Christmas

בס''ד

15 Tevet, 5771
December 22nd,

     Staples, like every other retail outlet in the U.S., is now playing nothing but nonstop Christmas carols in their stores. I’ve long since resigned myself to the corporate connection between “holiday spirit” and buying as much as humanly possible, so I’ve learned to tune these out.*
      But then Neil Diamond starting singing Christmas carols. Not a foofy one either, like “Jingle Bells,” but a real one: “Hark Hear the Angels Sing.” And my ears perked up. For two reasons.

      The first is because of that inimitable warble he’s got (you know what I’m talking about). And the second is because he’s Jewish.  

      How to relate to Christmas in this country will always be a question, for we are a minority. And because interfaith families who are active and full members of our community confront it head on, it is a particularly poignant one.

      The question is a difficult one. I readily confess that I enjoy Christmas. Not retail Christmas, religious Christmas. I was on a peace march that coincided with Christmas in Nazareth, no less. It was beautiful. Hearing Neal Diamond sing about the virgin birth, however, grated against me, which means that I have some internal line drawn in the sand. 

      I have no straightforward answer about how Jews should or should not engage Christmas, especially not for interfaith families. Rather I have a question, which has helped me in a world where identity is so malleable. Our Talmud teaches that one should bless over not only miracles that have happened to our entire people, but also over miracles made for individuals. The question is asked: who should bless over such individual miracles: the person him/herself? That person’s family? That person’s friends?

      The Rashba, a brilliant teacher of the Talmud, teaches that one should bless if one was as a partner in that miracle – if, as a result of that miracle, you are here. So this, I think, is the question as we engage the world around us: is this my miracle? Is this my children’s miracle? If yes, then we have the obligation to bless it, to celebrate it, to let its light shine. If not, then we celebrate the devotion of others, living their own lives of meaning.

Shalom u’Vrakha,

Peace and Blessing,

Rabbi Scott Perlo


*For those interested in the longstanding connection between conspicuous consumption and religion in this country, Weber’s The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism remains a classic. For a lighter but still profound take, check out Reverend Billy and the Church of Life After Shopping – www.revbilly.com.

Foolishness

בס''ד

9 Tevet, 5771

December 16^th, 2010

A midrash teaches: An incident occurred, that a man died and left instructions in his will that "My son should not inherit anything of mine until he becomes a fool.

Puzzled, the son brought the will to court for an explanation. The provision perplexed the rabbis there, and they brought it in turn to one of the great teachers of their age: Rabbi Yehoshua ben Korha.

“When they arrived at [Rabbi Yehoshua’s] place they hid from his sight because they found him crawling about his hands and knees with a straw in his mouth waddling after his young son. After he had finished playing with his son, they approached him and asked him if he could interpret the will. He began to laugh and said to them: "By your lives, the matter of which you have come to inquire, just this past moment I had been demonstrating (that the man's son would not inherit anything until he became a father)." From here we learn that when a person becomes a parent, s/he becomes a clown."' (Midrash Tehillim 92:13)

           

            Would that we all had people to instruct us in the wisdom of foolishness. I am lucky, because our ECC kids try to remind me of this Torah every day. To live in complete seriousness is to miss the essence of life. To laugh, to sing, to cry, to be creative, to jump in piles of leaves – these things are necessary. The dry cleaning is not. This is the truth that wise people live.

            May we all be blessed with holy foolishness.

Special thanks to our ECC Moms for learning this Torah with me during Mom’s Shmooze.

Men

בס''ד

יום ז' לחנוכה

1 Tevet, 5771

December, 8^th 2010

To the endangered species of our world, let us add another: the vanishing American religious male. While he’s not near extinction, he’s definitely PBS-special worthy. His disappearance isn’t just within Judaism – his lack of participation extends to every religion in the American landscape. And rabbis, priest, pastors, imams, demographers, and sociologists are trying to understand why.

            The far reaching Pew U.S. Religious Landscape Survey (http://religions.pewforum.org) indicates that women outclass men in all the most important indices for religious belief and participation. It is actually quite stunning how much misogyny still exists in American religion, considering how many more women than men engage in spiritual practice.

            What concerns me most is the distance that many men hold from Torah and Judaism.  What worries me is that, as Thoreau wrote, “the mass of men live lives of quiet desperation,” but do not see Torah as a vessel to ascend beyond their frustrations. “…they go to the graves with the song still in them.”

            We wonder why our Torah teaches, ve’ahavta – and you will love, rather than ve’he’emanta – and you will believe. It is because belief is not Judaism’s fulcrum, but rather closeness. The secret to living a life of Torah is holding it close, and letting it give expression to our souls. We men need to ask ourselves why it feels so far away.

Rather,[this] thing is very close to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can fulfill it. Deuteronomy 30:12-14

I would appreciate any thoughts from our community, from both men and women, as to why they think men feel less connected to religion. This piece is not meant to invalidate, in any way, the many and real spiritual struggles that women face. 

Light and Darkness

בס''ד

26 Kislev, 5771

December 2^nd, 2010

            The thing about having known the experience of light is that we all, inevitably, will have to step back into darkness for a time, and cope with light’s absence.

            Our midrash teaches that human beings were born knowing light.  According to our rabbis, the entire saga of the garden and the expulsion happened in a matter of hours on the sixth day. We never saw a garden without light, and, also according to the midrash, the first Shabbat was entirely filled with light.

            But when Shabbat left on the evening of the eighth day, human beings knew darkness for the first time, and Adam and Eve were afraid. They thought, “maybe God has abandoned us for good?”

            But then the Holy One took two flints, and showed the first people how to strike them together so that light would come out. To this day, we light the Havdallah candle in memory of that moment, when God taught us to create light.

            It’s telling that Hannukah, Hag Urim – the Holiday of Lights – begins in darkness. If and when you find yourself in darkness beyond the physical, let the candles remind you that you are not abandoned. God, with more than a little help from those who love you, will show you how to create light again.

Hag Urim Sameah,

May your Hannukah be filled with light and joy

Why Living in The Modern World is Difficult

בס''ד

Parshat VaYishlah

11 Kislev, 5770

November 18, 2010

We’re going to dredge up some of what we were taught in Philosophy 101. Yes, I know the class met unconscionably early. Yes, no college student should have to get up at 10:00 am. I promise it won’t hurt too much.

This piece of college trivia is about Aristotle’s four causes. Every object has these four causes. A chair, for instance, has a material cause (wood), a formal cause – the pattern of its construction (the shape of a chair), an efficient cause – what caused it to be made (a carpenter, tools), and a final cause – the reason for its existence (something to sit in). Every thing we own, every car we drive, every piece of food we eat, the jewelry we give – literally every material object can be defined in these four ways.

What’s confusing about contemporary life is that the efficient cause of things – how they get made and who makes them – is found very far away from us. There is often good reason for this: my beloved coffee grows much better in a South American climate than it does here.

But my delicious bean’s distance from me also means that the conditions of production can be easily obscured. And opacity makes injustice a whole lot easier. The following is from a French traveler in the 18^th century (this is an old story):

“I do not know if coffee and sugar are essential to the happiness of Europe, but I know well that these two products have accounted for the unhappiness of two great regions of the world: America [the Carribean in that time] has been depopulated so as to have land on which to plant them; Africa [which provided the slaves] has been depopulated so as to have the people to cultivate them.”*

There was a time in which rabbis in the 19^th and early 20^th centuries protested the first matza-making machines (of all things), because of their effect on the poor in their communities (matzas were traditionally made by the Jewish poor). But in that case, the problem was right next door. We live in the world of globalism, and have to shoulder the added burden searching for justice at a distance.

But perhaps this is the reason for our most oft-quoted of Torah texts: Tzedek tzedek tirdof – Justice, justice, shall you pursue.” (Deut 16:20) Justice is elusive. One has to run after it.

For those who are interested in fighting this good fight, the work of Jewish World Watch (Adat Shalom is a member synagogue) on minerals and gems from conflict regions is extraordinary. P

Please get involved at www.jewishworldwatch.org

For those coffee-lovers who are worried about the efficient cause of their beans, look for the Fair Trade label.

*as quoted in Uncommon Grounds, by Mark Prendergast (17)

Boundaries

בס''ד

Parshat VaYetzei

2 Kislev, 5771

November 9^th, 2010

If you pass by my office on particular mornings, you’ll see me studying Talmud with a good friend. It may also look, at first glance, like we’re trying to kill each other.

There is a kind of learning relationship that, superficially, doesn’t make any sense: it involves a lot of pacing, contradicting, occasional shouting. Our body language would say to any outside observer: “conflict;” unless, of course, you watch our faces, which are often smiling.

That hour that we spend together is one of the most life-giving of my week. It’s space for unfettered curiosity, where every question is fair game; it’s a space of honesty, where opinions are not held back for fear of offending one’s partner – when we think the other is right or wrong, we say so, when there is evidence to contradict, we do so; it is a time to work together to answer difficult questions, to be intellectually and spiritually creative, not to hold back. It is, in short, amazing.

But relationships of this intensity are also exceptionally fragile, and the only way that havruta (learning partners) are able to sustain them is by creating boundaries that keep the interaction, as well as the two people interacting, safe. One of the biggest is that the relationship is about Torah, not about our individual selves – being in shared service to a larger ideal places ad hominem attacks outside the pale. The other is learning partners strive for radical equality within the boundaries of learning – hierarchy doesn’t work when one isn’t holding back.

The point is that real relationships – in which the content is authentic and alive – require real boundaries. The center cannot hold when such interactions have no frame. Respecting the boundaries of another person or of an important relationship is a precious gift, and it is the only true way to let real connections grow between people.

Why Country Music is Amazing

בס''ד

Parshat Toldot

27 Heshvan, 5771

November 4^th, 2010

I have absolutely no natural connection to Nashville. I am everything that a country music fan is not supposed to be: a pure-d, citified, left-coast, Hollywood-bred, not-making-living-with-his-hands kind of guy. I do not own a truck. But I absolutely love country music.

Let me explain.

            Country music has a special kind of Torah. It, as well as bluegrass and the blues (my true favorite genres), makes an art of the plain. It celebrates the beauty of the simple and the emotionality of everyday life: how much he loves his truck; the view of his wife and kids from his front porch looking in; being young and dumb, driving fast and in love; the pain of heartbreak.

            Country music celebrates real things. It believes that everyday things are deserving of song.

            The insight that the everyday can be made holy is the root of a powerful spirituality. For those of us who hold on to this mode, realizing the holiness of simple things is more than a suggestion – it is an imperative. More Torah and mitzvot and prayer than most people realize are grounded in this realization. The challenge of this path is to turn the time we spend in holy community into a crucible for the everyday, in which the basics of our lives are questioned, exalted, transformed, celebrated. “…take your shoes from off your feet for the ground you are standing upon is holy” (Exodus 3:5)

            May we all be blessed with a country kind of life.