Thoughts on Doping, Sports and Jewish Values

We cheer and root for professional athletes because their feats of power, speed and agility amaze and inspire us. We become fans of these men (and women) because on a level playing field, they can perform at a level that so few are capable of, their abilities take on mythical proportions and appear to the novice or weekend athlete to be super human. Of course sport by its very nature is competitive, and the desire to win is a powerful motivator for good and sometimes for ill. Judaism teaches that each human being is born with an inclination toward good (Yetzer Tov) and inclination toward bad/evil (Yetzer Rah). The Yetzer Rah in it self is not necessarily evil, the fact that we have an inherent desire to succeed and accomplish may stem from our Yetzer Rah but can lead to us to productivity and contribution However sometimes that evil inclination can overwhelm our good sense and our desire to win can become a desire to win at all costs, and that kind of thinking often leads to cheating.

Judaism condemns cheating, but our tradition recognizes that cheating involves more than breaking the rules. A Hebrew phrase used in the Talmud to indicate cheating is geneivat da’at, which literally means the theft of the mind or in other words, cheaters who intentionally mislead or deceive others to gain undeserved goodwill are considered thieves. “There are seven kinds of people who are guilty of stealing,” our sages teach. “First among them are people who misrepresent themselves to others” (Tosefta, Baba Kama 7:3).”

THE SIN OF DECEPTION – STEALING ONE’S MIND:
The literal meaning of geneivat da’at in Hebrew is theft of one’s mind, thoughts, wisdom, or knowledge, i.e., fooling someone and thereby causing him or her to have a mistaken assumption, belief, and/or impression. Professor Hershey H. Friedman of Brooklyn College explains, “The term is used in Jewish law to indicate deception, cheating, creating a false impression, and acquiring undeserved goodwill. Geneivat da’at goes beyond lying. Any words or actions that cause others to form incorrect conclusions about one’s motives might be a violation of this prohibition.”

Professor Friedman continues; Jewish tradition holds that that the prohibition against geneivat da’at is included in the transgression of “you shalt not steal (Leviticus 19:11).” In Leviticus, the commandment against stealing is in the plural, lo tignovu (in the Ten Commandments it is in the singular, lo tignov), which enables one to broaden the law to encompass more situations. Sforno asserts that the eighth of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20: 13), “Thou shalt not steal,” while primarily referring to kidnapping, also includes stealing money and geneivat da’at. Rabbi Yonah Gerondi (Shaarei Teshuvah 3:184) regards geneivat da’at as a form of falsehood; the Torah explicitly states (Exodus 23:7) “Distance yourself from a false matter.”

The Talmudic sages believed that there are seven types of thieves and, of these, the most egregious is the one who “steals the minds” of people (Tosefta Bava Kama 7:3). The Talmud (Tosefta, Baba Metzia 3:15) gives the following example of the sin of Geneivat da’at. We read that a storekeeper is not permitted to sprinkle his store with wine or oil because he “steals the minds” of people. Several commentaries (e.g., Magen Abraham, Minchas Bikurim) feel that the problem with sprinkling one’s store with a superior-quality, fragrant wine is that it may fool customers into believing that all the wine sold in the store is of the same high quality. People tend to rely on their sense of smell when purchasing products such as wine or oil.

THIS RABBI’S OPINION – RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ
The appeal and enjoyment of professional sports comes from watching professional athletes astound us with their remarkable feats of athletic ability and skill. We are drawn to professional sports because, in general these athletes perform better and with more human ability than you could reasonably expect from your ‘average Joe’. We sit in the stands and marvel at how far they can hit a ball, how fast they can run or pedal, how well they can throw. We say to ourselves or the guy sitting next to us, “How can a human being do that!” On one level we enjoy it some much because we know that we can’t do what they do (or can’t any more). But that allure is lost when artificial means are used to pump up or boost their abilities, and we realize that they can’t really do what they do either. We don’t want to root for steroids we want to root for people. This problem is further exacerbated if you can’t know for sure that what you are seeing is real human skill, or chemically enhanced. Furthermore if some athletes are ‘juiced’ and others are not, then the level playing field of mano-a-mano competition is completely lost and so too is the noble and heroic essence of athletic completion. How can the best man win, if one of them is only the best because of the ‘juice’?

Religious vs. Spiritual

March 23, 2012 Religious vs. Spiritual BY RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ http://www.jewishjournal.com/irabbi/item/religious_vs_spiritual_20120323/

People often tell me they are uncomfortable with religion.  You may think it odd to tell that to a rabbi but it happens all the time, usually in the form of an apology, though they have nothing to apologize for, certainly not to me.  They then continue and explain, that while they are not religious they do consider themselves spiritual. Such a dichotomy begs the question of course, what is the difference between the two, between being religious and being spiritual? The answer is found in this book, in the book of Leviticus, a book literally overflowing with religious practice.  Indeed gallons of blood and whole herds of animals are spilled and sacrificed in the name of religion in the book of Leviticus – nothing could seem farther from spirituality than these ancient rites. And yet our rabbis teach that Leviticus is the MOST spiritual book of the entire Torah.  In fact so important are its teachings for living a spiritual life that tradition holds that when we begin teaching a child Torah we start with this book.  Not the stories of Genesis or Moses and the Exodus but with sacrifices.  WHY? Because sacrifice is not religious ritual, it is sacred communication, it is about having a relationship with God, and a relationship with God is spirituality. In this week’s Torah portion God says to Moses, “When a person sins by stealing, cheating or lying they not only sin against their fellow they sin against me.”  In the Talmud Rabbi Akiva asks, how is a sin against a person also a sin against God, presumably the person stole from or cheated his neighbor not God – how possibly could such an action involve God? Then as all good rabbis do, Rabbi Akiva answers his own question by explaining that when a person loans a friend money or an object and does not return it, he sins not only against the person he stole from but also the Third Party that witnesses everything; the ever watchful eye of God.  Deny the loan or the theft and you deny that God saw what you did as well as your fellow. The Torah text continues that the offender must first restore the stolen item, the broken pledge – with interest no less – THEN he makes a sacrifice to God to repair that relationship as well. Spirituality is to live as though God sees and hears everything and then to act accordingly.  God, G-O-D is as one teacher described Good Orderly Direction. Leviticus teaches how we treat others is a direct measure of our faith and our faith must always be made manifest in how we act in the world.  The challenge is to remember that there is a Third Party to any human interaction or relationship, one who urges us to be our best selves at all times, at the office, at home, between friends.  This challenge has its own reward as well because every interaction with another can also become a meeting place between us and God.

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Back Story

Back Story BY RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ http://www.jewishjournal.com/irabbi/item/back_story_20120508/

A dozen years ago I skimmed Steve Covey’s book “7 Habits of Highly Effective People”.  I am not sure that skimming it made me more effective than reading it but I skimmed it none the less.  Twelve years later one story still resonates with me from Covey’s work, I reflect on it probably once a week in my rabbinate and its insight continues to inform my work with people.  Covey tells the story of observing a father on a quiet subway car.  The man’s children were running wild amongst the quiet passengers and causing quite a disturbance.  Everyone is disturbed by the behavior and the father appears oblivious to what is taking place.  Covey turns the father and says, “Sir, your children are really disturbing a lot of people. I wonder if you couldn’t control them a little more.”  The father stirs from his oblivion, turns to Covey and responds, “Oh, you’re right. I guess I should do something about it. We just came from the hospital where their mother died about an hour ago. I don’t know what to think, and I guess they don’t know how to handle it either.’ Covey is left speechless as all of his assumptions are torn asunder, and uses the incident to explain the power of paradigm shifts, the values check that emerges when we uncover a back story we never considered, when we discover the why behind the actions of others. A similar incident happens in this week’s parsha, Emor.  In Leviticus 24:10 we read of a man born to an Israelite mother and an Egyptian father.  The young man attempts to set his camp among his mother’s ancestral tribe and is rejected on the grounds that one must camp by the tribe of their father.  The young man’s father is Egyptian, he has no place to camp.  A fight breaks out between him and an Israelite member of the tribe and in the course of the fight he blasphemy’s God’s name.  For this sin the young man is brought to Moses and held in custody until God ordains that he be stoned to death for the sin of blasphemy. As severe as the judgement may appear to our modern sensibilities, it is juxtaposed with the passage about and eye for an eye and is not out of place with other biblical decrees.  But a peculiar fact is mentioned in the text that causes many to question this assumption. While we never learn the name of the blasphemer, the text does explicitly reveal his mother’s name; Shelomith bat Divri.  She is the only woman mentioned by name in the entire book of Leviticus.  Why?  What bearing does his mother have on his actions?  A close reading of the text reminds us we have met this woman before.  She is the wife of the Hebrew foreman, who is beaten by an Egyptian taskmaster so severely that Moses takes matters into his own hands and kills the taskmaster in cold blood (Ex. 2:11). Why was the taskmaster beating Shelomith’s husband?  Because earlier that day he raped Shelomith and the husband saw it – trying to cover his tracks the taskmaster attempted to work him to death.  The blasphemer was the issue of that union.  (Ex Rab 1:28, Lev Rab 32:4) Paradigm shift!  With this as back story perhaps we understand why this young man curses G-d when he is kicked out of the camp?  We can feel his rage and frustration.  We can hear him pleading “Have you no room for me within the community of the Jewish people?  After what my mother went through, after all the teasing and contempt I have experienced for something I had no control over?  I was raised by my mother, (and step-father) – never knew my birth father – killed the day I was conceived.  Where do I belong if not among this people, my people, the only family and faith I have ever known.” For me the story and its harsh resolution is a cautionary tale.  I have found that most people do not act indiscriminately, there is usually a reason, often a good reason for every action and reaction.  Understanding those reasons, the back story helps me to determine my response.  I can’t help but wonder how this whole series of events would have been different if somewhere along the way someone stopped and simply asked why?

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More than skin deep

April 25, 2012 More than skin deep Parashat Tazria-Metzora (Leviticus 12:1-15:33) BY RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ http://www.jewishjournal.com/ torah_portion/article/more_than_skin_deep_20120425/

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz Yuck, skin disease! This has been the cry of many a bar and bat mitzvah student when informed that this week’s Torah portion will be their Torah reading on their big day. I empathize with them, for I have had the same reaction in preparing this column. But as is so often the case with the Torah (and with skin disease), to get to the root of understanding, you have to go below the surface. Tazria-Metzora is actually two Torah portions combined into one by the necessities of the Hebrew calendar. The chapters deal with the biblical affliction known as tzara’at, a term that has no English equivalent. The term is often mistranslated as “leprosy,” though it seems to be related to psoriasis, a common skin condition that causes skin redness and irritation in about 3 percent of the population. When we look deeper at this week’s portion(s), we begin to see a clearly discernible pattern in what the Torah calls the tzara’at-afflicted person. What begins as something relatively incidental to the person becomes something all-consuming and completely identified with the person. “When a person has on the skin of his body a swelling, a rash, or a discoloration … if the eruption spreads out over the skin … if [the affliction] appears to go deeper than the skin … he is a leprous man, he is unclean. … He shall be unclean as long as the disease is on him …” (Leviticus 13:2-45). The person has become his or her illness. How often have we experienced this, in ourselves or in others? A person becomes so consumed by his ailment — physical, emotional, spiritual — that it defines him. We go from being a person, to a person with cancer, to a chemo patient, to being in remission, to (God willing) a cancer survivor or, most sadly, a cancer victim. It is the same for one who has lost a job, divorced, lost a home, or any of the myriad modern-day afflictions. Those things need not and should not define us. We are, our tradition informs us at the moment of our creation, adam; we are a human being created in God’s image. Maimonides, in his Laws of Tzara’at-Induced Impurity 16:10, describes a different progression, but one that leads to an important related insight. He explains tzara’at as a divine warning message, imploring its victim to soul-search, to look deeper inside himself than what is seen when he looks in the mirror (what is only skin deep). In Maimonides’ progression, the affliction would start by affecting the house, then furniture, clothing and, finally, the body itself. Here, too, there is a movement from the periphery to the center of the victim’s existence. It is important to note that the role of the priest in biblical times was not to cure the disease; rather, his charge was to diagnose and then quarantine the person from the community. The priest would send him out of the camp for a set period of time, checking on him from time to time, but not allowing him back in until the affliction had naturally subsided. Then an elaborate procedure of sacrifices is initiated to thank God for being restored to full health. At first this may appear to be betraying the limits of biblical medicine, but, as we have learned, we have to go deeper to find the greater lesson. The question that arises is what happened to the person during the quarantine that cleared up the affliction? And why was it necessary for that healing to take place outside the camp? One thing we know from our own experiences with becoming consumed by our ailments and afflictions is that emotional and spiritual healing requires perspective. Both progressions of tzara’at — the one in the Torah and the one in Maimonides — describe a process by which one must identify and accept something about himself or herself before a healing can begin. You have to acknowledge the affliction before you can begin to confront it. The ailment is not only physical; it is also psycho-emotional — being defined by our present circumstance (illness, job loss, etc.). As such, it follows that treatment begins with acknowledging that painful fact, what 12-step programs refer to as Step One. There is no better place to gain perspective on your afflictions than to surround yourself with others similarly afflicted. That is why the priest sent the tzara’at outside the camp — to find perspective and solidarity in those who similarly suffer. When our affliction is no longer unique to us, but shared by others who are travelers on the same road, we cannot define ourselves by it. In that moment, we are are forced to look deeper, beyond how we appear to others, because it is not distinct, and begin to confront how we appear to ourselves. Then healing can begin, and then we are more than our disease —and much more than our skin becomes clear. Dan Moskovitz is a rabbi at Temple Judea, a Reform congregation in Tarzana. Visit his blog at jewishjournal.com/iRabbi.

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Circumcise your hearts

August 8, 2012 Circumcise your hearts Parashat Ekev (Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25) BY RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ http://www.jewishjournal.com/ torah_portion/article/circumcise_your_hearts_20120808/

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz Consider the artichoke for a moment. It is an odd but instructive vegetable. An artichoke is prickly and surrounded by an armor of leaves protecting the soft center, the heart of the food. Boiling or steaming it loosens the protective leaves, permitting you to pick them off one by one, unwrapping the delicious gift that lies inside. Each leaf contains a hint, a sampling of the delicious center. But even if you combined all of the tastes provided by all of the leaves on an artichoke, it would never equal the delicate green heart; only by cutting or pulling away its protective layers can one get to the treasure that lies within. In this week’s Torah portion, the Israelites are instructed by Moses to circumcise their hearts in service to God. Specifically, they are instructed to “cut away the thickening around their hearts and stiffen their necks no more” (Deuteronomy 10:16). It is a powerful and direct statement made by Moses to the people. At first thought it appears horrific; Israel knows what circumcision is, and you can well imagine that every male in the assembled crowd quickly adjusted their gaze, if not their stance, at just the mention of the word. Rest assured — even back then they knew Moses was speaking in metaphor. Biblical psychology localizes feelings and emotions in the body, and points to the heart as the organ of comprehension — thus an uncircumcised heart is a closed mind. (Think of the ring ceremony at a Jewish wedding where the rings are placed on the right index finger with a vein directly connected to the heart.) The prophet Jeremiah even provides an example of this concept. A farmer does not plant an untilled field that weeds have overtaken and the topsoil of which is hard as stone. To make the soil productive, he plows it and rids it of weeds. So it is with human beings; the human heart and mind must be cleared of harmful growth and made receptive. Only then can ideas strike root and grow. Much like you can’t eat an artichoke till you have pealed away its hard shell, so too the Torah tells us that the heart and mind cannot undertake acts of justice and mercy until the defensive layers we build around it are cut away and broken down. It’s not an easy thing to take down one’s own defenses, certainly when those defenses have been built over years of confrontation and hurt feelings. You build a wall to keep things out, but it just as often has the negative effect of keeping things in. Our lives are really not all that different from those of our biblical ancestors; life-styles might differ, but the basic truths of human nature and social interaction are as true in the Torah as they are today. Our ancestors encountered a world where they were slaves to a tyrant; we may work in a job with our own taskmasters and pharaohs. In biblical times, such a situation caused Israel to be untrusting, stiff necked, hard of heart. Is the same not true for many of us? Have we not built our defenses against character assassination and image degradation so high as to harden our hearts to anyone who has even the potential to show us ill will? For a time Israel did not want to accept the Torah because they didn’t trust that anyone, far be it God, would look with favor upon them. It took 10 plagues and the parting of the Red Sea to convince the Children of Israel to open their hearts and minds to Torah, and even then Moses was compelled to command them again in this week’s parasha not to rebuild those defenses, those walls that prevented them from letting God into their lives. When an artichoke blossoms it is the heart that grows first; the leaves come after to protect the delicate treasure. Likewise with the field in which it is planted; sure, after years of planting and harvesting it becomes resistant to growth, and if left dormant for a season it develops its own defense against those who would seek to assault it. But the treasure is always there — behind the leaves of the artichoke, under the stone-like topsoil of a field, inside the thickened walls we build around our heart. Our tradition teaches that one of the many purposes of the covenant between God and the Jewish people is to elevate the human experience to help us find, recognize and create holiness in our lives and those we touch. Anything that prevents this, our parasha instructs us, must be cut away and removed so that the treasure that lies inside can be receptive once again. This week entertain a new idea, embrace an old but now distant friend, rekindle relationships long dormant with those we love and have loved, let the words of Torah, the teachings of Judaism once again be a sign upon our hands, set them as a seal upon our hearts. Dan Moskovitz is a rabbi at Temple Judea, a Reform congregation in Tarzana. Visit his blog at jewishjournal.com/iRabbi.

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BENEDICTION: Congregation Meeting

BENEDICTION: Congregation Meeting

 

Eternal God, We thank You for the blessing of Your presence and the holiness that surrounds us as join together as a community

 

Mikor HaHayim, watch over our Temple President Michael Robbins and those leaders of our congregation who are completing their terms on the board.  Guide them as they return to careers and family, may they find satisfaction and contentment in what lays ahead for them and also in the knowledge that they have furthered our people and Torah through the good works they have done in service to our community.

 

Avinu Shebashamayim, Grant our new leaders and our new President Andy Keimach the wisdom to build on past achievements and the vision to lead us toward a bright future.

 

El Rachum v’Chanun, as we go forward from this meeting and this sacred place, bless our congregation, our going out and our safe return.

 

Kein Yehim Ratzon – May it be God’s will.

May 23, 2012

Why I love Jews by Choice

BY RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ

http://www.jewishjournal.com/ cover_story/article/why_i_love_jews_by_choice_20120523/

The first conversion I ever performed as a rabbi was for a 45- year-old father of two who was in the final stages of liver cancer. John, who was born to a Jewish father but raised Protestant by his Christian mother, was so stricken with his disease at this point in our yearlong studies that his eyes could not focus to read, and it was difficult for him to speak more than two or three words at a time. To complete our studies, I would make cassette tapes for him (yes, it was that long ago), which he would listen to between our biweekly visits, and he would slowly write questions and responses for our in-person meetings.

 

I was a student rabbi, traveling twice a month to a far-off pulpit in rural Central California to lead services, teach religious school and to meet with John. The community had maybe 100 Jewish families and, early on, I asked John, a mathematics professor at the local community college, why he wanted to affirm his Jewish identity, and why now, as he was in the midst of chemotherapy with a bleak prognosis. John pointed to a phrase in the Ve’ahavta, which his daughter Blair had been studying for her bat mitzvah. “V’shinantam l’vanecha” — “and you shall impress these words upon your children,” the passage proclaims. John, who knew he was dying, turned to me and explained, “So they [his children] will never forget how important being Jewish is to me.” John died before he could hear his daughter chant those words at her bat mitzvah, but their memory echoes through his family, community and my rabbinate to this very day.

 

Every rabbi who has been privileged to study with Jews by Choice has a story like this and many more. At Shavuot, as we remember the story of Ruth, the first convert, we also remember that every student who comes to us for conversion is different and has a unique and very personal story, but three paths to Judaism seem to be the most frequently traveled.

 

One is that of the spiritual seekers looking to fill a void in their spiritual identity that either their religion of birth or life experience has not satisfied. I witnessed a powerful example of this in Chuck, a hard-nosed Korean War veteran and former POW who came to me determined to become a Jew.

 

Chuck was that rare blend of scholar-soldier, an avid reader of philosophy and theology by night, as he trained with his Green Beret unit by day. After being captured behind enemy lines and tortured in a Korean POW camp, from which he later escaped, Chuck found himself pondering why people can be so filled with hatred and violence toward one another. Though not a pacifist, Chuck, like many veterans, saw a pointlessness to war and conflict that was hard to dispute, given all he had been through on the battlefield. It was during his period of attempting to reconcile his experiences that he started to reread the Bible with fresh eyes. He told me the only part that made sense to him was the Old Testament. And so, when he came to me, we started by studying the commentaries and Talmud (Jewish law). One day he turned to me, fixed me with a gaze I am sure he reserved for troops under his command, and said, “This is it, this is the only system that makes sense; this is the path toward peace.”

 

I didn’t know if I should convert him or salute; I guess in the end I did both.

 

A second path to becoming Jewish is often blazed by the bar/bat mitzvah-aged child of a non-Jewish parent. As a Reform rabbi, about 30 percent of my congregation at Temple Judea in Tarzana is made up of interfaith families. Many times over the years, the non-Jewish parent of a bar/bat mitzvah student has approached me or my colleagues about conversion as their child prepares to be called to the Torah.

 

They are sparked by the warmth of Jewish tradition, the idea of wanting spiritual continuity in their family or, quite powerfully, because they are learning alongside their child about the beauty and relevance of Judaism. Their process reinforces my belief in the progressive Jewish approach to interfaith couples: By holding the door open to chuppah, and participation in synagogue life, we create the possibility that they — through their children’s studies, no less — will find a path to Jewish identity. I cannot begin to describe the feeling of standing on the bimah as the now-Jewish parent chants the Torah blessing for the first time before the child reads his or her bar/bat mitzvah portion.

 

A third path, which may be viewed by some as prototypical, is when the non-Jewish partner of an engaged couple comes to me for their wedding. While for me, conversion is not a precondition for doing their wedding, I do encourage and promote it. Miraculously, those who choose to enter the Jewish people around the time they enter into marriage often create two Jews, not one, in the process. The Jew by Choice is filled with a passion and need to express his or her new Jewish identity in very religious/symbolic ways, and the spouse who was born Jewish experiences Judaism with a fresh set of eyes. Through the eyes of their beloved, they see things they’ve missed, or never encountered as a child growing up in the religion. Suddenly, it is the Jew by Choice who is insisting they light Shabbat candles, attend services regularly and become involved in the synagogue. Presently, some of the most active couples in our congregation have followed this path.

 

One of my favorite examples is the story of Joshua and Christina (not their real names). Joshua was born in Israel and raised in the United States; prior to meeting Christina, his bar mitzvah was pretty much the first and last time he stepped foot in a synagogue. When he called looking for a rabbi for his wedding, Joshua proudly identified himself as a cultural Jew and explained that having Jewish wedding was important to him only as a way to honor the memory of his mother.

 

He gave me clear instructions over the phone before we met not to make the ceremony too Jewish. His fiancee, Christina, was raised Mennonite in the Midwest, and Joshua was one of the few Jewish people she had ever spoken with. She grew up with parents who were devout members of their church, but, from the time she was a teenager, she had always felt something missing in her faith and did not practice their beliefs.

 

In our monthly meetings about the wedding, Christina asked more and more questions about Judaism, which, to Joshua’s credit, he did not dismiss. One day, she asked if she could start meeting with me one on one. Those meetings led to her enrolling in an introduction to Judaism class, which Joshua decided to attend with her so they could spend more time together (they were newlyweds, after all). At the end of the course she converted, and now they come together to synagogue nearly every Shabbat. Joshua is part of our weekly Torah study and sits on a number of temple committees, and Christina helps facilitate our young couples group and mentors others in the conversion process. A few months ago, I was privileged to name their daughter in our sanctuary. In her young life, their child has already been to synagogue more than Joshua had been in the 20 years before he met Christina.

 

It is because of stories like these that rabbis often say that one of the most inspiring and fulfilling aspects of our calling is to work with Jews by Choice. Every student we study with amazes and astounds us because, through their eyes, we see Judaism as something new, full of hope, promise, wonder, fascination and awe.

 

I did not have to wait to become a rabbi to observe the profound impact that choosing to be Jewish can have on another person. I guess you could say that making Jews is our family business. My maternal grandmother, Vera Kipnis, became the first private conversion tutor in the San Francisco Bay Area, more than 70 years ago. She tutored students for their studies with rabbis from across the movements, and for as long as I can remember, my mom, Patti Moskovitz, continued the work that my grandmother began. My mother tutored students in our home, believing that Judaism was dished out with cookies, soups and sandwiches as much as through Torah, Talmud and tradition. Her students were frequent guests at our Shabbat table and held a place of honor every year at our family seder — where, if our family singing didn’t scare them away, we knew our people had them hooked for good. In any given week, I would come home from school to witness a student crying tears of joy as he or she uncovered a part of the soul that previous religion, faith or lack thereof could not touch.

 

With every student my family has worked with through the years, the question lay before me: If I were born into another religion, would I have chosen to study and become Jewish? Could I leave behind family heritage and traditions I have known since birth? Could I say to parents and grandparents, as the biblical Ruth does in this week’s reading for Shavuot, “Your people shall be my people, your God shall be my God, where you go I will go”?

 

Modern life is already so packed with competing priorities and demands, why add to those the problems and challenges of leaving one’s family of faith and tradition to cling to another? And not just any faith, but Judaism — a small, minority community fraught at times with internal tsuris and an external experience of contempt in the eyes of so many. Would I be Jewish if I didn’t have to be?

 

Yes, even rabbis ponder this existential question — maybe we ponder it even more than others, as daily we see the joys and oys of Jewish life. We wonder about the families that come in and out of synagogue after b’nai mitzvah like it is a revolving door — one day, one generation will they not come back? We look at the survivors and children of survivors who sit uncomfortably in synagogue, who endured horrors we cannot even begin to understand — what is the source of their faith? We counsel the families who use Judaism and Jewish practice as a wedge between them, not eating in one another’s homes or davening in one another’s shuls, or attending one another’s funerals. Then there are the synagogue politics, the high cost of being Jewish and the reality that at any given time in history, someone is out to wipe us off the face of the earth.

 

And yet, in the face of all that, in spite of all of that, in walks a successful, accomplished, intelligent and thoughtful adult who says simply but profoundly, “Rabbi, I want to become Jewish.” We should all be so fortunate to see Judaism through the eyes of someone who could chose to be anything else, anything other, but instead chooses this path, this people, this faith.

 

V’shinantam l’vanecha, indeed! The Jew by Choice impresses in so many ways, on their children for sure, but hopefully on each and every one of us, old and young alike.

 

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz is a rabbi at Temple Judea (templejudea.com), a Reform congregation in Tarzana.

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INVOCATION – PROVIDENCE TARZANA HOSPITAL FOUNDATION

PROVIDENCE TARZANA HOSPITAL FOUNDATION

INVOCATION

RABBI DAN MOSKOVITZ

 

Before I begin and offer words of blessing for this beautiful evening and auspicious gathering, I just have to comment on how significant it is that a rabbi is asked to give the invocation at a Gala for a Catholic hospital.  I can assure you that this unique occurrence says far more about the hospital, its openness, role in the community and visionary leadership than it does about the rabbi.  Any number of my rabbinic colleagues for the San Fernando Valley could stand before you tonight and bring words of blessing and praise upon the good works that Providence Tarzana Hospital does in our community.  The hospital and its services are an embodiment of the Jewish value of Pikuach Nefesh, the lengths one must go to, to save the life of another and our shared spiritual and religious commitment to accessible quality heath care for our community.  So by way of introduction I am honored to be asked to bring a blessing for this evening, but really it is Providence Tarzana Hospital, its phsycians, nurses, staff and patrons that bring the blessing upon all of us, the blessing of having such a high caliber and visionary hospital in our community.

 

Friends let us pray, Mikor HaChayim, source of all life an blessing.  Spread over us the blessing of your presence on this gathering and assembly.  Gathered before you in celebration and commitment are those that heal the sick and care for the injured in our community.  Standing with them are patron and benefactors who through their acts of tzedakkah, through righteousness and philanthropy make it possible for this institution to embody the words of your scripture, a text Jews and Catholics share when we read, “Lo ta-amod dam al rayecha / do not stand idly by while your neighbor suffers.”

 

These people here, this hospital and this community have not stood idly by, rather they press forward with innovation, with advancement, with advocacy and outreach to care for all of your children.  Bless them in their work, watch over them in their endeavors, support them in their visions and goals to bring r’fua sheleyma, full and complete healing of body and soul to those who walk through the doors of our community hospital.  Then on that day will the words of the prophets ring true, may god bless you and keep you, causing God’s face to shine upon you and to bring you peace.

BUILD ME A SANCTUARY SO THAT I MAY DWELL AMONG YOU

BUILD ME A SANCTUARY SO THAT I MAY DWELL AMONG YOU

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz

Temple Judea 2/24/2012

This sermon was delivered from an outline (included below) a video of the sermon as delivered is available here: https://vimeo.com/37427261

 

• Last weekend the WSJ ran a cover story on their Week in Review section about how the decline of religion in the United States has contributed to a decline in community.
• The article written by Alain de Botton made the point that one of the great losses of our modern society is a sense of community.   That we have replaced neighborliness with a ruthless self interest, that we pursue contact with each other for primarily individualistic ends
  • Financial gain
  • Social advancement
  • Romantic love
  • Botton sees a correlation between this aggressive individualism and the decline of communal religious experience.
  • He sees a return to communal religious life as the antidote to these societal ills, a response to the unmitigated individualism that is undermining our communities.
  • In the words of noted sociologist Robert Putnam, “Too many people are bowling alone.” Puttman and Botton both mean:
    • When we withdraw in to ever smaller and more narrow social circles we become strangers to one another this leads to a deficit of deep relationships and social capital that the more socially connected generations before us relied upon to meet life’s challenges and celebrate life’s joys.
    • Take for example the typical secular Friday night ritual going to dinner and a movie – a microcosm of how isolated we have become from each other.
    • A few years ago Sharon and I found ourselves without kids and me off the bima on a Friday night.  We did something we have honestly never done before or since in our marriage, we went to a movie on a Friday night.  I know shocking, radical – you’d think I ate bacon on Yom Kippur or something.
    • We don’t a live sheltered life by any means, but Friday for us is family night, its either shul or Shabbat dinner, sometimes both.  But that Friday evening we entered the other sacred space in America, we went to the mall.
      • The whole world was there, all having the same experience – and yet everyone was essentially alone and isolated from each other.
      • A few observations
        • I saw more congregants there than here, it was packed with people
        • The whole evening as you well know has its own rituals to it
          • Where to eat
          • Take the kids, don’t take the kids
          • Getting the baby sitter
          • Do you go with another couple or by yourselves
          • Do you eat before or after the movie
          • And many more
• Beyond casual greetings no one talked to each other.
  • We sat in a restaurant and had our own isolated experience.
  • We sat in the movie and did the same.
  • We walked the mall with frozen yogurt and again we were in our own world.
    • Everyone around us was having the same experience, engaged in the same if not identical ritual and yet we were separate and a part from each other.
    • It was a collection of people not a community of people.
    • Juxtapose that with what we do here tonight, the other Friday night experience.
      • We come in alone or in couples but our experience is not isolated, rather it is interdependent.
      • What happens here what is created here exists in large measure because of the expectations we bring here
      • The invitation to greet with each other with “Shabbat Shalom” is an invitation to go deeper than just “hi how are you?”, the point of the exchange is to connect with those around you.
      • If there was a dinner before or after services it would be the furthest experience from that of going to a restaurant.  The impetus, indeed the mitzvah is to reach across the table to share the meal with others, to make friends of strangers or acquaintances.
        • Imagine for a moment if that was the how a restaurant worked, you made your reservations, then they sat you with total strangers and encouraged you to engage in conversation.  That’s what we do here at synagogue.
• The prayer experience itself is not like a movie or a concert or a play.  Though we struggle with that because it is maybe what is more familiar to us – the idea is that it is collaborative that the ‘audience’ (to use the metaphor) is also the actor.
  • Prayer comes from you and from here and God and holiness is found in the middle, in between.
• In prayer we speak in the third person plural, we pray for this, we acknowledge that.  We want healing, we want security, we yearn for peace, we crave acceptance of our prayers and supplications – together/collectively.
• This is the great contribution of religion and in particular the synagogue to our society – it helps us transform strangers into friends.
• As Botton points out religion serves two central needs that secular society has not been able to meet with any particular skill
  • The need to live together in harmonious communities, despite our deeply rooted selfish and sometimes violent impulses.
  • The need to cope with the paint that arises from professional failure, troubled relationships and the reality of our own decline and demise.
  • Religion is a collection of occasionally ingenious concepts that attempt to assuage the most persistent and unattended ills of secular life.
  • RELIGION EXISTS TO BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER FOR SACRED PURPOSE – TO CONNECT AND DIRECT US TOWARD GREATER ENDS, THROUGH HONORABLE MEANS.
  • And so here we are tonight on Shabbat Treumah, the Sabbath that marks the building of the portable sanctuary by the ancient Israelites in the desert. 
  • We will read tomorrow morning, vasuli mikdash vshohankti b’tocham.  God says, “Build me a sanctuary so that I may dwell among you.” 
  • Why did God need us to build this place, God was with us in the desert, was with us at the red sea was with us at the mountain.  Why build a sanctuary – if God is everywhere?
  • It is not for us to find God, no the purpose of this place of being here all together is so that God can find us.
  • Without this place we are isolated people roaming the malls of America, together but separate and I think for many also alone and lonely.  But here we are or at least can aspire to be one people, of one heart, of one mind, of sacred purpose – connected and directed toward being more together than we could ever hope to be a part.
  • That is the purpose of synagogue and the gift of religion – it creates community better than any other institution or experience I have ever known.

Right is Wrong – The battle for the soul of the Jewish people.

Right is Wrong

Rabbi Dan Moskovitz – Temple Judea

January 6, 2012

 

A video of this sermon as delivered is available here: https://vimeo.com/34726042

Shabbat Shalom, I want to talk with you tonight about the terrible scenes we have seen and been reading about in Israel this past week – indeed these past years.  If you are unfamiliar with what I am referring to, I am talking about the horrifying scenes of violence, of extremism, of Chilul HaShem of the profaning of God’s name and a tarnishing of Judaism for all of us.  It’s a clash of Jewish cultures that began more than a decade ago, but has come to the front pages this past week when an 8 year old modern orthodox girl, Naamah was accosted and spit on by Ultra-Orthodox Jews as she walked to her modern orthodox day school in the Israeli city of Beit Shemesh, a city of 80,000+ west of Jerusalem.

I want to address the nauseating sight of grown men, extremists, wrapped in tallit and kippah, black hats and beards shouting, hitting, spitting at and chasing school girls because they wear skirts that do not cover their ankles, because they wear shirtsleeves that do not cover their wrists, because they dare to walk with their mothers on the same sidewalk as men.

I want to respond to the reports of these same ‘religious men’, a small, but not minute and not insignificant percentage of the ultra-orthodox (or Haredi) community who are physically forcing women to the back of Israeli buses, engaging in vandalism against Israel Army bases, calling female soldier ‘prostitutes’ and all of it in the name of ‘true’ Judaism.  All of it because as Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox Jews (and I want to make clear not all ultra-orthodox Jews behave like this or believe like this, but a vocal and powerful minority certainly do).  This vocal minority and their rabbis have so disfigured Judaism that they believe their religion demands that they exclude women from public and religious life.  That anyone who does not observe Judaism just like they do is wrong.  A group that believes that to even look at a picture of a woman on a billboard, or to hear a woman sing, let alone read Torah or sit beside them in synagogue is a sin greater than the violence and hatred they perpetrate in God’s name.

I say their religion, and not ours because the Judaism they promote is not my Judaism, more over its not any kind of Judaism that I would ever associate with, defend, teach or support.  And yet the majority of Jews in America and Israel, the majority of us sitting here tonight have remained silent in the face of the fundamentalist wave that is sweep through Judaism today.  We are silent I think for a variety of reasons articulated so succinctly by Jay Michaelson, writing in the national Jewish newspaper, The Forward.

1. There is a sense that we Jews should stick together and not attack one another.
2. There’s a reluctance even to name Jewish fundamentalism as such, and recognize it for what it is.
3. There’s the false nostalgia of, “Fiddler on the Roof,” which depicts Haredim as cuddly and quaint rather than, as they often are, deliberately ignorant of modernity, misogynist, complicit in violence and actively desirous of taking over Israeli civic institutions and foreign policy.
4. And worst of all, I think, is the sneaking suspicion many Jews have that Haredim are the “real Jews.” (Think of how Haredim are often depicted that way in popular culture.) They’re the most religious, the most committed, the most traditional. All the rest of us, and certainly those of us in this room, Reform Jews, have compromised with modernity, with our desires. They’re the stalwart ones, and while we might not want to live that way ourselves, we think they are guaranteeing the Jewish future.

They are not guaranteeing the Jewish future. They are undermining it. Sure, by having very large families, they are producing more Jews. But the Jewish future they would create looks more like Islamist Iran than any Jewish culture that I or you I’m pretty sure would want to be part of.  If this is the Jewish future, count me out. Rather we have to come to a place where we can say proudly and emphatically, that we will not be defined by fundamentalism, that we will not cower in the face of extremism, even if it wears a black hat and beard and proclaims itself as the only true Judaism.

It is not enough to say as most leaders of the Orthodox community have said that these people are radicals, a tiny bunch of fanatics who represent no one.  It is not enough to simply distance and dissociate from them, because they are not a small group, and they do have supports.  Read any of the online comments to the articles in the Forward, Haaretz or the New York Times and you will see that many defend the actions of these extremists, blaming the young girls for dressing like prostitutes (which they are not) or blaming American Jews, Reform Jews for making Judaism into a version of Christianity (that this what we are doing here tonight on Shabbat they are calling Christianity)

[The fact is that] “according to a recent study by CBS, the Haredi population of Israel is set to grow 580% in the next half-century. Modern Orthodox, secular and other Israeli Jews are expected to become a minority in Israel, squeezed between growing ultra-Orthodox and Arab populations. Even in America, Haredi Jews represent the fastest-growing sector of the Jewish population, threatening not only secular Jewish culture but non-fundamentalist religious Judaism as well.”[1]

As Michaelson writes, “Ignoring this demographic threat would bring costs as severe as ignoring assimilation or anti-Semitism: the shrinking of the Jewish culture and people, and a powerful fundamentalist bloc that, as in much of the Islamic world, will eventually define Judaism, both internally and externally.”[2]

Jewish life in America and Israel is undergoing a tragic disfigurement – more extreme, more strict. All sense of moderation, of tradition, is being pushed out.  And I must add that one cannot hear this and not also think of the political extremism and intolerance that is sweeping through American politics as well.  The middle, and the left have abdicated the field.  Dumbfounded at what we see and hear on TV and in the media – we have simply gone silent rather than confront the extremists in our midst.

We must not be silent in the face of this rising extremism, now is the time to speak up.  As Reform Jews, as modern Jews, as authentic Jews.  Indeed our tradition demands it of us, the Talmud, that great code of Jewish law that has also become a tarnished victim of these religious extremists commands us, “When a person has the ability to protest and remains silent, his silence is similar to verbal consent. When you do not say something to disagree, it is as if you agree with what was said or done.”[3]  We must speak out against fundamentalism and extremism everywhere, and particularly in our own Jewish community.

But condemnation is not enough – this moment also demands leadership and action, we must go to Beit Shemesh, we must go to Jerusalem, and if we can’t go physically then we must send our money ahead of us and support progressive Jewish institutions in Israel.  We must support institutions like the Israel Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism and The Women at The Wall.  The leader of which, Namah Kelman will be holding a brunch and fundraiser here on February 5^th.  You want to do tzedakkah in this New Year, you want to do something proactive to address this cultural crisis – join Rabbi Goor at this event, come see us after the service for details.

And, we must demand with the purse strings of the American Jewish community that our federations and organizations stop supporting and subsidizing these extremist groups that have turned a beautiful religious tradition into a group of ugly angry men, cloaked in religious garb who spit on women, attack Israeli soldiers and policemen and would just as soon send all of us here to the back of the bus if not under it.

But most of all we must my message tonight is not to the Ultra-Orthodox or even the Jewish establishment, my message is to all of us here.  We must stop thinking of ourselves, Reform Jews, Progressive Jews; as inauthentic Jews.  Our Judaism is real, it is vibrant, it is authentic, it is inclussive and it is the future.

We must not be seduced by the black hats, beards and shtetl mentality of the ultra-orthodox, Tevye was fiction, the real story is why our great grandparents left the old country and its traditions behind and came to America.  The Chabad telethon is not a fundraiser for a Judaism that reflects your values, your beliefs, your practices – its truly just the opposite.

What we are doing here, what we are building here, the community we have created here, this is real Judaism, this is Torah based, values based Judaism.  We don’t need to apologize for being modern Jews and we should give no license, no support to extremists of any ilk Jewish or other that demand we conform to their fundamentalist world view.

If your interpretation of Judaism means that you don’t want to sit on a bus with a women, then get off and walk.  But if your Judaism teaches just the opposite, and proudly Reform Judaism does, that men and women are equally holy and respected in the eyes of God then we must get on that bus and steer our community and our people toward a bright and promising future and away from the dark ignorance of the shtetls of our past.  We have nothing to apologize for, nothing except our silence up till now, nothing unless we do nothing.

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[1] Jay Michaelson, The Daily Forward January 6, 2012

[2] ibid

[3] Sforno on Nedarim