By dcc With all the talk about disappearing men from Jewish life, it would seem as if all the Reform Jewish institutions were run by woman...not so much. However there have been significant improvements in the sharing of power. Kudos to HUC-JIR, which is significantly increasing the voice and presence of women in its leadership. The Jewish Week reports:
[Shifra] Bronznick's strategies have already begun to change the culture of certain Jewish organizations. As a consultant for Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, she helped integrate women into the seminary's administration. Female board members soon jumped from seven out of 55 in 2001 to 21 out of 55 in 2005, and a woman -- Barbara Friedman -- currently serves as chair.
"Shifra's insights about the ways in which women could enrich our organization through their leadership is something to which I gave great credence." said Rabbi David Ellenson, president of HUC. It is a step in the right direction.
By JanetheWriter Last night, a colleague shared with me a newsletter she'd picked up in the lobby of the Pittsburgh hotel where the Union's North American Board of Trustees is meeting this weekend, the Omni William Penn, a "grande dame" hotel that dates to 1916.
As I read through the article, written in 1991 on the occasion of the hotel's 75th anniversary and detailing its long and colorful history, I started to make some connections or as might be said in a slightly different context, "to play a little Jewish geography." As it turns out, while some of these connections may be Jewish, others definitely are not. Nonetheless, they all are of interest in this richly historic city.
By Emily Grotta At the editorial board meeting for Reform Judaism magazine in Pittsburgh, we talked about how we might extend the conversation that began in the latest issue of the magazine.
One member of the editorial board talked of getting Reform Jews of all ages -- particularly teens and college students -- to write about what Reform Judaism means to them in an upcoming issue of the magazine. Another wanted us to reach out to Progressive Jews in the FSU, South Africa, Israel, Europe and elsewhere, creating yet another special section on "Jews of the World."
As a member of the board but also a member of the staff, I try to be as respectful as possible. That means I try to follow the standard brainstorming mantra that no idea is a bad idea. But it's sometimes hard to figure out how to make what is a criticism and add to a suggestion. But this one was easy.
"Teens and college students aren't reading the magazine," I said. "And neither are the Jews abroad. But maybe, just maybe, they'll read and contribute to the blog," I continued.
So here's the challenge: any teens or college students out there? What about the budding Progressive community in the FSU? Please speak up and let us know!
By Laurence Kaufman We have segued to the Book of Numbers, or in Hebrew, BaMidbar, in the wilderness. The English name is a response to the census that is the focus of the first parasha. The Hebrew name, beyond referring to the first substantive word of the text, is an overview of the book as a whole, reflecting both the physical setting in which the action takes place, and the emotional wilderness of uncertainty, rebelliousness, jealousy, and other tensions that shape the action. Our wonderful new Women's Torah Commentary alerts us to the inherent contradiction of the Hebrew and the English names for the book - the English stressing the order that is imposed by counting, the Hebrew introducing the chaos our ancestors will experience en route to their new reality.
By Rabbi Richard Address, D. Min Baseball is a great game. Often, a lot of attention gets paid to the phenom, the "kid." As teams adjust and reality sets in, the reason returns and we often again celebrate the "crafty veteran." It seems that in baseball, as in life, wisdom trumps knowledge.
A recent piece in the New York Times titled "Older Brain Really May Be a Wiser Brain" sheds new light on the expanding research into the older adult brain. These studies are particularly meaningful for my work and our department's major program on longevity and the baby boomers (Sacred Aging). The articles points out that, as we age we take in more information, that here is more "clutter" to sift through. That information is filtered through one's life experience. Truth and falsity are filtered out and, the article says, the result of that filtering may be wisdom.
One researcher: commented that wisdom is word for what happens when the mind is able to take in data, assimilate it, and filter it into its the proper place. "If older people are taking in more information from a situation, and they're then able to combine it with their comparatively greater store of general knowledge. they're going to have a nice advantage."
By Marge Eiseman One of my friends asked me today, "Why do we need synagogues?" She and her family used to belong to a big congregation that venerated their building (so much so that many people quit when the old building was sold). Now they are building again, and she's worried that the focus will again be on the building and not what is going on inside. And even though the rabbi and cantor are menschen, she still hasn't joined again.
I have my own reasons for asking the question, since it is the season for renewing membership. We just got the annual letter from the executive director, explaining that we have to choose our dues category. Realistically, I don't think a family that earns $40-50,000 a year can pay $1,639 in dues.
Even if one avoids the "for what?" approach of fee-for-services (no pun intended), it's hard to believe that after food, shelter and clothing, such a large percentage of one's income could be directed this way. The synagogue becomes an elitist institution, or less-affluent congregants have to ask for dispensation on dues, which, even if easily granted, is still mildly embarrassing. Why do we need this affiliation?
The Chappaqua Interfaith Council has always been a diverse group. Chaired by my senior rabbi, Rabbi Joshua Davidson, we have not only Protestants and Catholics, but Baha'i, Quakers, and Muslims, as well. With Rabbi Yoffie emphasizing Jewish-Muslim dialogue in his Biennial Address, and with Rabbi Davidson's relationship with the Upper Westchester Muslim Society, this year felt like a perfect time to bring Temple Beth El and the Upper Westchester Muslim Society together to begin some discussions.
On Tuesday, May 20, we had our first session. The dialogue was scheduled to begin at 8 PM, but before we could begin talking, one of the Muslim participants told us that at 8:10, it would be time for evening prayer. He wondered if there was a space they could use, and Rabbi Davidson realized this was an opportunity for us not just to talk about different faith traditions, but for members of Temple Beth El to see first-hand what another tradition's prayers might look like.
Just to make sure the Muslim participants would feel comfortable, he asked if it would be appropriate for us to watch the evening prayer. When the answer was, "Sure, that's fine," Rabbi Davidson smiled and made a rather unique suggestion: "How about you pray where we pray. Would you like to use the bimah?"
By William Berkson Our society is now filled with anger, and with angry people who see their expressions of anger as positive, even courageous.
The most dramatic example has been the harsh anger of Reverend Wright, particularly at the National Press Club. But we also have the daily rage of some radio and television talk shows, where it is practically a communal ritual. Viewers join in an orgy of rage against those they view as misguided or wicked, adding daily to the list of grievances, of reasons to be angry.
The point of the comedy film Anger Management (2003) was to ridicule the notion of anger management. The problem of the lead character, Adam Sandler, is that he can't get angry and is too meek. 'Doctor' Jack Nicholson 'cures' him by provoking him mercilessly throughout the film until he loses his temper, gets enraged and stands up for himself. Again, rage is seen as a healthy step to courage and proper self-assertion. This 'pneumatic' theory of anger seems to have originated with Freud: repress anger and it will pop up another way and harm you; "get it out" and you will become healthier of mind.
Wisdom books of the Bible and the Sages have quite a different view, seeing anger as dangerous and foolish.
By JanetheWriter In the Lives column in this week's New York Times Magazine, Michael Norman writes about Ferguson, a replacement marine he knew for "all of a minute" in Vietnam immediately before Ferguson was killed by mortar fire and fell into a fighting hole on top of Norman.
After identifying his body in Danang, Norman tells us, "So I took Ferguson home with me. Who else was going to remember him? Who else among us "knew" him and could carry his good name, his reputation, the memory of him, as a marine? Remembering was part of the bargain we all made, the reason we were so willing to die for one another."
Jews are supposed to follow 613 mitzvot (commandments from God). Some make sense, while others seem antiquated and irrelevant. For an art installation to debut at DAWN, a special event for the grand opening of the San Francisco Contemporary Jewish Museum, we'll be creating an interactive environment involving the mitzvot and your creative reinterpretations.
By laying out all 613 commandments and asking for revisions, DAWN and Jewcy are taking a huge risk. Some of the re-writes are very funny while others are pretty serious, but they are quite literally re-writing the Torah. I will be interested to see how the instillation is received by the more conservative aspects of our community. If anyone makes it out to the event on June 7th let me know how it went.
I was raised in a small town in Arkansas, total Jewish population 6! Up until the 6th grade, I didn't realize I was that much different from my friends.
However, 6th grade was a turning point--it was the first time I was teased because of being a Jew. I remember it to this day (even though it was 27 years ago), my teacher had asked us to write one word to describe each student in the class. My friend, Kim, wrote "Jew" by my name. After that point, my Jewishness seemed to really make a difference. Whenever my friends and I had a disagreement, they always made a negative remark about me being Jewish. Growing up as the only Jewish child in town, I felt profoundly isolated and alone. I felt like the only Jewish kid on the planet.
By JanetheWriter By most standards, JanetheWriter has a rich and balanced life. At least that's what it says in the "About Me" section of her jdate profile. To read the rest of that, however, you have to log on. Better yet, get an available 40-something Jewish guy you know to log on and read it. But, enough about me in the third person.
Like John-Boy Walton, I have always wanted to be a writer. OK, when I was perched in front of the family television set--still black and white back in 1960-something--watching Mr. Rogers change in and out of his sweater and sneakers, I didn't know I wanted to be a writer, but fast forward through The Electric Company, The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family to Liv and John Walton and their seven kids (John-Boy, Mary Ellen, Ben, Jason, Erin, Jim-Bob, and Elizabeth) in that big old house in rural Virginia and by then, I knew.
Fundamentalist religious leaders who believe not only that God controls everything that happens but that they are able to see God's explicit plans within the context of their own political and cultural views should raise alarm bells for those who would ally with them. Senator John McCain faced this dilemma starkly yesterday, and ended up, rightly, repudiating Pastor John Hagee's assertions that Hitler was foretold in a verse in Jeremiah and that Hitler and the Holocaust were part of God's plan to force the Jewish people back to Israel.
Jews can empathize with Sen. McCain because we have faced the same dilemma with Rev. Hagee. No fundamentalist Christian is more overtly supportive of Israel, raised more money for Israel, nor used his religious and political clout to more energetically mobilize support in America for Israel. Further, he was an evangelical who made clear that his relations with Jews over Israel would not be used to try to convert us. Yet, his fundamentalist views had led to reprehensible statements about gays, Catholics, and even the victims of Hurricane Katrina.
I missed the story about Israelis buring copies of the New Testament this week in the town of Ohr Yehuda. When I read this story, it made my stomach turn. What a horrible message to send to Christian neighbors in Israel and here at home.
We are appalled that Jews would engage in the burning of books that are held sacred by Christians around the world.
I join our rabbis in their disgust of the actions of these few radicals.
As Jews, we know better they explain:
We Jews remember the burning by Christians of the Talmud in 13th-century Paris and 16th-century Italy. We remember as well the book burnings in Nazi Germany. It staggers the imagination that in the year 2008, Jews would engage in actions of this type.
Reform Jews attitudes toward the State of Israel run the gamut of feeling. Below are some of the very different points of view found in the Reform Judaism magazine'sGuide to Reform Judaism: 30 Stories in the summer 2008 edition.
Ellen Morrow: I believe that making Israel central to Jewish identity is dangerous. In our history we have had more time without a state than with one.... I have serious reservations about a country that claims to be of my religion but only recognizes my legitimacy in small, hard-won steps.
Jennifer Warriner: Israel is incredibly important to my identity as a Jew. Whenever my thoughts turn to the State, I have three simultaneous responses: 1) a tangled web of free associations about people and places runs through my mind; 2) a knot of love and respect wells up in my chest; and 3) I begin to wonder about the health and safety of my Israeli friends I know and love, who have taught me, nurtured me, and taken me into their homes.
Dana Jennings: It is a good and wonderful thing that the modern Israeli state exists, but worship of that modern Israeli state is not a good and wonderful thing. Many modern Jews have turned Israel into our Golden Calf in which the existence of the Israeli state supersedes Torah, prayer, and mitzvot.
Judaism is not Zionism. It is a good and wonderful thing that the modern Israeli state exists, but worship of that modern Israeli state is not a good and wonderful thing. Many modern Jews have turned Israel into our Golden Calf in which the existence of the Israeli state supersedes Torah, prayer, and mitzvot.
Our truest homeland is not a swatch of earth in the Middle East, but Torah. And it’s important to remember that the mythological Israel that appears in our Tanach is not the Israel that appears in the news each day. That ancient world only lives in Torah.
Living an ethical life and Reform Judaism’s imperative to engage in acts of tikkun olam are inextricably bound. How can you say that you are committed to repairing the world if you destroy the lives of others through deceit? The first step toward making the world a better place is to make your own life, your part of the world, an ethical place.
I don’t study these texts to discover God’s overt or hidden messages, or to discover history in the form of documented fact. Rather, I study these human documents to discover the plain meanings of the words, the problems inherent in discerning these meanings, and, most important, the insights into human behavior—then and now—which underlie the words.
For example, there is great wisdom in the Joseph story. We learn that suffering can teach us wisdom if we choose to learn, as did Joseph. Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, carried to Egypt, accused of attempted rape by Potiphar, and imprisoned. Jacob’s spoiled, arrogant, favored son became a slave, then master of Potiphar’s household, then again a prisoner.
I am a Mexican American and a Jew by Choice. My extended family, both my mom and dad’s families, were all Central Valley farm workers. At the age of 14 I worked for the United Farm Workers, setting up and participating in corporate grocery store chain picket lines. As a high school student I marched in the streets of Modesto against the Gallo Wine company’s practice of hiring nonunion labor at below the union wage to work in the grapevine fields in deplorable conditions.
That same year, 1972, I wrote a letter to then California Assembly Speaker Leo McCarthy, who was authoring a bill to make it illegal for companies to hire children under 14 to work in the fields. I knew this issue well because starting at age of seven I’d been cutting grapes from the vines outside Fresno, working eight hours a day in the hot sun and earning about $3 a week. As a result of my letter, I was invited to testify in Sacramento, and I am proud to say that the bill passed.
That experience transformed me. I have been an activist ever since.
My parents were socialists…culturally Jewish, but they rejected what they deemed to be irrelevant Jewish ritual. So, other than attending an occasional cousin’s bar mitzvah, I never set foot in a synagogue for most of my childhood or adolescence. That being said, I was taught certain values from an early age: thou shalt not cross a picket line nor buy clothing without a union label; thou shalt give to the poor and to oppressed minorities, feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and treat people fairly without regard to differences. And so my passion for social justice was instilled, along with a commitment to philanthropy and a desire to keep learning.
Two factors led me to join an organized Jewish community. One was moving from New York City, where one can be Jewish by breathing, to Indiana, where explanations are required. The second was having children. My husband and I became members of a Reform congregation when they were small, and got involved. I joined an adult b’nei mitzvah class in 1986.
The one practice I continue to refine and reshape is my observance of kashrut. I was raised in a home that made no distinction between kosher and treif foods. We ate bacon, baked ham, pork chops, and shellfish; and the day following our seder it was not unusual to find my father enjoying a ham and cheese sandwich on rye.
When my husband and I married, we began to consider how we would eat and whether Judaism would inform those choices. Initially we determined that we would not cook or eat ham or pork in our home.
Then we decided that our intention was to sanctify our bodies, not just our homes, so we stopped eating ham and pork period. Somewhere along the line we gave up shellfish too--not out of a sense of obligation, but more as a "favor" to a good friend--God.
Growing up, my image of God was based primarily on my father’s memories of being forced to attend an Orthodox cheder where his teachers refused to answer his questions and hit him with a ruler whenever he had trouble reciting prayers he didn’t understand. When my own son was born, my wife and I joined a Reform congregation and I attended services fairly regularly, but I hated God.
For me, God was the Old Man in the Sky, distant and remote, and constantly demanding praise. How could I thank a God who’d been so harsh to my father? How could I pray?
Then, when I was in my early forties, we moved to the West Coast and joined a small congregation. My son was in 5th grade at the time and my daughter was two. Every Sunday morning I would drive my son to religious school—it seemed like it was 100 miles from our house—and my daughter and I would hang around the school. She’d take her shoes off and play in the sandbox and wander into the classrooms. Everybody welcomed her. For her, religious school was the most wonderful place in the world. Little by little, I began to see Judaism through her eyes.
I do not think any Jewish lifecycle event will ever mean more to me than my son’s conversion to Judaism. For days afterward I walked on clouds because my son was a “member of the tribe” and would be poised to inherit the great legacy of Judaism. Only as time has passed have I fully understood the profound impact this decision would have on our family.
Zachary was just over 2 years old when my partner and I decided we would raise him as a Jew. I remembered from my own conversion that the ceremony involved saying the Sh’ma, so Zachary and I practiced until he could repeat each word after me. At the mikveh, with each dunk of Zachary and each prayer or blessing recited, I became more and more overwhelmed by my belief that his conversion to Judaism—if he took full advantage of it—would be the best gift I could ever give to him.
When I was converting to Judaism, I chose a Reform synagogue because, as a lesbian who grew up in a conservative Baptist church, I had run out of patience for religious homophobia and did not wish to voluntarily expose myself to the Jewish variety. In addition, I had heard that a Reform synagogue would be accepting of an interfaith family.
As expected, my non-Jewish partner and I were accepted with open arms by the clergy, the synagogue staff, and the congregation’s Early Childhood Center, where our son goes to preschool. We joined the synagogue as a family, attend events as a family, and are treated as a family.
My congregation, established in 1956, is only a few months older than I am. My paternal grandparents were among the founding families, and my parents joined immediately upon moving back to Milwaukee shortly before my birth. I joined to raise my children here.
Much has changed since the days of my youth. Gone is the formal Friday evening service led by the black-robed rabbi and hidden quartet. Gone is the original ark, whose fabric curtain was donated by my grandparents. Gone, too, are most of the founding generation, but the ongoing sense of decorum and intellectual challenge lingers even now, almost 51 years later.
When I was a 1st grader at Immaculate Conception School, my mother was extremely active in the PTA, meeting weekly with the monsignor to discuss after-school enrichment programs. Each week the nun who answered the door at the rectory would call out, “Monsignor, the mother of the little Jewish girl is here to see you.”
As the child of an interfaith marriage—Jewish father, Catholic mother—attending a strict Catholic school where the nuns still dressed in habits wasn’t as strange for me as one might believe. Ironically, I felt extremely comfortable in a school where our teachers talked about God as if He were in the room and encouraged us to share our desks with our guardian angels.
I was raised in a small New England town almost completely isolated from Judaism—with few Jewish friends and almost no contact with Jewish experiences. By 1944 I—a kid who’d hardly ever dated a girl and had never been away from home by myself—was a soldier in the U.S. Army, trapped in the Ozark mountains of Missouri, a “million miles” from home, going through basic Signal Corps training in preparation to face our enemies overseas while I faced more immediate challenges on the home front.
My fellow soldiers hated my Boston accent. Basic training was very difficult. I learned to crawl through cold, wet mud and snow on my stomach while under live machine-gun fire. Although I was adept enough at carrying a heavy backpack along with a rifle on 25-mile marches, I consistently failed to keep step while marching in dress parades.
In the midst of all this misery came the announcement that all Jewish soldiers were invited to take part in a seder service in the small town of Neosho, Missouri, just outside our main gate.
Al Vorspan and 16 rabbis spent a summer night in jail thanks to St. Augustine, Florida police department in 1964. He was booked for ordering lunch. Needless to say he didn’t get to eat his sandwich. Listen into his side of the story.
Al Vorspan is the senior vice-president emeritus of the Union for Reform Judaism and founding director of the Commission on Social Action. He has authored and co-authored many books including Jewish Dimensions of Social Justice with Rabbi David Saperstein.
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Thirty years ago keeping posted, the predecessor to Reform Judaism magazine, was devoted to “What is Reform Judaism?” Editor Aron Hirt-Manheimer wrote that Reform Judaism “is often described in negatives.” Here he talks about the changes since 1978.
Al Vorspan and 16 rabbis spent a summer night in jail thanks to St. Augustine, Florida police department in 1964. He was booked for ordering lunch. Needless to say he didn’t get to eat his sandwich. Listen into his side of the story.
Thirty years ago keeping posted, the predecessor to Reform Judaism magazine, was devoted to “What is Reform Judaism?” Editor