they come more easily than others.
This week, I was confronted with a dilemma. On Thursday a major appeal decision was made regarding who could be admitted into the JFS – the most well known state funded Jewish day school in this country. I had no idea until I got home to find a message on my mobile phone. It was from LBC – the radio station – asking if I would be interviewed by Nick Ferrari about the case. Since it concerned a progressive convert and her child, they wanted a progressive Rabbi to respond to some questions. Those of you who listen or have listened to LBC will understand my trepidation. I consulted a few colleagues and people with more PR experience than me and decided to agree to the conversation. I then brushed up a bit on the case and prepared what I thought would be cogent responses to any possible questions. Also thinking that my opening gambit when thanked for coming on the show was to thank Nick Ferrari for giving me some material for my weekly sermon.
Then Michelle, my wife, came home and we had to pop out somewhere. As I got into the car, telling her about my looming 5 minutes of fame, I said to her, “Of course, I strongly suspect I’ll be bumped because chances are a bigger story will break over night.” If only I could be so prophetic on the lottery numbers.
A bigger story indeed broke and I was bumped – I guess I may still be called but that’s news for you. So now, you see Louis, I’m faced with an even bigger problem. What do I do with my sermon, which I haven’t yet written, and do I even touch on the story of the King of Pop dying?
Well, I think it’s fair to say that you can’t ignore the death of someone who brings the internet to a standstill and whose music graces almost every Bar/Bat Mitzvah disco I’ve ever attended. But I also think we might benefit from a slightly different perspective.
Louis, in your Torah portion, we’ve reached a moment of huge significance. Until now, everyone could assume that Moses was going to make it into the promised land, the Land of Israel. Sure, the generation he led out of Egypt had failed to remain faithful and had been punished as a consequence – not being allowed to enter the land. But Moses, he’s such a good chap. Even in the most trying times he appears to remain a steadfast leader. The people might drive him to distraction with their moaning, but he’s not left them. Even when God suggests restarting with Moses and killing off the people, Moses springs to their defence. This is someone with a clear idea of his mission. But now, at this moment, he becomes the tragic figure. The realisation, which we have secretly known all along, that he will not complete his mission, seems like a devastating blow. I think of this moment a little bit like the denouement of Darth Vader as Luke Skywalker’s father in Star Wars (sorry if I’ve spoilt it for you). By now, everyone who rewatches the film, knows who is who – in fact, the episodes 1-3 almost rely on this critical piece of information to heighten the tension. Yet, we still find the revelation to be gripping. In much the same way, we all know Moses is not going to make it – his character until now may have been labouring under the impression that the Promised Land was his to inherit. But we know differently.
One small mistake seems to have sent Moses career down the tube. Of course, not entering the Promised Land is a metaphor for life – we may not reach our destination, but we don’t stop trying. But that’s a sermon for another time.
Right now I want to reflect for a moment on Moses’ mishap. On the one hand, it appears, as Rabbenu Hananel suggests, Moses becomes godlike in not following the instruction to speak to the rock, but hits it instead. It is as if, Rabbenu Hananel, writes, “The people might have been misled into thinking that Moses and Aaron had extracted the water for them, by their own skill.” In a sense, instead of sanctifying God, they appear (even if unintentionally) to ascribe the glory to themselves.
This it seems to me is a constant danger of those with power, those who have a gift. They may lose the humility that is intrinsic to a well-rounded character. Moses, we are told, is most humble. But, for a moment, he deviates from God’s command and acts differently. In that split second, Moses humility is called into question. He seems to imply ‘I am the one who can perform miracles, bringing forth water from this rock’. God’s command to ‘speak’ to the rock would seem much more the will of God than anything that Moses’.
At the same time, there is something marvellous about this story. In general, though Judaism has its tzaddikim – its righteous ones – it is very cautious lest they become idols. Every character in the Bible, in fact, almost every figure in Jewish history has been unequivocally human – liable to err, to impulse and to destructive emotions. In this sense, we learn a lesson about all of humankind. If Moses, the greatest leader of all, is subject to fallibility we must be cautious not to idolise anyone. It is not that the consequences of human fallibility should just be accepted, but that we should recognise none of us is perfect or without fault. Therefore, every one of us must strive to be better and accepting of those around us.
Louis, in these two aspects of human psychology highlighted by the story of Moses’ act in your portion, we learn two valuable lessons therefore. First, that we must be careful not to ascribe to ourselves the crown of god, we are made in God’s image, we are not God. A constant reflective humility and gratitude in life is a healthy thing. Secondly, those we admire, those we hold up to be role models, leaders and significant in our lives, should not be idolised – the other side of the same coin really. We do not have to accept their mistakes but we should not expect perfection either. There is only one God and She doesn’t play on the football pitch or perform on stage.
But finally, it seems to me that there is one other lesson to learn from the story of your portion Louis. That is a the lesson that there is a reasonable greater scrutiny and accountability of public figures. The punishment may not have been so severe had this been an unknown Israelite disobeying God’s exact command. But instead it’s Moses. The message seems clear, if you’re in the public eye, it is fair to assume that you have a greater responsibility to set an example to the onlookers. It may be tough and not something desired, but it is probably fair nonetheless. Why else would we get more angry with a footballer who behaves in a certain way than with a member of the public who does something similar?
So you see, I think there are at least three lessons which we can learn from this story, which may, indirectly be applicable to events in the world this week. We have the need for humility by those who are revered, respected and even you and me for our abilities and fallibilities. We have the need to avoid idolising anyone. No one is God, or godlike. Everyone is human. Finally, we have an expectation that those in the public eye are understandably subject to greater scrutiny and higher expectations (even if they have not brought their high profile upon themselves). I think, to this, we can add one final thought. The life of Moses comes to an end. He does not live on forever, except in memory and the effects of his deeds. Even the great of our sacred narratives are mortal, how much more so we who live today. Our own mortality is just one more part of our very human essence.
So Louis, how do I write my sermons? Well often it’s tough going. Occasionally I have an original idea and something specific that I think has not been said before. Only once am I asked on to the radio and get cancelled because Michael Jackson has died. Sometimes events in the world can give us food for thought. On this Shabbat there is more than enough for all of us to get our teeth into – a frank reminder of what it is to be human.
Louis, on this day when you become Bar Mitzvah, my wish for you is that you will take some of these lessons into your life. May you always hold on to a strong sense of humility – you are made in God’s image, you are not God. Even when your parents think the sun shines from, well you know…Be proud of your accomplishments but don’t be haughty or arrogant about them. May you always engage your critical thinking skills – don’t deify those you respect. I think one of the greatest lessons of growing up is realising that those we think are god-like are really only human and we may disagree with them. And finally, may you hold yourself to account as if you were in the eye of one who sees. The public is nothing compared to a little self-awareness, and for those who are so inclined like myself, nothing compared to ‘the ear that hears and the eye that sees’. Finally, this is a great accomplishment as you note in davar Torah. Your wilderness has some ‘green shoots’, you must take care of them to see them flourish into your own promised land. May you always make your family and friends as proud of you as you have done today. And may this be God’s will. Keyn yehi ratzon. And let us say: Amen.
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