The Radish

Some thoughts about 'Why should Jews care about the rights of Israeli Arabs?'

2012-01-15T00:55:00.001-06:00

In his book about the life of Mahatma Gandhi, Louis Fisher (1950) writes,

"Hitler," Gandhi said, "killed five million Jews. It is the greatest crime of our time. But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher’s knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from cliffs... It would have aroused the world and the people of Germany... As it is they succumbed anyway in their millions."

This is a very difficult quote to read, and it needs parsing out. I am guilty of previously not doing the work necessary to reach Gandhi’s intention and have taught this as a call for Jews to go, “as sheep to slaughter.” I think I have done my students a disservice.

Today I am reading this quote in the context of an article I read by Rabbi Sid Schwartz (JTA, 1/12/2012) titled Why should Jews care about the rights of Israeli Arabs? I can already imagine some of my readers jumping from their seats in anger and accusing me of equating between the Shoah and the treatment of Israeli Arabs. This knee-jerk reaction is one of the greatest threats to the Jewish people. Human and civil rights are core Jewish values, and the Shoah may have been one of the greatest violations of these rights, but we need to discuss all violations of these moral and ethical imperatives on the same spectrum. It does no good to stigmatize every comparison to the Shoah, just as it does harm to hyperbolize the comparisons, as was recently the case in ultra-orthodox demonstrations in Israel where demonstrators dressed their children as concentration camp prisoners.

One small tangent; my teacher Rabbi David Wolpe has suggested, quite overtly, that the Cambodian genocide was the worst of the twentieth century because the world new it was humanly possible and did nothing to prevent it.

Rabbi Schwartz suggests two basic reasons for Jewish care for Arab rights in Israel, their humanity and Israeli democracy. As Humans, Israeli Arabs, just like the Sudanese refugees or Taiwanese foreign workers in Israel are made in the image of God, according to Jewish tradition. For this reason alone, their basic rights and dignity should be upheld. But dignity is a broad term that is rarely unpacked in any semblance of a serious definition. Rabbi Schwartz speaks of the injustice of the fact that 20 percent of Israel’s population accounts for 1 percent of its gross domestic product. He also speaks of inequality in municipal and educational services and in employment opportunities. I know some of my readers will stop here and say that the Israeli Arabs don’t serve in the military, thus they don’t share in the burden of the state’s maintenance. In fact, more Arabs now serve in the IDF than ever. More importantly, ultra-orthodox and secular Jews who avoid the draft are not punished with the same lack of services found in the Arab sector.

When Rabbi Schwartz addresses the issue of democracy, he also provides several examples. He states that our independence, as written in Ben Gurion’s Proclamation, calls for equal rights of all residents.

[I]t will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.

Ironically, this declaration of independence does not call for a democratic state, and I wonder if this has anything to do with the possible oxymoron of calling Israel a Jewish democracy. Interestingly, one of the greatest assertions of democracy of all times, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, which includes the famous, “government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth” also does not mention democracy.

Now to Gandhi’s quote, in my very round about way. Avishai Margolit, the Israeli philosopher, in explaining the difference between morals and ethics, says that ethics guide thick relations between human’s whose lives are interconnected, even Palestinians and Israelis. This is why we have an ethics of war. But Morals guide our behavior when the stakes are significantly lower. Morals, according to Margolit, guide our behavior, specifically, because the stakes are low or non-existent. We are morally compelled because without morals, we would not help strangers.

Why does Gandhi say, “Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher’s knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from cliffs... It would have aroused the world and the people of Germany.” because Gandhi believes in the power of morals to arouse the ire of regular human beings to pursue justice and dignity for one another, even when the stakes are low. Gandhi’s appeal is moral in the same way as Dr. Martin Luther King’s claim, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” We have morals because ignoring injustice is corrupting. Gandhi doesn’t want Jews to die. He wants their death to be meaningful. He believes that since they will be dying anyway, they might as well make it a sign for generations to come.

This understanding of Gandhi reminds me of the dispute between Ben Padat and Rabbi Akiva regarding a flask of water that can save one of two people’s lives. Rabbi Akiva believes that one should surely drink the water to save his own life because a life has no value if it ends. Ben Padat believes differently. He is concerned with what his life will mean if he chooses his own life over his friend’s. Ben Padat is concerned with the kind of person he will be if he gets to live at the expense of his friend. In a sense, Gandhi is like Ben Padat. His argument is that if you have to die anyways, you might as well make your life a sign of how terrible humans can treat one another. He doesn’t suggest that Jews fight their oppressors because he doesn’t believe in becoming like them. This is a difficult decision for any human. In my worst nightmares, I am forced to live with myself after having to be unfaithful to my ideals. It would be nice if I could live this standard in real life, but it is very difficult. Life is about compromise, but Ben Padat and Gandhi believe that death doesn’t have to be.

In Israel, treating Arab Israelis with the dignity they deserve as fellow citizens is not nearly as difficult as people make it out to be. The mistreatment is about racism and misrepresented as self defense or “me first.” Many Israeli Jews try to apply the teaching of Hillel, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me.” But this approach is dishonest. The best way for Jews in Israel to be for themselves is to be for their weakest minorities. The absence of this form of democratic vigilance is what has led to the huge decay in Israeli democracy from the misogynistic behavior of the ultra-orthodox to the anti-immigrant and refugee fervor that has swept much of the nation. In the words of the great German pastor, Martin Niemöller,

First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn't speak out because I was Protestant.

Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.

If we Israelis and Jews don’t start understanding King’s decree that “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” And that “government of the people, by the people, for the people, [must] not perish from the earth” we will simply lose our value as a unique nation with the mission of being a vehicle for God’s blessing. This would be worse than any existential threat that would force us to steal the flask and drink the water without concern for what we might become.

Ruminations on BDS, despite the risk of marginalization by my people.

2012-01-13T14:47:00.001-06:00

Even the mention of BDS (boycott, divestment, sanctions) can get a guy in trouble in my community. Cecilie Surasky, a leader in the group Jewish Voice for Peace was bumped from a national Jewish Heroes competition for her belief that this was the best way to get Israel to reach a final status agreement with the Palestinians. Cecilie was polling very strong at the time she was censured. Clearly someone with power didn’t appreciate the heroisms of Cecillie’s work. I wonder if the same would have happened if she were a very righteous Jews for Jesus or a halacha abiding haredi who makes his wife sit in the back of the public bus and spits on what he deems immodestly dressed young girls.

My teacher, Donniel Hartman, wrote an interesting dissertation that was turned into the book The Boundaries of Judaism, in which he explores the making of borders in Jewish society. The meta point of the book is that Jews have always negotiated these borders and even tolerated many deviant behaviors within their realm. The rabbi where I work, Harold Schulweis, even suggested that these boundaries include Jews who believe in Jesus. I suppose that I am less generous that some. I would certainly protect a Jew for Jesus if he were attacked by neo-Nazis for being a Jew, but I don’t know that I would love to bring him into my religious community. The same applies even stronger to settlers who attack Israeli soldiers or members of the Israeli Knesset that give away state secrets to assist settlers in their vigilantism. I suppose I would defend them from anti-Semites, but I certainly do not want to build a society with them.

I have some friends in Israel who will not do their reserve duty in the occupied territories because they do not want to defend the settlers or support the occupation. In general, I have more respect for those among them who spend their time in military prison, because they want to uphold the system but not participate personally, than those who find a way out of the service to strictly meet their personal needs. Faced with the possibility that my son will have to defend settlers, I am not so sure I want him drafted into the IDF, which is a possibility.

On the other hand, I firmly believe in democracy. As Churchill said so bluntly, “It is the worst form of government except for all the others that have been tried.” So what does it mean to be a democratic Jew and an Israeli? And how does this tie to BDS?

I have zigzagged between Israel and America my whole life. My birthday is February second, which is ideal for a person who lives in my two worlds. In American, where the month comes before the day, I write 02/02, and in Israel, where the date starts with the specific day, I also write 02/02. In this I am fortunate. I am also fortunate to have an alternative when I am not comfortable participating in my country’s decisions. Being American is easier for me than being Israeli because I didn’t choose it. My parents brought me into the world here. If this country enters an unjust war or elects a president I disagree with, it doesn’t feel like a reflection on me. When Israel makes choices I have great difficulty with, I feel uncomfortable with my decision to become a citizen.

Regarding BDS, Boycott, Divest and Sanctions, this is an outsider movement. Even if Jews support it, the effort is to use external power against Israel to force it to end the occupation. The good thing is that this is a non-violent effort, although it is not completely resistant to scrutiny. Attacking companies that benefit from the occupation, like the contractors that build in the West Bank or the financial institutions that bankroll them is one thing. What about companies that grow food in this disputed land and hire Palestinian labor. Isn’t there some violence in attacking a person’s source of income. I am not a pacifist. Sometimes violence is an appropriate response. I disagree with Ghandi, who said Jews should have quietly submitted to Nazi genocide. I also don’t think that BDS is a smart tactic.

BDS supporters generalize about their target. Ben Gurion University is run by a sympathizer for BDS, yet his institution is the target of the boycott. Bar Ilan University is generally not a friend to leftist causes. Its most famous student was the assassin who killed our prime minister at a peace rally in Tel Aviv, which was followed by the university putting his face on the cover of their annual report. The difference between me and those who believe in BDS is that I believe in my cause and my ability to change things for the better without resulting to force. I believe in honest, open intelligent discourse and the capacity of my fellow human beings to pursue the just and merciful path.

My friend Ed asked me to come hear a Palestinian author speak about his book on BDS. I was a bit nervous about the stigma that the community would try to put on me for going, but, instructed by my Jewish values, I went. The Talmud tells us why we normally follow in Hillel’s ways when Shammai’s were also “the words of a living God.” The Bat Kol, the heavenly voice said that we follow Hillel because of his modesty and because he represents the other sides argument before his own. I needed to hear the BDS argument from the Palestinian writer and from Cecilie Surasky of Jewish Voice for Peace before I could continue to contend that BDS is ultimately not a good method for achieving a lasting peace.

The day before the lunch, I reflected on my participation in the divestment movement in South Africa. Clearly, black South Africans were calling for support of the boycott. The main difference was that my support had no ethical stakes in the matter. The Israeli philosopher, Avishai Margalit, defines the difference between ethics and morals by the type of engagement. He says that ethics are guided by thick relations while morals are guided by thin relations. Whatever happened in South Africa was going to stay in South Africa. My relationship to Apartheid was thin, which made it a moral issue for me. This is like Martin Luther King’s claim in the Letter for the Alabama Jail that “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” But my relationship to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict is thick. We need ethics to guide the interaction between our two nations. Ethics is an internal discussion between the parties to the conflict and within the individual parties. BDS is an appeal to go outside to accomplish change. Sometimes it is necessary, but not until all efforts to come to internal agreement have been exhausted. This is why I remain in Peace Now, a movement that aggressively tries to facilitate internal Israeli and Jewish discussion by researching and exposing violations of standards we set for ourselves.

The new candidate/party for the Israeli Knesset, Yair Lapid, writes about two Israel’s. In my Israel and his, we strive for a country that tries to manifest the goals articulates in Israel’s most beautiful political proclamation, its Declaration of Independence. “It will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel…”

The most troubling thing I heard at the luncheon, however, was not from the Palestinian author. It was from Cecilie Surasky, who told me about the terrible violence in the territories and Israel against Palestinians. Mind you, there should be no place for institutionalized, cultural or personal violence against any human being, but the way Ms. Surasky reported it to me, she was being relativistic. Israeli violence, in her mind, is unbearable and the top priority for Jews to say no. I agree that violence perpetrated by my people is what I need to stop first. It is also the violence I have most control over. But there was something very unsettling about a Jew being more critical of Israeli Jewish violence which is relatively less than the violence perpetrated in Syria by a leader against his own people or the violence in Sudan.

I think it is great that Cecilie Surasky and Jewish Voice for Peace stands up to the occupation. I think it is very sad that they and their Palestinian counterparts in BDS have given up on discourse, and I am very worried about the introduction of relativism into the argument. I could have (and now I am) explained that the Palestinian speaker got his MA at my alma mater, Tel Aviv University, which is a very enlightened institution. And that there are many of these points of Light in Israel and they need to be nourished, not starved through academic boycotts. I didn’t want to go there, but Cecilie Surasky’s relativism opens this ugly pandora’s box.

During the writing of my dissertation, I went to Ramallah many times; an illegal act for Israeli Jews. When I would come back, my friends would ask me why my Palestinian friends don’t speak up against Hamas or speak out against attacks on civilians. I have never had a good answer for this. Both Cecilie and the Palestinian author said that I was blaming the victim. I am not so sure. If Jewish Voice for Peace is so ready to take responsibility to end Jewish and Israeli behavior in the territories why not expect that of everyone. “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

I’m glad I went to lunch and didn’t fear the wrath of my community for legitimizing fringe forms of Jewish dissent, but after listening and acquiring the knowledge to present the other side, I am still not sold. BDS is not a good Jewish response to the occupation. It may be valid, and I would never censure Jewish Voice for Peace, but this is not a strategy that believes in the good of humans or the power of reason to overcome injustice.

Hanukkah: A Time we made for Optimism

2011-12-23T12:36:00.000-06:00

Truth be told, Hanukkah is a strange holiday. It is framed as the commemoration of the victory of the Macabees over the Seleucid King Antiochus Epiphanes and his forces, but it is really about a zealous family that won a Jewish civil war and then became so delusional by its own power that it self destructed and fell to the Romans. It is also framed as the holiday of the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days at the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem. And, during the time of the Winter Solstice, people all over the northern hemisphere celebrate light, which is why Hanukkah is the festival of Lights, thus the rabbinic greeting Chag Urim Sameach – Happy Lights Holiday.

While each of these stories warms our hearts, spinning the nice parts of our history, believing that God intervenes in history and celebrating light in its absence, there is something wildly absurd and beautiful about it. The question I’d like to raise is whether this is an inherently good thing. Is it good to delude ourselves about our historical narrative? Is it beneficial for us to believe that there is someone in heaven looking out for our interests? Should we really celebrate that thing we long for so badly when we are at our furthest moment in time from its presence in our lives?

The rabbis seem to have created the miracle of the oil with good insight into human psychology. Here they were defeated in the promised land with the potential of exile hanging over their heads, and they offer a story that fits our psyche perfectly; someone up there is looking after you and can intervene to your benefit. I can’t think of a better suited epistemology for a battered people who have lost all semblance of power and control over their lives. Kudos to our sages.

Ben Gurion, Israel’s first prime minister, however, was also prophetic in his resurrection of the Macabee story. In those days, in this time, there were tough Jews who lived in this (that) land, and “We can be like them.” Ben Gurion left the continuation of the narrative on the cutting room floor. I’m not sure that this was as clever as the rabbis. Ignoring the addiction to power and its negative impact on Jewish society has not been, “good for the Jews.” Instead of learning from the zealotry of Mattathias and the Hasmoneans, we should take a lesson from Hillel about humility and presenting the argument of our adversaries before our own. What Israel can use now is a lesson about light, which the last message of our holiday.

Light has this incredible presence. You don’t actually see it, but it illuminates what is present in your path, thus it removes obstacles. The early pioneers of Israel were brilliant about removing those stumbling blocks that prevented our people from achieving our collective goals for humanity; justice and peace. The founders of Israel sought to create a great society that would shed a light onto the nations. Somehow, along the way we decided to become a “normal” country. Normal countries don’t share light, nor do they seek peace and justice. They do what President Richard Nixon was, at least, honest enough to admit, “We’re in it for national self-interest.”

National self interest is not the Jewish way. Our aspirations are for the world God created, not merely ourselves. Again, returning to Hillel, “If [we] are not for ourselves, who will be for us? If [we] are only for ourselves, what are we? And if not now, when?” Hanukkah is a time we created for optimism, and I am full of hope that we can take inspiration from this holiday to return to our Jewish dream; peace, justice and our role as a light for the nations.

Thoughts for the 2nd day of Rosh Hashana

2011-09-29T20:47:00.000-05:00

There is a great Jewish legend about a shoe maker who comes to the rabbi and asked if he can learn Talmud. The rabbi says to the shoe maker, “To study Talmud, you must think like a scholar.” He then proceeds to share a story.

“Two criminals break into a house through the chimney. When they climb out of the fireplace, one of them has shmutz all over his face.” The rabbi then asks the shoe maker, “Which one washes his face?”

To this, the shoe maker quickly replies, “The one with the shmutz.”

“You see,” says the rabbi, “you are not thinking like a Talmud scholar.”

At that moment, a light bulb goes off in the shoe makers head and he replies smugly, “I get it! The one with the shmutz sees the one with the clean face and can’t imagine himself being dirty, but the one who sees his partner with the dirty face must imagine the same about himself, so he washes his face.”

“Oy!” Says the rabbi. “Did you really believe that a man can slide down a chimney and not get shmutz on his face?”

I love this story because it helps illustrate the most important things about being Jewish; one was the title of an Apple computer advertising campaign several years ago, the other the profound message of my hero Lenny Bruce.

Years before the iPad and iPhone, when Apple wasn’t the wealthiest company in the world, and their market share was not what it is today, they tried appealing to the fringes by asking us to “Think different.” Judaism has had a monopoly on this simple command as far back as Abraham. In a world of pagans, in a world where people are willing to trust their morality to statues and a plethora of Gods, Jews said, “Think different!” and brought us Elohim, one God, to help avoid the possibility of dissonant sources of morality.

When you think about it, “Think different!” is an amazing request. It asks us to not settle for the status quo, to not be happy with the easy answers, to not get stuck in our old routines. “Think different!” is our way of saying, we are a people of hope, a people of possibility, a people who can repair the world; all we have to do is put our minds to it.

The message of Lenny Bruce is truly more profound. It says, be irreverent. Don’t respect holy cows. Fight the power! Don’t believe everything you hear.

Lenny lived his Torah. When the police started arresting him for “obscenity” in his performances, He didn’t censor himself. He turned to his friend, the great comedian Steve Allen, and asked for a meeting with his father in-law, a missionary reverend. He wanted to understand why talking about “the first commandment God gives in the Bible, ‘be fruitful and multiply,’ is obscene.” He couldn’t understand the hypocrisy of his puritanical accusers. The same is true of our rabbis. When they were confronted by the Bat Kol, the voice of God, who told them that they were wrong and the lone Rabbi Eliezer was right, in a matter about the kashrut, the kosherness, of an oven, the rabbis refused to capitulate. They declared, “[The Torah is] not in heaven.” It isn’t God’s anymore. It’s theirs. Ours. And we must determine how we understand it. This is also the irreverence of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai who, when asked what to do if the Mashiach comes while people are planting trees, said, “finish planting the trees and then go greet the Messiah.”

Every second day of Rosh Hashana, I miss the irreverence of Abraham who had the chutzpah to ask, “Shouldn’t the judge of the world act justly?” Why did you lose your irreverence and obey when you thought God asked you to sacrifice your son? Why didn’t you “Think different!”

This Rosh Hashana, it is my hope that we find it in ourselves to act Jewishly and be people who can study Talmud. We need critically literate Jews if we are going to make the world a better place, and we need the chutzpah and irreverence of our forebears to go beyond the status quo. This is what the judge of the world expects of us, and we cannot afford to dissatisfy Her.

Of Tents and Tea Parties

2011-07-31T04:02:00.000-05:00

Today I’m feeling like I decided to remain with the tribes of Reuven, Gad and half of Menasheh on the other side of the Jordan. It’s hard to live in the Diaspora, especially in a time of great pride for all Israelis, really all Jews. More than 150,000 people took to the streets in Israel (the greatest number since the demonstrations surrounding the Sabra and Shatilla massacres in the first Lebanon War) to demand of their government the kind of society they want; I want. They were shouting, "the people demand social justice" and "we want justice, not charity." I wanted to take out my Israeli identity card and wear it on my chest. I feel like wrapping myself in the flag.

Living with a dual identity, American and Israeli, I naturally compare the two countries. In Israel, a tent revolution, how natural for a people who lived in sukkot as they traveled from slavery to freedom. In America, a tea revolution, also natural given the historical source of the name, but unfortunate in that it is far from the idealism that inspired the break from the British monarchy.

The Arab spring has reached Israel’s impermanent borders. It has penetrated the violence of the occupied territories and the injustices of the blockade of Gaza and reached the citizens in Beer Sheva, Jerusalem, Ashdod, Nazareth and especially Tel Aviv. But this is not a reaction to tyranny. Our tent revolution is a tikkun in the trajectory of the self correcting vector of Jewish existence. Judaism has always sought to better itself, and it has always been the work of mindful Jews who insist on staying loyal to our people’s pursuit of justice and human dignity.

In light of Israel’s tent revolution, the Tea Party in America looks particularly shallow and selfish. Just like many things in this “land of power and glory,” as Phil Ochs so proudly referred to it, we Americans have come to resemble the brands of our existence and not the substance within. The Tea Party is not a revolt against injustice and tyranny. It is a bastardization of a great collective memory we Americans share of a moment in time when we said no to taxation without representation, not to taxation.

In reflecting on the difference between the tent revolution in Israel and the Tea Party in America, I have come to the conclusion that language really matters and that the Hebrew word for taxation, maas, is so much more representative of what we citizens should feel as we contribute to our own societies. Maas could be translated as taxes, but it also means “dues,” and dues are part of what we owe to each other. In this sense, Jews who traditionally contributed two taxes, the universal half shekel and the tithe, understood that citizenship is a reciprocal relationship. As we learn in the Talmud (Talmud, Shevuot 39a), “All of Israel are guarantors of each other.” But in America, taxes, those dollars that go to the salaries of our armed forces, our police, our teachers, the men and women who pave our streets, the people who collect our garbage and many more, these taxes are branded as evil. When President Bush spoke his now infamous words, “read my lips, no new taxes,” he knew what he was saying. Even though he couldn’t keep his promise, he knew that he would get further appealing to the based greed of humanity rather than the civilized dignity of those who know that we are nothing without each other.

This is why I am proud today to be both Israeli and Jewish. My people, once again, are showing their collective will to create justice in the face of power. As we learn in the Sayings of the Fathers, “Who is a hero? One who conquers his instincts.” As Jews, we have defined heroism as the ability to transcend the base instincts of our nature, to be civilized, and to reciprocate with our fellow citizens. Now all I can hope for is that we can shed the light the prophet Isaiah demands of us onto the nations, so that all social movements can be tent revolutions and not loosely branded tea parties.

1st Shabbat outside of the Land

2011-07-16T07:15:00.000-05:00

This is my first Shabbat as a non-resident Israeli. I’m in Los Angeles, and the Shabbat is definitely keeping the Jew. Living outside of the Land, it takes a lot of work to be Jewish, but this is work that I like. There is a debate in the midrash about whether the sukkah of clouds that escorted the Jews as they made there way to freedom from Egypt to the promised land was real or metaphorical. The Shabbat and Jewish ritual seem like that sukkah. It’s as real as we make it and a metaphor we can live with. As a secular Jew who is deeply committed to his people and tradition, I am happy to be able to celebrate this first Shabbat in the metaphorical sukkah of my Judaism. I wish it were closer to the promised land, but I’m delighted to have this place outside of time that doesn’t rely on geography. Shabbat Shalom.

Shabbat farming with my Palestinian neighbors in the West Bank

2011-07-02T23:57:00.000-05:00

This past Memorial Day eve, I tried something different. I went to a service organized by the bi-national group Combatants for Peace, and we used the Israeli holiday to remember the victims of our wars from both sides of the battlefield. Remembering only our fallen soldiers, I have observed, has not successfully contributed to our will to end the conflict with our neighbors. In some ways I think it embitters us toward them. Maybe my expectations of the day are mistaken. Professor Avishai Margalit wrote a book about The Ethics of Memory which was triggered by a news article about an officer who didn’t remember the names of his fallen soldiers, even though he remembered the soldiers lives in detail. He starts with the question, what are our ethical obligations to remember. I am not sure what the purposes of Memorial Day are, but certainly a healthy society doesn’t want to add to the list of those it mourns for.

Yesterday, I went with the Combatants for Peace to Kfar Yanoun, a village of 300 that has dwindled down to 36 residents as a result of attacks by settlers who have built illegal outposts on every side of the village and who insist on making the villagers lives miserable. When I say miserable, I need to explain because some of the things these “idealistic,” “pioneering” settlers have done are beyond my active imagination. In Kfar Yanoun, for instance, they found a murdered dog thrown into their drinking water tanks. Snipers have randomly shot taxi drivers bringing villagers to and from town, and the army is often called in to stop them from farming. Currently, they claim, they subsist from working only 3% of their registered agricultural fields.

Combatants for Peace is an organization that refuses to engage in the familiar paradox, fighting for peace. They are made up of equal numbers of Jews and Palestinians in each area that they work. They insist on being a collaboration of former enemies. For this reason, they brought a bus load of “beautiful souls” from Tel Aviv to work together on agricultural projects in the village. The term “beautiful souls” is pejorative in Israel. It tries to mock the good intentions of Israelis who are trying to creatively seek out a better mode of coexistence than the current, failed model. It tries to serve as a substitute for more literal terms like foolishly naïve.

In Kfar Yanoun, we planted trees and moved boulders to create a path through the village to the water towers. It was symbolic work. We weren’t needed to get the job done. We were very needed to send the message that there still exists a segment of Israeli society that recognizes the humanity of the other.

After lots of thought on the bus ride back to Tel Aviv, which included a humiliating stop by our own border patrol at the check post, I decided that my work on Shabbat was not a desecration but, rather, a sanctification of God’s name, to borrow from the religious Jewish lexicon. By going to Kfar Yanoun and helping with agricultural projects on my day of rest, I was upholding two of the most basic Jewish values. I was loving my neighbor as myself and I reaffirmed my conviction that all humans are created in the divine image.

For the love of Israel

2011-06-22T05:08:00.000-05:00

The most pressing issue facing Israel today is not a nuclear Iran. It is not the corruption in government. It’s not even the threat of a September request by the Palestinians for independence at the United Nations. The biggest threat facing Israel is the elimination of constructive public discourse amongst Israelis and Jews everywhere about the nature of the huge and wonderful Jewish enterprise known as the State of Israel.

We Jews believe in censure. Some of us feel commanded to give reproach. In the very middle of our Torah we read, “You shall surely rebuke! (Lev. 19:17)” And yet, the current Israeli government and many in the worldwide Zionist establishment are trying to change the rules of the game. This is unacceptable and does not appear to conform to a Jewish way of thinking.

The rabbi’s argued about this very issue. “Rabbi Tarfon said, ‘I would be very surprised if there is anyone in this generation that can accept criticism.’ Rabbi Elazar ben Azaria responded, ‘I doubt if there is anyone in this generation that knows how to give criticism.’ (TB Arachin 16b).”

Sometimes we forget that tochecha, our command to rebuke, is surrounded by two other important commandments. “Do not hate your brother in your heart,” and “incur no sin because of this.” Context is everything.

Much of the discourse about Israel is framed in the language of love. What love means and how it is demonstrated are both very unclear. When I say that Israel is among the only places in the world where a Jew cannot exercise freedom of religion, I am referring to my personal experience of being forced to marry outside of my homeland because my Reform rabbi was not authentic Judaism for the Jewish state. I don’t want a theocratic, intolerant state for my people.

When I critique the Israeli educational system, as an insider with a doctorate in education, it is because I want the system to serve my children and my neighbors well. We take 13 years out of our kids lives and spend a good portion of our tax revenues on this project because we care about the future citizenry of the nation. When I oppose the occupation of the Palestinian Territories and advocate for human rights in all of the Land of Israel, I do this, first and foremost, as a Jew who cares about the behavior of his people. How I go about this is a different story. It is essential that I make every effort to incur no sin along the way, but there are no clear borders to what this means.

The rabbis of the Talmud worked in chevruta, learning dyads, to argue out the fine points of the civilization they wanted to leave for us. Sometimes the arguments went too far. Rebbe Yochanan’s obstinacy caused the death of Reish Lakish. Grief and having a “yes man” to replace him led to Yochanan’s demise. Jews don’t benefit from rubber stamps. We need challenges. They make us better as individuals and as a collective. They force us to reflect on our behavior and make choices that advance our purpose of being a holy nation.

We believe that we are commanded not to destroy our beautiful, promised land. “And if you defile the land, it will vomit you out as it vomited out the nations that were before you.” How can we prevent the defilement of the land without serious, constructive dialog? It is completely legitimate to argue tactics. It crosses a line when we try to define our fellow’s tactics as traitorous, disloyal or hateful just because we don’t agree with them. Nobody has a monopoly on the love of Israel, but we should reflect on the models of the expression of this love. It would be too simple to say that there are only two models, but for the sake of brevity, I will generalize.

There are those who say that loving Israel means letting her decide what is best for the country and then helping that decision find fruition. The other model says that to love means a different type of support. In this model, loving Israel requires acknowledging the whole and helping to correct the bad while continuing to promote and strengthen the good.

The first model proposes unconditional love. When I was a kid in America, the way we were expected to support Israel was by writing blank checks and letting the decisions happen in Israel. Part of the argument was that the Israeli Jews serve in the army and fight the wars; they suffer the recourse of their decisions. But bombs in Jewish buildings in Argentina, synagogues in Morocco and attacks in community centers in California show the faults of this approach. The world sees Israel as a Jewish project and the targets have no national borders. The unconditional love model has another serious problem. It doesn’t work.

The most unconditional love we humans know is for a new baby. Human babies are the only creatures that are born completely dependent on others. They cannot even turn over by themselves for several months, and it takes about a year before they start to crawl. Still, not all babies are loved by their parents.

As someone who trained and worked as a dairy farmer in Israel, I know that baby calves can walk and find their mothers to suckle immediately after their births. This is the same with every species except humans. Our babies need us for everything and the love we give them is unconditional because they are completely dependent and because they are our progeny.

As our children grow, we set borders and expectations. Rarely does the violation of those borders result in a termination of love. When I was an undergrad, my friend, the comedian Steve Allen shared a story about his son who had joined a cult, and he eventually made him choose between the cult and the family. This was an exception to the rule and would be a painful experience for any parent. Unconditional love doesn’t keep us straight and narrow. It doesn’t raise a mirror to our eyes and let us reflect on our behavior. With unconditional love, things go bad and we turn the other cheek. It is no small wonder that this form of love of Israel finds a comfortable bed partner in Christian Zionism.

The model of love of Israel that I subscribe to is holistic. I love so many things about our country. I also desperately want to right the wrongs. I love the dialog and hope to have the humility to assume that my vision for the country is not always right. I celebrate the diversity of citizens and I believe, as Churchill so gracefully put it, that “Democracy is the worst form of government, accept for all the others that have been tried.” I don’t like the tyranny of majorities, but I don’t mind getting dirty and arguing over the direction of my homeland. I am, however, getting pretty fed up with the attack that says that I don’t love Israel because I want to make her the best that she can be. That is simply untrue and hurts the cause. Just as the Torah has seventy faces, there are many ways to love one’s country. Mine is just as valid and may be more helpful.

Do not keep it for yourself: A research plan

2011-06-02T12:37:00.002-05:00

If you see your brother's ox or his sheep wandering, do not go by without helping, but take them back to your brother. ‬If their owner is not near, or if you are not certain who he is, then take the beast to your house and keep it till its owner comes in search of it, and then you are to give it back to him. ‬Do the same with his ass or his robe or anything which has gone from your brother's keeping and which you have come across: do not keep it to yourself. (Deut.22:1-3)

לא תראה את שור אחיך או את שיו נדחים והתעלמת מהם השב תשיבם לאחיך׃ ‬
‫ואם לא קרוב אחיך אליך ולא ידעתו ואספתו אל תוך ביתך והיה עמך עד דרש אחיך אתו והשבתו לו׃ וכן תעשה לחמרו וכן תעשה לשמלתו וכן תעשה לכל אבדת אחיך אשר תאבד ממנו ומצאתה לא תוכל להתעלם׃ ‬

I have a research project that I cannot afford to implement, but I’d like to explain it and build my hypothesis. My question is simple and complicated at the same time. Does religion make people better human beings?
Of course this is a relative question because the baseline is illusive. What is a normal human being without religion? This is the first question I ask. Next, I want to know what religion is in the context of my question. But let’s leave the critique for a moment. How can I test this question?
My study would take a fixed number of wallets and disperse them in the public realm in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Whether I should do more cities is a detail for conjecture. In each wallet, I would put personal identification and five, twenty shekel bills.
If you want to really be scientific, you could say that the amount of money has to be greater to make the stakes worthwhile and the ID has to be varied. After all, people might return money to a woman before a man or an elder before a student. Also there is the question of the transgression threshold. When is the transgression worthwhile? Do you keep the money at one hundred shekels or do you wait for one thousand before you mess with the Big Guy?
There are lots of details with my study that will always be refuted, but leave that and join me in forming the hypothesis. What do we think we will learn about our subject? This is an essential question for designing the survey. What information will we gather from people who try to return the wallets? Here are some of my questions. Some answers are quantitative. They will give me statistics like X% of people who returned wallets consider themselves secular. Some questions will have to be qualitative because we need to understand what secular means to someone who defines herself that way. The better the qualitative questions and answers, the more useful the statistics.

a. Do you define yourself as religious?
b. Do you believe in a deity?
c. Are you Jewish?
d. Christian?
e. Moslem?
f. Do you believe in the afterlife?
g. Do you believe in a deity that is involved with the world and human life?
h. Do you believe that you will be judged by your god?
i. Do you believe that there is a concrete instruction manual from which you can understand what your god expects of you?

I try to write my qualitative questions in a way which will leave the answerer feeling comfortable to answer in the way that best represents her opinions and provides the most qualified information.

a. How do you define religious?
b. What do you think happens to human beings after they die?
c. If you believe that your deity is involved with the world, how does that effect the free will of human beings?

I could go on, but I think my point is clear. No research is free of the inherent biases of human language, in general, and of researchers, specifically. When we read research, we are not reading truth. There is no world to be discovered. It is framed. Our research defines the answers we get and the world we discover.
The common term for putting too much credibility in scientific methodology and conclusions is called scientism. I would claim that for much of the western world, scientism has replaced or joined religion as the answer to questions which might be better served by addressing them with doubt. For example, my wife is an acupuncturist. Her profession is built on thousands of years of practice. Some people swear by it. Others wouldn’t take a needle if their life depended on it. Western medical science, as we know it, is a baby in comparison to Chinese medicine. It has only been around for about two hundred years, and it constantly changes and contradicts itself. When I was an infant, my mother was told to bottle feed me because science knows exactly what nutrition I need better than my creator’s body. My mom put her faith in science (which may explain my many deficiencies.) Which medicine do you turn to? Why?

I have some hypotheses about my research and some prior assumptions. Almost everyone reading this assumes that Jerusalem has more religious people. We could turn to statistics to answer this question, but what good would it be without qualitative research? Religious people don’t all define themselves the same way. Having a Commander in chief is a form of religiosity, but some commanded people believe they will be judged in this world and others in a world to come. What does it mean to say that 60% of the wallets returned to their owner came from self-defined religious people? Would it mean something different if we learned that half of those wallets came with some or all of the money missing?

Living in Tel Aviv, as I do, I cheer for the home team. I want my city on Spring Hill to be the home of good human beings because I am one of them. I have a logic I have built to support it. Jerusalem is on top of a mountain. It has its head in the clouds. It is disconnected. Tel Aviv is fresh. It is renewed with every wave that hits our beautiful shoreline. Even our religious in Tel Aviv are better than in Jerusalem. They live pluralistic lives among the secular masses. Just walk down Rothschild Boulevard on a Shabbat morning and you will see what I mean.
In the Talmud, when Rabbi Eliezer tries to convince the rest of the rabbis of his righteousness, he brings the Bat Kol to speak for God. It speaks and proclaims his righteousness, but the rabbis will have nothing to do with it. They make two claims; the Torah is no longer in heaven and it (the Torah) instructs us to lean toward the majority. How can we listen to God when He has created the circumstances by which we are to be in charge of our own destiny?
I’m sorry that I don’t have the money to do my research study. Research is a fun and interesting job. It helps me pay the bills with dignity. But maybe I’m better off not participating in a system that has all but replaced faith for so many people. Six of one, half a dozen of another is such a brilliant algorithm because it explains exactly what I mean. At the end of the day, it is not science or religion that proves anything. Both are systems that demystify the mysterious, and both are matters of faith. At the end of the day, we have to make choices, and the important thing is that we are willing to be critical of ourselves and the systems within which we make them. This is my Torah and if you give me enough money, I’ll give you a study that proves that I’m right.

Education Israel style

2011-05-30T14:46:00.001-05:00

The headlines made it nearly impossible for me to pass the opportunity to address my feelings about the school system in Israel. “Netanyahu, officials launch highly anticipated education system reform.” Wow! You’d think they adopted New Math, but whatever you might have thought, you would probably be mistaken. Here’s the tag line; “New program, coming after years of deliberations, would see teachers' pay increase by 51% in exchange for additional working hours.” And the worst part, it’s a bad deal for teachers. They increase their work hours from 24 to 40 per week, 16 hours or 66%, and they only get compensated for 51%. The net effect is a lower hourly wage. But this change doesn’t even get close to deserving the word reform.

There is a lot to fear when reform is used in education in general, and in Israel specifically. I’m not referring to the difference between revolution and reform, between which Israel needs the former. I am talking about the long history of educational reforms that Israel suffers from because of the unfortunate tie of the ministry of education to the political system. These reforms make our kids schizophrenic. For example, under Yuli Tamir, the students learned about the Green Line and Naqba Day. Now, under the Likud’s Gidon Saar, the state of Israel and the land of Israel are virtually synonyms, saying Naqba is punishable by law and schools will be doing field trips to Hebron. But this is not the subject of this tome.

The revolution I call for is directed at high schools and matriculations. I firmly believe that the existing system of training kids in grades 10-12, to remember materials and take tests, is at the core of many of Israel’s problems. We cannot have a dynamic society of individuals who know how to creatively solve problems and imagine the kind of country they want to live in if we feed them answers and ask them to regurgitate them in tests. Maybe this is what the country needed 63 years ago when we had to draft as many resources as possible to the cause of defending the homeland, but today the challenges are different and the anachronistic approaches are doing much more harm than good.

I believe that personal anecdotes help vivify important social questions. Here are a few. I taught Israeli high school civics and Bible. I did things like ask my students to try to understand the Israeli Declaration of Independence via comparison to the American Declaration. I thought it would be helpful for them to see that Israel leaves out God and democracy while America includes both. In Bible, my class of all immigrant students wrote about their immigration in comparison to Abraham’s calling to “Leave your country, and your homeland, and your father's house, and go to the land that I will show you.” My principal responded by telling me that I was too philosophical and creative. She handed me the matriculation tests and the answers and told me that, “this is all that matters.”

My daughter Maya recently saw her Solomon Schechter eighth grade teachers who were here on a day school trip with their students from Chicago. Her English teacher asked if she was still doing the great writing she had done in middle school. Maya told me that the question made her upset because it reminded her that she is never asked to be creative. “They ask me to write answers to questions in a very narrow way that gives their understandings. They don’t care what I think, only what I know.”

The irony of the situation is that the Jewish state has primary Jewish sources that complicate the idea of what education should look like, and we don’t look to them. In Pirkei Avot, Moses receives the Torah and passes it to the elders who pass it forward as if education is concrete and reified. This is the Education ministry model. But we also have the story of Moses sitting in Rabbi Akiva’s classroom dumbfounded because he doesn’t understand his own Torah. In this model, knowledge is made by the individual through engagement with ideas. It is not something that can be remembered and repeated for standardized tests. Moses doesn’t recognize his Torah because it is not the a solid, unchanging thing. Knowledge making is a skill of the individual and it is fluid. In our Talmud, both of these ideas exist side by side, but in the Israeli education system, we only want to pass a tangible, specific Torah, and it changes with every government.

The other Jewish example is also found in Pirkei Avot. We read of Yochanan ben Zakai’s five students. I will recount two. “Rabbi Eliezer the son of Hurkenus is a cemented cistern that loses not a drop; Rabbi Elazar ben Arach is as an ever-increasing wellspring. [Rabbi Yochanan] used to say: If all the sages of Israel were to be in one cup of a balance-scale, and Eliezer the son of Hurkenus were in the other, he would outweigh them all. Abba Shaul said in his name: If all the sages of Israel were to be in one cup of a balance-scale, Eliezer the son of Hurkenus included, and Elazar the son of Arach were in the other, he would outweigh them all.” The Talmud never decides for us what is better to be a vessel of knowledge or to produce a vital necessity. It leaves us with two models that contradict each other. Both have their time and place. Why in Israel do we have to stick with just one?
****
My daughter is in the middle of her high school experience and I feel like I am doing her wrong by not choosing the best education system I can find for her. Nothing is perfect, but I think America is better, at least my America. I hate having to face this choice, but those are my cards. Now the question is whether to stay and fight to improve things while my daughter finishes school here or move to where I can do the best for my kids. It seems like a simple choice, but not when you live in a wonderful city like Tel Aviv. Right now I’m feeling the old Yiddish saying, it’s hard to be a Jew, but I’m feeling it about Israel.

Lag B’Omer 5771 and the doomsday prophecies

2011-05-21T04:50:00.000-05:00

Lag B’Omer 5771 is a gleeful irony of history. Why? Because the same holiday celebrating the Jewish romance with mysticism and secrets behind the revelatory texts paradoxically coincides with the prediction of the end of the world.
For Jews, Lag B’Omer is the celebration of the life and teaching of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, on the anniversary of his death over 1800 years ago. According to legend, upon dying he instructed his disciples that the day of his passing is “the day of [his] joy.” This year, the 33rd day of the counting of the Omer, the barley harvest, coincides with a prophecy of the end of days.
Rashby, as bar Yochai is known, was the author of the foundational work of Jewish mysticism, the Zohar. Tonight and tomorrow, half a million Jews will descend upon Mount Miron in the Galilee, where he is buried, to pay homage to their mystical leader by lighting bonfires and slaughtering sheep. To my sensibility, this is avodah zara, idolatry, in the fullest sense of the word.
According to tradition, God, not humans, buries Moses to avoid the site of his grave becoming a shrine. Jews don’t mark the location of the Sinai revelation because they don’t want to make idols out of land. Why does God ask Moses to build a Mishkan for Him “to dwell in it”? Because holiness exists outside of geography. The only thing close to being holy in the Bible is the land of Israel, and even it is made holy by our actions.
The celebration of Rashby and his mysticism shows how much the idea of hidden meaning has found a place in Judaism. Rashby’s teacher, Rabbi Akiva, gave us the term, “the language of God,” in opposition to Rabbi Yeshmael’s “language of man,” to avoid fundamentalism and strict adherence to the letter of the law in exegesis, but the anti-literalism of the Akiva school can be a pandora’s box. The minute we open the door to mysticism, anything goes and we often end up with radical predictions.
Fox News recently reported, “The [recent] prediction [of the end of the world] originates with Harold Camping, an 89-year-old retired civil engineer from Oakland, Calif., who founded Family Radio Worldwide, an independent ministry that has broadcast his prediction around the world ” Here is the basis of this forecast according to The Telegraph, “The number five, says Camping, represents atonement. 10 represents completeness. 17 represents heaven…Using the three numbers, if you multiply atonement, completeness and heaven, and then, multiply the sum by itself again, you end up with 722,500 i.e. (5 x 10 x 17) x (5 x 10 x 17) = 722,500. If you add the number of days on from the crucifixion, you arrive at, at least in Camping's view, May 21, 2011, the day of the end of the world. ” Some of you may now want to stop reading and start getting ready.
These predictions sound crazy in the hands of an 89 year old radio network owner from California, but they are common place in mystical traditions and go back to the origins of Lag B’Omer. Rabbi Akiva read the verse in Numbers 24:17, “There shall come a star out of Jacob,” and renamed the Jewish warrior, Shimon bar Kosiba, bar Kochva. He then declared that he is the messiah. In the seventeenth century, Nathan of Gaza made a similar claim about Shabtai Zvi, and in recent history many in the Chabad movement have said that the Lubovitcher rabbi was the messiah.
There is something very liberating about mysticism. It creates space for a power in the world that exists but cannot be fully understood. My favorite mysticism is in the texts which use metaphor to explain science of the world. Some claim, for instance, that the Hebrew letters are the DNA or atomic building blocks of all things.
Metaphors are wonderful as long as we acknowledge the fact that we tend to live by them, as Lakoff and Johnson remind us.
The concepts that govern our thought are not just matters of the intellect. They also govern our everyday functioning, down to the most mundane details. Our concepts structure what we perceive, how we get around in the world, and how we relate to other people. Our conceptual system thus plays a central role in defining our everyday realities.
A hidden system of an all-powerful God’s will, discoverable in texts and complicated calculations, is a dangerous metaphor to live by. By what criterion ought we say that the prophet in California is less qualified to determine hidden meaning from the texts than Rabbi Akiva or Nathan of Gaza. In the time of Shabtai Zvi, half of all world Jewry believed that the messiah was about to reveal himself. Some sold all their worldly possessions, some even moved to Israel. The pilgrims to Mount Miron will account for 4 percent of all Jews worldwide. How many more are pilgrim wannabes? How many believe but are hedging their bets to see what happens to the early-adopters?
Actually, the glee I take from the Lag B’Omer celebrations this year comes from a completely different train of thought. Forget the end of days for a moment and focus on the celebrations themselves. Lag B’Omer starts at the end of Shabbat. The main event of the celebrations is the lighting of bonfires. This year, as last, controversy has arisen from the concern that if Lag B’Omer is celebrated on Saturday night, thousands of secular Israelis will defile the Shabbat by building and lighting their bonfires before the end of the day. I despise religious coercion in Israel, but I love the fact that the religious are so concerned with us fellow Jews that they would even consider changing the date of this minor holiday. That is what Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef wanted to do.
Yosef, the spiritual leader of Shas was successful at getting a compromise from his anti-Zionist, Haredi colleagues who moved the lighting of the first fire to midnight tonight. Wow! This may seem like a small feat, but I assure you it is reason for celebration. First of all, it is an expression of Jewish concern for one another. Moving the time of the bonfires symbolically expresses an attempt to prevent fellow Jews from sinning in their efforts to participate in this national celebration. Second of all, this is a victory for internal, civil dialog among Jews in Israel. A Sepharadi, Zionist rabbi was heard by an anti-Zionist, Ashkenazi rabbi and his words were considered. In light of these events and the speech of President Obama this past week, instead of dwelling on doomsday scenarios, I suggest we choose a different metaphor to live in, at least for today. “Yes we can!”

My Alternative Memorial Day Commemoration

2011-05-08T16:20:00.000-05:00

It would have been much easier to put on my black shirt and wrap myself in blue and white and head over to Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, where I live, or the Kotel, the Western Wall, in Jerusalem, where I study. But tonight I chose to commemorate the fallen with members of my species and not my collective self. Sometimes we think that we can get closer to our individual corpus when we incorporate and draw lines that separate us from the others. That is not how I experienced the eve of Memorial Day in Israel this year.

This evening, I waited in line outside of the concert hall, Reading 3, at the Tel Aviv Port, with nearly a thousand human beings, as the sirens sounded to mark the battles of Israel, but the crowd I stood with was unlike any other. Tonight, at Reading 3, for the sixth straight year, the members of Combatants for Peace brought together human beings to mourn their losses, and the absence of flags and anthems and generals and otherness was astounding.

Tonight, Moti Fogel mourned the loss of his brother and his brother’s family, to a savage terror attack, beside Palestinians who also lost their loved ones to violence. And Yair Dalal sang his prayer for peace in Hebrew and Arabic with the accompaniment of a children’s choir. And a bereaved, Palestinian, Israeli, Druze sister mourned the loss of her brother, who served in the Israeli Defense Forces, and shared with us the story of being asked, “How could your brother have pointed his gun at his Arab brothers?” Whoever wrote that schoolyard verse, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” must have been deaf.

I knew I was in the right place this evening when Yoni Richter took the stage and put music to the words of Yehudah Amichai’s The Place Where We Are Right.

From the place where we are right, flowers will never grow in the spring. The place where we are right is hard and trampled like a yard. But doubts and loves dig up the world like a mole, a plow. And a whisper will be heard in the place where the ruined house once stood.

Tonight, surrounded by a thousand members of my species, in a place where everyone mourned, and we all recognized the humanity of the person sitting beside us, flowers grew and the possibility of peace felt like more than a whisper.

An important message from my 10 year old son Itamar

2010-11-11T11:10:00.000-06:00

My name is Itamar Steiner. I am writing to you to seek help for two friends of mine who walked to Israel from Sudan where they were born.

Poogy and Deng left their country to escape the war. Their dog was killed by a robber in Sudan before they came to Israel. It was too dangerous to live there.

My new city, Tel Aviv, really tries taking care of refugees. They send about 20 kids from the poor neighborhoods of South Tel Aviv to get an education at my school. One of the problems is that my class mates are not used to having African kids at school. Some kids were picking on Poogy and Deng. I decided to invite them to my birthday party so they could show off what good athletes they are.

One weekend when they came to sleep over, they came to baseball practice with me. They loved it and my dad spoke to the head of the league about getting them full scholarships. Now they come home with me twice a week and then we go to baseball practice.

They come to school on a bus the city provides for them, but when they come to baseball we need to get them a ride home. On Fridays my dad and I drive them home and we see how they live. Poogy and Deng each have many siblings. Poogy’s family lives in 1 and a half rooms for 8 people.
Deng’s family is pretty much the same. Their older brother’s have to work many hours as well as their parents. People take advantage of the fact that they don’t have solid legal status and they are paid very low wages. Their landlords take advantage of them. For one and a half rooms, they pay over $600, and the rent is going up.

As their good friend, I have decided to raise money to support their families. As generous people, I turn to you for support. My dad taught me that in the Midrash and Koran it says, “If you save one life, it is as if you saved the world.” Imagine how much good you would do if you helped save two families.

If you are interested in helping, please respond by email and I will tell you how you can help. Write me via my dad at David@steinerproperties.com and please pass this on to your friends.

Thank you,

Itamar Steiner

Parashat Vayeira

2010-10-23T03:16:00.000-05:00

Parashat Vayeira has a lot of great stories. Stories in the Torah are there to teach us something about human behavior and values. I really object to the idea that they are there to tell us about our distant past, but that is an important subject for a different discourse. What is unique to Judaism is not the values we learn from the stories, it is that we learn our values by repeatedly returning to the stories and deriving our rituals from them.
Vayeira starts with God, according to Rabbi Chama the son of Chanina in the Babylonian Talmud, visiting Abraham on the third day after his circumcision. Loyalty has its rewards, and God knows that Abraham needs to see him while he is recuperating.
Then we have the infamous story of the three visitors whom Abraham greets with great hospitality. Jews don't have a monopoly on hospitality. Visit a Bedouin family and you will see how the masters fulfill this value. Still, hospitality is a Jewish value and it is learned through narrative.
In my favorite story of this parasha, Abraham has the chutzpah to argue with God about Sodom. Here, we learn two important lessons. Negotiation is an art and God, the author, wants us to know that we have individual, internal, moral compasses.
Negotiation as an art is a critical lesson. When Abraham asks, "Will You even destroy the righteous with the wicked?" He is appealing to one sensibility of his negotiating partner, justice. When he says, "Perhaps there are fifty righteous men in the midst of the city; will You even destroy and not forgive the place for the sake of the fifty righteous men who are in its midst?" Abraham tries to give his partner a chance to make a compromise.
Abraham is masterful when he implores judgment, especially when he knows the possible outcome. "Far be it from You to do a thing such as this, to put to death the righteous with the wicked so that the righteous should be like the wicked. Far be it from You! Will the Judge of the entire earth not perform justice?"
And then there is the trick. After engaging God in a negotiation and making himself appear humble by acknowledging his human, created, status, Abraham employs a language trick. "Perhaps the fifty righteous men will be missing five. Will You destroy the entire city because of five?" Of course, God is onto him and says, "I will not destroy if I find there forty-five."
Through all of this, God teaches us that we have dignity as humans. He listens to Abraham's rational thought. He doesn't take the upper hand. Both God and Abraham are also flawed here. Abraham uses tricks. To some degree, he disrespects the hierarchy of power. On the other hand, he teaches us that sometimes the hierarchy is flawed and deserves challenges.
In his Letter from a Birmingham Jail, Martin Luther King, Jr. writes,
One may well ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all."
The problem with this for our story is that Abraham's negotiation is with God, presumably the source of just law. Even Martin Luther King would be confounded in Abraham's position because his position is that God is the source of justice. King asks, "How does one determine whether a law is just or unjust? A just law is a man made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law."
The problem is that in this instance, God is acting in a way that seems unjust. What can we do with this? We can, as many do, and the Rambam implores of us,
1. accept that we cannot understand God and continue to cling to Her despite our moral compass.
2. We can judge God poorly, as the Gnostic religion did some two thousand years ago, and cling to hedonism while we are free in this world,
3. or we can follow Abraham's lead and challenge any form of justice that doesn't conform to our moral compass.
The important thing to remember is that there is an author to the text. Whether that is God or a redactor or a singular human voice, the message is that Abraham acted according to his moral compass. He challenged God, the character in the story, and spoke out despite the possible consequences.
I am thrilled that my tradition grapples with this issue. We are not Gnostics. We don't think that God is an indifferent creator. We also have room for negotiating what a good god would expect of us. Abraham's God is willing to conduct the negotiation. The author gives us this story to instruct us that this is our option, and anyone can still fit into the tradition whether she believes or not that there exists a higher power that commands. The behavior of the characters is separate from the author, and the message of the text is also independent.
In this small segment of Parashat Vayeira, we have a text that illuminates the pluralism of our tradition and leaves room for everyone at the table while making it clear that morals are negotiated between ourselves and what we think is collectively good. We may not all agree that that collective good originates with a benevolent deity, but we are all empowered to and commanded by the text to participate in the dialog.

Lech Lcha

2010-10-22T02:50:00.004-05:00

The opening of Parasha Lech Lcha has a very different meaning when read as the continuation of the previous parasha, Noah. Of course, there are lots of rabbinic comparisons between Abraham and Noah, but this is not what I am referring to. I have always been troubled by the last sentence of the Parashat Noah when we are told of Terach's death. This does not sit well with the beginning of chapter twelve in which Avram is made out to be this great guy who is so dedicated to God that he will leave his native land, the place of his birth and his father's home to follow Him to an unknown place that He will show him. This model of super hero, role model is problematic.
Rashi has a different problem. He is worried that, "Abram did not fulfill [the commandment of] honoring his father, for he left him in his old age and went away." Rashi explains that this is the reason why, "Scripture calls him dead." He even gives a formula to explain that he was dead before Avram left.
If Terah died in Haran, then Avram didn't leave his native land, the place of his birth and his father's home to follow God to an unknown place where that God will show him. He was already on the path.
Why do we create histories that make our heroes better than they really are? Would we be better served acknowledging that Martin Luther King was at the Lorraine Hotel cheating on his wife when he was shot to death by an assassin? I would like to propose that we would, and I believe that the Torah agrees.
The deal with God, come and you'll inherit the land, appears to be a dud. Who needs a land that can't even provide basic sustenance? After a short time of wandering around worshiping God for the gift of another people's land, Avram and Sarai are forced to go to Egypt to get food during a terrible famine in the Land of the Canaanites. Along the way, Avram realizes that his wife is hot. I don't mean dessert hot. I mean hot like the kind of hot you would either pay or kill for. Avram is worried about the latter and asks Sarai to pretend she is his sister. He doesn't continue with the logical reason, "that my soul may live because of you." He first says, "in order that it go well with me because of you." Rabbi Arnold Jacob Wolfe says that this was Avram pimping his wife. I won't be so direct, but whatever you call it, things went well for Avram and by the time Pharoah had kicked them out of Egypt, they were so rich with flocks that they had to send Lot away because there was not enough land to graze for both of their herds.
Why does the author of the Torah share this story with us? Even Rashi doesn't know what to do with this. He turns to Genesis Rabbah where it says that, "[Avrum] hid [Sarai] in a trunk, and when they demanded the customs duty, they opened it and saw her. " He then explains that this is how we know that when they saw how hot she was, they decided to praise her to the Pharoah.
Rashi does the same thing that Chazal do. He tries to turn the misdeeds of the hero into admirable choices. I can understand this as one who looks for role models in making my moral decisions, but with my doctor of education hat on, I think we do a dreadful disservice when we do so, and I think the Kadosh Baruchu sides with me by presenting the good, the bad and the ugly when he gives us the text.
In my humble opinion, the text is trying to activate the moral compass that is inside of each of us, as we learn about in next week's parasha, Vayeira. Torah presents us with a beautiful tension between the quality of a human soul and the deeds of an individual human. By presenting Avram in all his dimensions, the author of our text is trying to tell us, use your moral compass, look for the good deeds and emulate them.

Parashat Noah

2010-10-10T04:47:00.000-05:00

The ark started moving, it drifted with the tide
The unicorns looked up from the rocks and they cried
And the waters came down and sort of floated them away
That's why you never see unicorns to this very day

You'll see green alligators and long-necked geese
Some humpty backed camels and some chimpanzees
Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born
You're never gonna see no unicorns

- The Unicorn Song, words and music Shel Silverstein

In Parashat Noah we learn about the importance of seeing in addressing the world in the first few sentences of the portion. What's most interesting about his, however, is that for the author of the Torah, being is separate from the observed world. We know this because the author chose to first tell us, "Now the earth was corrupt before God, and the earth became full of hamas (There are many ways to translate this. Rashi refers to the Hebrew gazal which means robbery) (Gen. 6:11)." וַתִּשָּׁחֵת הָאָרֶץ לִפְנֵי הָאֱ־לֹהִים וַתִּמָּלֵא הָאָרֶץ חָמָס: Only in the next line do we read that God saw the world, "[A]nd behold it had become corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its way on the earth." וַיַּרְא אֱ־לֹהִים אֶת הָאָרֶץ וְהִנֵּה נִשְׁחָתָה כִּי הִשְׁחִית כָּל בָּשָׂר אֶת דַּרְכּוֹ עַל הָאָרֶץ:
Why does Torah first tell us that something exists and then that God observed it. I believe that we are being told that there is a difference between objective reality and perception. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the use of the word hamas is there to strengthen the fact that there is an objective word which has values thrust upon it. When God sees the earth, verbs are used to describe the state of the world; it was corrupted. When objective reality is described, adjectives are used to let us know how to feel about it. These are the assertions of the author.
Perception and reality are always different. Imagine an art studio with many painters trying to capture a model on their canvass. Each stands in a different position relative to the model, each can reveal a different aspect of what exists. This may explain why the rabbis tell us that there are seventy faces to the Torah. In their day, there were also seventy members of a Sanhedrin which validated and legitimized the teachings of Torah. One perspective could be tyrannical. It could never give voice to the multiplicity of understandings of the text.
The same is true for the end of the portion. The people unite in one language and try to build a monolithic tower to heaven. God hears of the tower and goes to check it out for Herself. וַיֵּרֶד יְ־הֹוָ־ה לִרְאֹת אֶת הָעִיר וְאֶת הַמִּגְדָּל אֲשֶׁר בָּנוּ בְּנֵי הָאָדָם:
Rashi is troubled by this. He says, "He did not need to do this, except to teach judges not to condemn a defendant until they see [the case] and understand [it]." Here God doesn't need to see objective reality for Her to know of it, but She understands the separation. Seeing is part of believing, which is why God sets an example and goes to see the Tower. God reaffirms the distance between objective reality and observation and, in doing so, also strengthens the space between reality and perception. Depending on where a person stands, s/he will see something different.
This is one of the strongest lessons of the Noah portion. The distinction between our perception and reality is not finite. It changes with time. It changes as we change. But the knowledge of the existence of this separation is essential for us to be good judges and make good judgments as we navigate our way through time and travel our path through this objective world.

Beraishit

2010-10-10T04:44:00.002-05:00

Rashi teaches us that the first two words of the Torah need interpretation. This, in itself, is mind boggling. Who was this text written for if not humans? As such, why does it need interpretation? Was the author, traditionally understood as God, incapable of conveying Her message in a clear manner? Why would God the author want to create a system of understanding that relies on interpreters? These are big questions that demand our attention.

Rashi continues by telling us that these words, Beraishit Barah, translated as, In the beginning, created, (The Hebrew verb and noun are in opposite order) “teaches us that the sequence of the Creation is impossible as is written.” He goes on to explain that the Hebrew word Beraishit is in the form of a word that must be succeeded by another and gives many examples including, “In the beginning of (בְּרֵאשִית) the reign of Jehoiakim”

Rashi surely has an ideology about understanding Torah, but he also has a critical methodology. My teacher, Professor Menachem Fisch would often burst out in class, “Aren’t we lucky we have the Oral Torah?” By this, I think he meant that we are fortunate to have a corpus of literature that helps us to understand the Torah. What I am not sure of is whether he says this because he believes that it helps us understand the authorial intent or because it gives us a structure within which we can live Jewishly.

When Rashi says that we need interpretation to understand even the first two words of the Bible, I think he is creating a power which I struggle with. Do I really want to give over my autonomy of understanding the text to a canon of interpreters who, like me, can never meet the author?

When discussing power, it is hard to ignore the writing of French philosopher Michel Foucault. In his essay, What is an author?, Foucault addresses an additional layer to the problem of understanding sacred text, what does authorship do to the writing (écriture)?

In the Secular Yeshiva of BINA, authorship is an open question. In our pursuit of personal meaning derived from the text, we do not reify the authorship or hand it over to an all powerful , all knowing deity. We allow the deity a place at the table along with the philosophers, interpreters, Zionist leaders, historians, writers, artists and others. We believe in the method of meaning making designed by our forebears, to assess meaning through rigorous debate and discussion, but we don’t privilege anyone.

As we celebrate this Shabbat Beraishit, let us try to find a place for everyone at our table as we study for its own sake and let the study transform us. In this way, hopefully, we will find in the text those things that empower us to repair our world – regardless of commandments and unnecessary hierarchies.

An Open letter to President Abbas

2010-09-23T16:42:00.000-05:00

Dear President Abbas,

It's Sukkot and while we are celebrating and wishing one another moadim b'simcha, joyous times, there is a shadow hanging over our heads. The shadow is violence which may occur if you choose to leave the peace talks because our prime minister chooses not to continue the building freeze in the West Bank.
Before I continue, I would like to remind you of a letter I wrote you, which I hope you read, back when our prime minister told you to recognize Israel as a Jewish state as a precondition of peace. At that time, I encouraged you not to acquiesce. My reason was simple. I didn't want to lighten the definition of a Jewish state by having it determined from without. I encouraged you to refrain on the grounds that you are not capable of judging the Jewish quality of the state. I know that there is much more involved, that it would hurt your position vis a vis refugees, but taking my stance achieves the same goal, and I continue to urge you to not comment on the religious qualities of my state, even if this gives Prime Minister Netanyahu a chance to walk away from the talks.
Your walking away is different. It raises the possibility of a resurgence of violence accompanied by pain and fear on both sides. I want desperately to avoid this scenario. Usually, as a democratic minded person, I believe that my efforts must be directed at my own role in the situation. I can't change what others do and I must control myself, but the Netanyahu government is teaching me the meaning of Winston Churchill's famous quote, "It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried." While other forms are far from perfect, in democracy we suffer the tyranny of majorities, or in Israel's case, the tyranny of the number 2 party and its cronies.
This Sunday, when both of us learn what my government has chosen to do with regard to building, we will be in the beginning of the week in which we read the first portion of the Torah. I know the high regard the Prophet Mohammad had for our book and its people, so I will appeal to your understanding of the book and its message regarding Genesis and the first humans.
Of course, I can only guess at the authorial intent of this great piece of literature, but I am quite certain that the message of two parents, Adam and Eve, for all of humanity is that we are siblings and must treat one another as family. This is challenged when we get the message that siblings fight and even kill one another.
"Am I my brother's keeper?" This brilliant stroke of the pen conveys the interdependence of humanity. It also conveys that ultimately we can only control our own behavior. In Judaism, our rabbi's redefine a hero as one who "conquers one's instincts." This is what I am asking of you.
If on Sunday we both awake to renewed building, I imagine that your instinct will be to pull away. Why should you trust someone who speaks from both sides of his mouth, asking for peace while continuing to build the major obstacle to reconciliation? But I implore you to be a hero and conquer this instinct because the alternative is worse. You may consider yourself justified in responding to aggression with aggression, but you won't serve either side well by letting loose the specter of violence. The Al Aksa Intifada, you have proclaimed, was a failure for your cause. Walking away from the talks could be the mother of all failures. Walking away and letting loose the will of violent instincts will not achieve peace, it will destroy hope.
While I asked you once to not judge the Jewishness of my country, today I am asking you to listen to our rabbis, the sages of the Talmud, and be a hero. Conquer your instinct and do what you can to remain vigilant about the long term goal, peaceful co-existence between our nations in this land which we both treasure. While Prime Minister Netanyahu may feel he has won a battle, ultimately, your heroics will end the war.

Best wishes and joyous times,

David Jay Steiner, EdD.
Tel Aviv, Israel

An open letter to Prime Minister Netanyahu

2010-09-11T01:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Prime Minister Netanyahu,

Shana Tova to you and your family.
My family moved back to Israel after a 13 year hiatus in Chicago where I received my doctorate. Before that, in 1990, we moved back to Israel just in time to help elect Yitzhak Rabin, z''l, to the premiership. We left around the time of the beginning of your first tenure at prime minister.
I remember the early Oslo period as a time of euphoria punctuated with some of the worst expressions of hatred and cynicism ever. Once, a suicide bomber took his life within a football field from my apartment in Tel Aviv, and, for three hours, I searched the area for my wife and newborn daughter wondering what would happen to my capacity to hope and dream of peace if they were taken from me. My high school roommate told me that he commanded soldiers who were killed on either side of him in the first Lebanon War and, despite all logic, he cannot trust Arabs. I didn't want that to happen to me, and I don't think that is a luxury we Israelis have.
Hope is at the core of being Jewish. It, literally, is our national anthem. We live in hope and anticipation. Just think for a moment about Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai who insisted that we plant trees in this world before greeting the messiah. Think of Honi the Circle Maker who taught us, through his experience, that planting trees for future generations is one of our most holy expressions of faith.
Much of our hope rests on your shoulders today. We are full of hope that you will lay the foundations for peace for this and future generations. My personal hope is that you have the strength of character that Yochanan had when he saw our people eating straw because the Thugs and Zealots had burned their food in a cynical attempt to cause a rebellion. Yochanan didn't join the infighting of the people. He rose above the pettiness and snuck out of Jerusalem in order to sue for peace. This could be how we remember you.
Prime Minister Netanyahu, we just ended the month of Elul in which our efforts were focused on self reflection. Now we are approaching the Day of Atonement on which we will take collective responsibility for our nation. With humility, we will chant aloud, "ASHAMNU: we have been guilty, BAGADNU: we have betrayed, GAZALNU: we have stolen, DIBARNU DOFI: we have spoken falsely." What self knowledge and beliefs will stand behind these words?
Why are we guilty? Have we been less than completely sincere about our intentions for peace? Are we guilty of allowing the Palestinians under our military rule to live for 43 years without civil rights?
Who have we betrayed? Have we betrayed the sacred command, "Do onto others as you would onto yourself." Have we betrayed the words of King Solomon in the Proverbs, "Seek peace and pursue it."
What have we stolen? There are many in Israel who claim that Judea and Samaria are part of the booty of the Six Day War. Other's remind us of the Geneva Convention that makes this illegal. While I fully stand behind the Geneva Conventions, I can understand the argument that loosing land is a risk of starting a war. This, theoretically, is a deterrent. Still, the subject of processing land is fraught with complexities, and it is not so simple that we can rightfully say that Israel won the right in battle or that it was promised to us by God without consideration of the residents. Just think of the respect Abraham showed for the Hittites shortly after God promised him the land. He bought the Cave of the Patriarchs to bury Sarah because he respected the indigenous people. Land comes with responsibility for the residents.
How have we spoken falsely? I would suggest that by asking the Palestinian President to say that Israel is a Jewish state as a condition for advancing peace is speaking falsely because it puts an impassible obstacle in front of the peacemakers. In Israel, we are far from understanding what it fully means to be a Jewish state. We have not reconciled being Jewish and being democratic. While our Torah tells us to have one law for ourselves and the strangers amongst us (Leviticus 19:34), we have at least two types of citizenships in the country, not to mention the status of those in the Land who have no civil rights.
Mr. Prime Minister, I don't love clichés, but I want you to know that many of us prefer a land of peace than a piece of land. We also see no distinction between our Judaism and our democratic values. In fact, we see democracy as a cornerstone of those values, while we have not found a consensus on the definition of a Jewish State, we are very happy existing in the machloket (debate), as long as it remains civil.
What we don't want is to be the pariah of the world, to be thought of as a nation that does not respect the rights of all of its residents or its neighbors, to exist as the "neighborhood bully," in the Middle East.
You have a unique opportunity to fulfill the hopes, dreams and responsibilities of our people. You will not be judged better for the amount of land you retain. You will not be evaluated with distinction for the level to which we monopolize the natural resources of our region. You will build your legacy on your ability, like Honi the Circle Maker and his date palm or Yochanan and the academy he built in Yavne - outside of Jerusalem, to start a process that we need to continue as a peace loving, democracy craving, justice loving people.
God speed in your very important mission and Shana Tova to all of Israel and the world.
Best wishes,
Dr. David J. Steiner
Tel Aviv, Israel

Response to the letter of support for Israeli actors boycotting performance in Ariel and the West Bank

2010-09-10T01:22:00.000-05:00

It's Rosh Hashana, the birthday of the world in our tradition, and I cannot think of a better birthday gift than the pursuit of justice. This is why I am writing to you about the letter you signed supporting the Israeli-Jewish actor boycott of the West Bank.
As some may know about me, I detest the occupation. I wrote my dissertation about peace education between Israelis and Palestinians, I moved back to Israel to be an active force in changing the politics of my homeland, and I am studying to be a rabbi to have the credentials and the learning to engage our people in a serious discourse about this terrible injustice done in the name of all Israelis and Jews. And yet, I am very concerned with the development of this boycott mentality within us as a people.
For certain, we have always had infighting. The Thugs (Biryonim) and Zealots (Kanaim) in Jerusalem were willing to burn the food supplies of their fellow Jews to encourage a rebellion against the Roman occupiers. Korach and others rebelled against the leadership of Moses. Jewish infighting is not a new phenomenon. But now we have a country of our own and we have to strengthen the institutions within which we conduct our discourse.
As I write, I am cognizant of Martin Luther King's letter from the Birmingham jail in which he left us the brilliant statement, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." In this letter, King tells us that, "The purpose of our direct-action program is to create a situation so crisis-packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation." But the actors' boycott of West Bank is not intended to open any doors. It actually closes them.
Noah Efron, a Bar-Ilan University lecturer and member of the Tel Aviv-Jaffa City council, wrote that,

the only chance we have of making proper sense of the world around us is if we see what surrounds us in all its complexity, and if we are alive to voices different from our own… Arguably, artists and scholars ought to seek venues in Ariel, and other settlements, and to energetically hunt for opportunities to challenge those who live there and to be challenged in return. If we believe in the power of what we do, we ought doubly to wish to debate it with those who see matters differently.

I do not fully agree with Efron. We should seek to debate the collective policies of our country. The tyranny of the majority is exactly why Winston Churchill says of democracy that it is a terrible system, except for all the rest. But we can overcome that by creating as many venues for civil discourse as possible without asking our artists an scholars to compromise their values and perform in settlements that they believe are illegal and immoral.
On the other hand, in an opinion piece in Haaretz,, Theodore Bikel, unintentionally, gave me the reason to oppose the boycott as a collective effort of Israeli artists. He refers to "Pablo Casals, the world-famous cellist, who chose life-long exile from his native Spain because of the fascist dictator who ruled the beloved country of his birth, [and] said this: 'My cello is my weapon; I choose where I play, when I play, and before whom I play.'” My art and my scholarship are not weapons. They are my voice, and when they become weapons, I have changed my perspective relative to the discourse. I believe in civil discourse.
George Lakoff and Mark Johnson, in their book "Metaphors we live by" argue that the metaphors we use become the frames that shape our thinking and behavior. I cannot chose raising weapons on my people, even those who I detest politically. Like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the avowed pacifist Catholic theologian who was executed for his efforts to assassinate Hitler, I agree that there is a time to fight and even kill, but that is a last resort. At this time, our efforts should be directed at engagement and discourse. A boycott is an act of force. I prefer not to end the occupation through force. I want to end it through creative, democratic exchange. In the Arab market in Jerusalem they sell t-shirts with a slogan that explains my feelings. "Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity." I think the idea of boycotts, other than possibly against corporations, is pregnant with negative ramifications. It brings us down to their playing field. It makes our means inconsistent with our ends.
The boycott, divestment and sanctions (BDS) movement and the Palestinian Call for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel are both intent on forcing Israel to end the occupation of the West Bank. While I concur with this limited goal, I disagree with the means. Likewise, Im Tirzu, the right wing, Israeli political organization funded in part by Rev. John Hagee, uses the same methods to force their way on internal Israeli opponents. Recently, they threatened to bring their protest to funders of Ben Gurion University in order to make donations for the academy conditioned on their political will. Both of these examples are uses of force for political gain, and neither is willing to attempt to achieve their aspirations through discourse. To my sensibility, this is McCarthyism for the 21st century.
Since I opened this door, let me say one small thing about McCarthyism. My absolute favorite response to Senator McCarthy and his ilk was the movie Salt of the Earth (1954) written by Michael Wilson, directed by Herbert J. Biberman, and produced by Paul Jarrico, all blacklisted by the Hollywood film industry. Instead of fighting censorship and fascism, they engaged it, creatively, in the public realm. This might be what the actors of Israeli theater troupes should be doing in Ariel. Noah Efron suggests, " At the end of each show, they could turn up the house lights and enter into discussion and debate with the audience. Such meetings would be heated, no doubt, but they might help thaw the frozen seas inside those of us who live in Tel Aviv and in Ariel alike." Again, I like the intentions, but I question the methods.
Performing in Ariel is legitimizing the occupation. I don't travel on Highway 443 because it cuts through the West Bank on its way to Jerusalem. I am not as diligent about East Jerusalem. I travel there to protest in Sheik Jarrah, which is fine, but I also visit friends in East Talpiot. I always bring guests from abroad to the Old City, and I travel to the West Bank to meet with Palestinian activists and scholars. These issues are very complicated. One of the most beautiful things about our Hebrew language is its complexity. Appropriately, for our conversation, the three letter root of the Hebrew word for "abstraction" (hafshata) is also the root for the word "simple" or "literal" (pshat). In English we say, it’s a thin line between love and hate.
I am not afraid of complexity. Another great movie that deals with this issue is The American President. For most of the film, the president, portrayed by Michael Douglas, does not want to engage his opponent, played by Richard Dreyfus, about attacks on his personal behavior because he is not willing to go down to his level. Eventually, he decides that the time has come and he fights fire with fire. "There is a time for every purpose under heaven." Maybe the time has come.
It is impossible to have this type of conversation, when Israel is involved, without referring to our sages. There are two brilliant references that should be considered in this situation. When faced with the infighting that ensued after the destruction of the Second Temple, Yochanan ben Zakai snuck out of Jerusalem in a coffin in order to sue for peace. It wasn't a democratic move. He acted on his own, but, in doing so, he saved the Jewish people from destroying themselves from within.
The other example is the chevruta, the study partnership, of Reish Lakish and Rebbe Yochanan. After converting Reish Lakish from a life of crime into a life of piety, Rebbe Yochanan verbally spars with his student in the classroom. This leads to Reish Lakish's death. Not having clear civil borders for the discourse ends in tragedy. In recalling their study partnership, Yochanan remembers how through a process of challenging each other with 24 questions they get to the fullest understanding of the subject. While I certainly agree that individual artists and scholars should not engage in behaviors that offend their moral and political sensibilities, I think you have an obligation, if you want to boycott collectively, to create alternative frameworks for engaging your political opponent. It is not only for their fair participation in the decisions of the larger collective, it is for everyone's benefit in achieving the fullest understanding of the issues.
This is the kind of pluralistic discourse I want for my country. I don't want pluralism because I like every idea out there. I want pluralism because I have the humility to know that I don't have all the answers in here. Furthermore, while I am not an advocate of nationalism, I am fully intent on working with my country men and women to make our homeland the best that it can be. A country, for better or worse, is not a marriage. We cannot simply end all our conflicts be divorcing ourselves of one another, and we ought not end them through force. This could very well be why the sages put the family and marriage at the center of our community life. They did create an escape. We have divorce in Judaism. By our hopes and dreams are for healthy homes and families in Israel. This includes finding ways to constructively, as equals, get beyond our problems and work for the fulfillment of our dreams.

Playing by the rules

2010-08-15T22:28:00.000-05:00

The month of Elul has begun and I am trying to make sense of my behavior over the last year. Elul is understood as an acronym. ELUL, Alef (Ani) Lamed (L’dodi) Vov (V’dodi) Lamed (Li). I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me. We say it at weddings as a message of equality between the spouses, but dodi also refers to “my God.” I have always appreciated that in Judaism we take the month of Elul to make amends with the people in our lives first and then we are considered ready to make amends with God.

One thing that always has bothered me is what I should be making amends with God for. Common Jewish literacy holds that are 613 commandments, of which 365 are negative (prohibitions) and 248 positive (things we must do). Among the things we must do are keep the Sabbath holy, respect our parents and give to the needy. Then there are others like kill homosexuals, wicked and rebellious sons and idolaters. These seem much harder to implement in good conscience.

For his reason, I decided to ask one of the on-line rabbis who claim to be able to decipher the true meaning of scripture. I left his name out because the sages of the Talmud teach us the evil of embarrassing someone in public. It’s called halbanat panim and I think they were very wise and ethical for advising us against it. I also don’t want to engage in the evil tongue, Lashon harah, which is when we tell true things about a person behind their back. They say that these crimes will keep us from heaven and they compare the evil tongue to an arrow. They say that it is better to hit with one’s hand than with an arrow because your arm is retractable, whereas an arrow isn’t. The Rambam says that it is better to do a mitzvah because you are commanded than because it is rational. I have to strongly disagree. I cannot imagine a good God wanting me to do things without critically assessing the request. I can, however, see why somebody who wants absolute power would make these requests and attribute them to God. Below is the content of my inquiry from the anonymous on-line rabbi. I promise that it is 99% factual. I took the liberty of cleaning up my poor spelling and grammar a bit to hide my inferior intelligence. I also wasn't completely upfront about my agnosticism. I wasn't sure how seriously I would be taken if I said I was an agnostic concerned with interpreting God's will as expressed in Torah.

David - How do you explain the mitzvah to stone to death a Jew worshipping other gods for this weeks parasha. Rashi doesn't give much. There is not one I read who addresses this. I feel very uncomfortable with the text instructing us to kill in God's name, especially when it asks us to judge other humans behaviors. I think Chazal would have a very difficult time with this mitzvah. I'm not well versed enough to find their commentary, but I know they didn't want to fulfill these types of mitzvot.

Anonymous online rabbi - What is hard about understanding stoning to death an idolator? He's lucky that's all he gets.
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

David - I will assume that your question is rhetorical. Would you really stone an idolator? What would it take for you to decide that someone is an idolater and deserve death? Would you actually execute this punishment or would you give it to others to execute? This really intrigues me.

Anonymous online rabbi - We do what the Torah requires of us.

David - What would it feel like if one of your students or readers executed your judgment and stoned an idolater to death? As I read your answers, I feel like you are telling me to execute justice against an idolater. What if my judgment is wrong? What if I kill the wrong guy, or he was just dabbling in idolatry but he wasn't serious? What is the point of no return?
I have a guy in my class at Tel Aviv University who is a Jews for Jesus. Does he deserve this punishment?

Anonymous online rabbi - It doesn't apply to us nowadays so why worry about it?
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David - When does nowadays start? What if somebody doesn't understand that and executes justice as Torah instructs? I would hate for somebody to judge the pictures I have of Joe Louis and Mohammad Ali (the boxer) on my wall and decide that I worship idols. Although, at times I do feel like their grace in the ring is divine. When Joe Louis clobbered the Nazi Max Schnell didn't it just seem like God was putting his bets on Joe Louis? I can see why stoning an idolater could have its perks. It'd be like Sandy Koufax in the world series or a Nolan Ryan fastball.

I'm still bothered by the fact that our God would ask us to kill idolaters. Why would he command us not to kill and then have us kill idolaters and homosexuals and wicked and rebellious sons? It just doesn't make sense.

Anonymous online rabbi - Are you G-d? Why does everything have to make sense? Does it make sense that when a man dies childless that his brother marries the widow? Why not let her marry whomever she wants? I don't think most commandments really make sense. We do them because we're told to. The Sefer Hachinuch discusses rationale for the commandments. Ultimately, G-d does not want people worshiping idols.

David - I'm not God. But how am I supposed to know that these laws don't apply now. Who makes up these rules? Who decides when they stop being applicable? How is the average Joe supposed to know? Should I not respect my parents? Does that rule apply now? What is the difference between applying the one rule and not the other? It looks as if somebody is playing God and making the decisions?

It's almost Rosh HaShana and I want to stand in front of God with a clean conscience. If he's asking me to kill somebody, there should be no amendments to the Torah. This is not democracy. This is God. How can somebody be so vain as to step in and tell me it doesn't apply now?

Also, since God is so great, why is he worried about other gods, middle weights, threatening his title. He's the Greatest. Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee is nothing next to splitting the sea and killing all the Egyptian first born.

Everything doesn't have to makes sense, but there needs to be sense to the human answers and interpretations of when Torah applies and when not, unless God instructs us otherwise.

Anonymous online rabbi - Did you ever study Gemara and Medrash?

David - Of course. The Torah is not in heaven. It is ours to interpret. But we are supposed to lean toward the majority. When was a vote taken and why wasn't I invited?

Anonymous online rabbi - You need to learn the rules
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The rapist, the politician and the definition of Jewish Identity

2010-07-28T08:45:00.000-05:00

Reading the news about Sabbar Kashur, the Arab man going to prison for sleeping with a Jewess while posing as a Jew, in the same sitting as I read about the Rotem Conversion Bill and Avrum Burg’s new Arab-Jewish political party, Shivyon Yisrael, Equality for Israel, I cannot help but question what it means to be a Jew.

In the case of the woman who consented to sleep with Mr. Kashur, being Jewish was in name and race. Sabbar’s nickname was Dudu. Even his wife called him by this variation on the Hebrew name Daveed, as in the king. I don’t know the personal beliefs of Mr. Kashur, but as a Palestinian, he comes from one of two (possibly three) monotheistic religions. He’s also not a foreigner in this land. All this leads me to conclude that Kashur’s “crime” was not his lie, Jews embellish on J-Date all the time, it was his race or ethnicity or whatever you want to call being a Palestinian Arab. In this sense, for Mr. Kashur’s accuser, Judaism is her race, not his.

For Yisrael Beiteinu’s Dudu, David Rotem, Jewish is both something that jives, exclusively, with his orthodox religious beliefs and serves as a form of legitimization for the over a hundred thousand immigrants from the former Soviet Union, his constituents. He didn’t bring his bill to the Knesset floor to offend Diaspora Jews. He didn’t have the foresight to think about it. He was advancing the political will of his beliefs and his party. This political jockeying is one of the byproducts of being a people with a state. Rotem’s Judaism is orthodoxy and the orthodox stamp of approval.

For Avrum Burg, being Jewish is a personal praxis of individuals who consider themselves within the big tent of Judaism. (I may be doing a disservice to Mr. Burg who probably would reject Jews for Jesus and others like them.) I think Avrum is juggling three identities; Jewish, Israeli and democrat. It may be hard for someone outside of Israel to conceptualize the struggle we have as democratic people who want to preserve the refuge status of Israel for Jews and not just be a country with a Jewish majority. Once, former Meretz leader Yosi Sarid, in his vulgar way, said that in his wet dreams he wakes up and there are no Arabs here. I’m not even sure that fantasy is good for the Jews. We have a lot to learn from our co-nationals, as they from us, and their presence here reminds us that we were never alone in this land. For Avrum Burg, and probably Yosi Sarid, Judaism is the private religious choice of individuals. It is not state business.

There is one thing that should be pointed out above all; in the 21st century, identity is not reified. It is fluid. For instance, I am studying to be a rabbi. Both schools which I attended in this pursuit are non-denominational. Some people ask, what kind of rabbi will you be? My standard answer is, “A good rabbi.” I can guarantee you that when I am looking for a job, if need be, I will declare a denominational identity. This is what it means to say that identity is fluid. For me, being a Jew is living within the Jewish myth.

In Israel, there are two identities in an I.D. card; national and religious. The purpose of national identity is clear. Can you vote? Must you pay taxes? Will you travel with an Israeli passport? The purpose of the religious identity is less clear. Donniel Hartman, in his book The Boundaries of Judaism says that Israel has adopted the lowest common denominator definition of a Jew, someone with a Jewish grandparent, the same as the Nazi definition. The reason for this is that part of Israel’s purpose is to remain a refuge for Jews, something most of us agree upon. The State of Israel has come up with a different reason for defining Judaism, to create authority over the various religious groups in Israel. Here, in Israel, each religion has a czar of its own.

MK David Rotem’s conversion bill is about the authority of official Judaism in Israel. Rotem was, on one hand, strengthening his orthodox cronies, on the other, he may have been trying to cater to his constituents who have difficulty becoming legitimized as Jews. Either way you look at it, any Orthodox converted immigrant from the former Soviet Union who would have a sexual encounter with Mr. Kashur’s accuser would not be required to give his pedigree nor would he have to explain his religious beliefs. Simply put, the Kashur case is about official Israeli racism toward Arabs.

I don’t know about you, but racism is not part of my Jewish values. It is historically true that defining ourselves in contrast to others has always been part of defining who we are. This is not unusual, even among non-Jews. It’s also true that Judaism traditionally discouraged intermingling. But this is not the problem we are addressing.

There is a tension in Israel between being a state of Jews and a Jewish state. We need a refuge for Jews. This is a given. We may also believe that whatever it is that we define as Jewish is valuable, otherwise we wouldn’t choose to remain Jewish in a world where we are free to assimilate. But the big question is whether a state can have a character. France is dealing with this at the expense of their democracy by not allowing free religious expression. Israel is dealing with it at the expense of Diaspora Judaism and non-Jewish citizens (which also hurts our democracy).

If a state can have a character and we want our state’s character defined by Judaism, then there remains the question of how we determine what Judaism is? Donniel Hartman, head of the Shalom Hartman Institute where I learn, writing on the Conversion Bill and the affect the bill has on Israel-Diaspora relations, says that “Israel must be a place …where the various Judaisms of the Jews have footholds and a place of respect.” (Notice, he doesn’t say Israeli Jews.) Ari Elon, a Hartman fellow, in his wonderful book From Jerusalem to the edge of heaven, suggests a difference between Judaism and Jewishness. Neither of them address, specifically, the Arab members of Israeli society, but both are known to value democracy.

Having a Jewish character and being a state of one form of Judaism seem mutually exclusive. Jews have always been varied in their praxis and belief. What we need to do is separate religion from the state’s powers and maintain a Jewish character. This will require change from all parties to the discussion. Who is a Jew is too important a question to be left to politicians. It requires all of our input and a willingness to engage each other as legitimate equals. Can we stand up to this challenge? I don’t know. When Yochanan Ben Zakai fled Jerusalem to sue for peace from the Roman captors, we was not acting as the spokesperson for the people, even if he acted on their behalf. Maybe what we need is a Yochanan Ben Zakai, maybe just a large table where we can sit together and talk. Whatever the case, let’s not leave ourselves out of the discussion. The ramifications are too big to be left to others to decide for us. Chazak, Chazak v’nitchazek.

Finally, a pushke with my vision of Israel

2010-07-23T02:06:00.002-05:00

Living in America, I was starting to feel like a doctor (not of education, which I am.) Every time I would push my check into the blue pushke, I would take the Hippocratic oath, “do no harm,” and write in the memo line, “Not for use over the Green Line.” Now I am asking myself, what was I thinking all those years.
This past Sunday, I went on a rabbinic tour of Tel Aviv with the New Israel Fund. It accomplished exactly what it had intended. It showed us how the money donated to this alternative vision of Israel is spent. I am reluctant to say “new” because the NIF vision is the one I was raised on as a child in Habonim. If only I wrote my checks to NIF all these years, I would have been able to feel like I was part of the solution, not the problem, and I would have been a participant in forging the vision of Israel I was supporting.

Our Sunday NIF trip through Tel Aviv started, of all places, in the NIF offices in Jerusalem at a breakfast with former member of Knesset, Avrum Burg. What a delight! Avrum came in to the room and shamed me. How can I take of the leisure of being pessimistic about Israel when he is such an optimist, especially Avrum Burg, the man maligned for expressing the evil (sarcasm intended) opinion that we need to come out from the ashes of the Holocaust and start thinking about what kind of society we want. Avrum told us about the work of the New Israel Fund in Israel and the meager beginnings of the organization which started 30 years ago in the Bay Area with a mere $80,000. This was clearly a Herzlian story of “if you will it, it is no dream.” The lions share of his talk was not about the external threats. It was about what Israel could be. Ironically, or maybe intentionally, days before Tisha B’Av, Avrum also discussed Sinat Chinam, infighting, and looking for a way to end this 2000 year old Jewish virus.

Our next stop was Tel Aviv. We met at one of the beneficiary organizations of the NIF, the Hotline for Foreign Workers. This was truly amazing. Hotline for Foreign Workers is an open society organization started by volunteers who were concerned with a prevalent problem is Israeli society which was not address by its creators, the government. Israel, since the first Intifada, has been trying to wean itself of Palestinian labor. This is not an new story in the land of our forebears. I have a poster in my kitchen that says, “Hebrew watermelon,” which was the early Zionist call to support Jewish labor over Arab. Today things are worse. We have not managed to do what Ber Borochov and Nachman Syrkin prescribed for us, to flip the social/economic pyramid of the Jews who were excluded from European society for so long. In Israel we maintain the pyramid but change its base. To replace Palestinian labor, we bring outsiders to do our dirty work. This wouldn’t be a problem if, as our hosts explained, they didn’t behave like human beings and fall in love, hope to be treated with dignity and need the basics of human sustenance. In Israel, we seem to want laborers who were not made in the same image of God as we were.
The Hotline for Foreign Workers is a magnificent organization on the meta level because it is the fulfillment of Hillel’s teaching, “If I am only for myself, what am I?” The nuance is also superlative. They address the real problems of affordable housing, labor justice, the absurd Knesset attacks on the children of these foreign workers and now they have entered the new realm of dealing with foreign workers who didn’t come here by choice. They were chased away from their home countries. Yes, it is beautiful that the Moslem Sudanese man who now runs a computer center in South Tel Aviv decided that Israel was the best country to turn to of all the neighborhood, but it would be better if we welcomed him with the same Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming of guests, demonstrated by Abraham.

After lunch at Dr. Shukshuka in Yafo, we went to see how the other half lives. No, not the Israeli Jewish downtrodden, of which there are many, we went to the cousins in Yafo. Before I describe the visit further, I must disclose a terrible fact from my marriage. My wife, who is also not a fan of this, comes from a family that moved into a house in Yafo where dinner was still cooking on the stove when they arrived. Now, in all fairness to them, they had just arrived from Algiers, had no money and were confronting an Ashkenazi bureaucracy in Israel that was anything but sympathetic, but this is not the fault of the Arab family that fled their home trying to either escape Jewish attackers or fleeing with the hope of getting more when their brothers in Egypt got rid of the Jewish menace in Palestine. I am not planning to judge here the ethics of people who had to deal with existential questions in times of war. As a peace educator, I can only hope to prepare others for making better decisions in the future.

In Yafo with NIF, I learned about the close interconnection of economics and ideology. My impression is that Judaicizing Israel is exploited for the economic gain of the few. It is no wonder that the building contractors in the West Bank settlements are the biggest supporters of the right wing ideologues. In Yafo, the situation is very complicated. Arabs who left their dwellings and moved south but stayed in the general vicinity of their homes, those who didn’t get the luxury tents in Gaza, are now being forced to move again. This time the pressure is not military, it’s economic and legal.

From his Birmingham, Mississippi jail cell, Martin Luther King once wrote,

One may ask: ‘How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?’ The answer lies in the fact that there are two types of laws: just and unjust. I would be the first to advocate obeying just laws. One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that "an unjust law is no law at all.

I have difficulty understanding how anyone in Israel can see fairness in a law that forces Israeli citizens to leave their homes because of convoluted statutes that benefit the upper echelon of society. Maybe the Jewish state doesn’t always intend to live by the spirit of the Biblical call for equal justice between ourselves and the strangers amongst us. Are we just a state of Jews or do we want something Jewish about our character? Maybe if those affected by this miscarriage of justice were Jewish, people would be up in arms. This is why we need the New Israel Fund.
Remember when President Obama said, “There's not a black America and white America and Latino America and Asian America; there's the United States of America.” Something of this spirit has to be part of the Israeli vision for itself. Jews have always lived with strangers among ourselves, otherwise God, the master of tzimtzum, sparing use of words, would not waste ink inscribing for us the command to have equal justice for the stranger. Ironically, it takes an American founded, Israeli non-governmental organization to remind us that the Jewish state, before all else, must maintain some of its Jewish character. And by this, I don’t mean forced orthodox weddings, but this is an issue for another blog post.

I am so glad to have been part of this NIF trip and thrilled not to have to write in the memo line of my checks, “not to be used over the Green Line.” Tzedaka given without fear of its misuse is much nicer than the experience with my blue pushke. The only problem now is that switching to the “dark side,” as NIF is often portrayed by the McCarthyistic right in Israel, will mean having to bring my brain. As an NIF donor, I will have to be cognizant of the fact that my shekels affect change and I will need to have a vision for that change. I will have to be a literate civilian in the Jewish nation, and I will have to maintain vigilance in the face of the fury of right wing attacks. I guess this is a small price to pay for a openly Jewish, Israeli society. Who know, maybe one day there wont be a difference between a Jewish state, a State of Jews and a modern democracy.

Tisha B'Av food for thought

2010-07-20T14:11:00.001-05:00

Forgetfulness prolongs the exile; remembrance is the secret of redemption. - The Ba'al Shem Tov

It is Tisha B’Av, 5770, and, as usual, I want to take our calendar seriously. Most people might say that means fasting. I’m not so certain. I understand that we take the loss of Jerusalem seriously. But things are different now. What did Jerusalem really mean to our people? What does it mean now? Was it the 2 square kilometers inside the Old City walls or was it a symbol for something more significant than land? Certainly it wasn’t the inflated Jerusalem of the cynical political leaders who claim that [greater] Jerusalem is the indivisible capital of Israel and the Jewish people. It is clear that Jerusalem was the center of our Jewish longings for two thousand years of exile. At weddings we said, and continue to say, “If I forget thee Jerusalem may my right hand wither…” (Psalms 137:5-6), and we break a glass to remember the sorrow over our loss, even in the midst of our most joyous celebrations. We sing and lament "By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down and wept when we remembered Zion." (Psalms 137:1-2). We bury our dead with their feet in the direction of Jerusalem so that they can rise and start their trek back home upon the coming of the Messiah, and we comfort those who suffer a loss with the words, "May God comfort you among the other mourners for Zion and Jerusalem". But we also have the arguments in the Babylonian Talmud (Rosh Hashana 18b) about what will be of the rituals on the four minor fast days once we have “peace,” which can be understood many ways. Rav Papa held that, The ninth of Av is in a different category, because several misfortunes happened on it, as a Master has said: On the ninth of Av the Temple was destroyed both the first time and the second time, and Bethar was captured and the city [Jerusalem] was ploughed. Others believe that Megillat Ta’anit will be annulled based on the words of the prophet Zechariah “Thus saith the LORD of hosts: The fast of the fourth month, and the fast of the fifth, and the fast of the seventh, and the fast of the tenth, shall be to the house of Judah joy and gladness, and cheerful seasons; therefore love ye truth and peace.” My inspiration comes from Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai who had the ear and favor of the Roman ruler Vespasian and asked for Yavne, instead of Jerusalem. When he set up the post-Temple forms of Jewish practice, he didn’t insist on incense or small barbeque grills in the sanctuary to remind us of the sacrifices. He didn’t try to build a new Judaism that was wed to a specific land. The rituals I recall above relating to Jerusalem are not about a longing for the way we lived then. When we ask God to return us to the earlier days, we are not asking for the earlier rituals, we are asking for the sovereignty which we now enjoy. True, we do not have peace, as our forebears may have intended as a condition for changing the nature of Tisha B’Av ritual, but we have a country. The design of Tisha B’Av ritual was a use of historical, collective memory to affect our behavior and, more importantly, our longings. It was designed during a period when we didn’t have control over our destiny. Now we are like other nations with borders, inhabitants and neighbors. If anything, the function of Tisha B’Av needs to change. George Santayana claims that, “those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.” I am not suggesting that we forget. I don’t want to make the anniversary of our tragedy into a shopping holiday like Memorial Day has become in the United States. On the other hand, I think we can draw new conclusions. The tragedy of Jerusalem and the fall of Beitar can also be seen as blessings. We left our land for two thousand years and gathered many fruits. We are returning from all corners of the globe. We bring traditions from all over the world and our internal Jewish discourse is much richer than ever. The road to sovereignty was not easy. It had more and bigger potholes than a Chicago street in mid winter, yet we are finally here in our land. And those of us who haven’t joined the national project are free to remain where they are without fear of oppression. This is a great time to be a Jew. If you don’t believe me, imagine, for a moment, how your great, great grandparents might react if you brought them here from their ghettos. Today we have a strong Jewish army, a distinguished Supreme Court, rich Hebrew culture with feature films, songs and novels which are translated into every language. We had a Jewish vice-presidential candidate, Jews in the Baseball Hall of Fame and Jews, Israeli ones, traveling in space. I don’t know about you, but I’m positive that my ancestors would be in shock. Would they be pleased is another very important question. Did we really want the responsibilities of a national homeland all those years when we considered ourselves in exile or was it really one of those pipe dreams that make anticipation so fun? Some of us don’t think it is a pipe dream at all. They are planning the building of the Third Temple. Others, like the Naturei Karta, think we are causing cosmic disturbances by expediting the coming of the messiah. I am not for throwing the baby away with the bathwater, but my assessment of the Jewish situation today is that we have little to mourn and a lot of work to do. I don’t think we should cancel Tisha B’Av, but we should definitely reassess the curricular goals of our praxis. Why are we fasting? In Judaism we don’t even mourn the loss of our parents for a complete year. Why are we prolonging the mourning for a city that is again in our control? If the purpose of our mourning is to force us to be introspective about our actions and take responsibility for our grief, then I think we should keep the fast. What I love about Tisha B’Av is that we never made it a day about blaming Nebuchanezer, the Romans or our other tormentors. We blamed the destruction of the first Temple on our behavior in relationship to God, i.e. idol worship and improper moral behavior, and the destruction of the second Temple was about the poor relationships among ourselves and the infighting within the community. This model of introspection should be preserved, and I am willing to forsake my culinary pleasure to achieve this important goal, but not because I mourn Jerusalem and not because I want to return to the practices of yesteryear. Today we are a sovereign and free people. But we still have room for self reflection. Did we long for independence for two thousand year to have the biggest social gaps in the world behind the United States? Did we create a state to be led by corrupt and cynical politicians? Did we envision our country to be one where differing opinions and religious practices are frowned upon? We may not have complete control over our security and our relations with the neighbors, but at least we should do everything in our power to make those relationships right. This year on Tisha B’Av, let’s stick with the introspection, question the usefulness of fasting and think hard about what we want our redemption to look like. If we do this, and work at it together, just like Israel, the work of our hands, we will make great things happen.

Israel is not normal

2010-07-09T05:29:00.005-05:00

The Wall Street Journal reported on July 8th about the declaration of a minyan of former legislators, executives and ambassadors who call themselves The Friends of Israel Initiative. Their claim, that Israel is a normal country. Of course, this is not new. David Ben Gurion declared it after the first rape occurred in Israel, or so the historical myth factory has it. In any case, both Ben Gurion and The Friends of Israel Initiative have it wrong. Israel is not a normal country, and this is its blessing and its curse.

Why a curse? Because statehood forces us to confront anti-Semitism differently. We now have a law on our books that grants immediate citizenship to any Jew who wants to become a citizen, regardless of belief of political inclination. In some ways, this is the same type of racial definition of Judaism that Hitler proposed. Dealing with anti-Semitism is not a normal problem and it is one Jews, as wanderers among nations, never had to confront as a nation-state with borders. In essence, the practical solution to anti-Semitism, the Israeli Law of Return, makes the country a refuge for almost anyone who had a Jewish grandparent with the exception of Al Capone's accountant, Meir Lansky, and a Catholic Monk named Brother Daniel who was converted to Catholicism to save his life during the Holocaust but was refused Israeli citizenship in the 1950's because of his beliefs.

Today, however, we have thousands of Jewish Israelis who profess beliefs in any number of religions, including Jews for Jesus, Buddhism and Islam. Likewise, with the establishment of an official Judaism in Israel – orthodoxy – many Jewish citizens now see their religion in conflict with their Israeli identity. These are not the problems of a normal nation.

Why is abnormality a blessing? Because it is our difference that gives purpose to our existence.

I believe that I live in Israel wherever I make my home, because being in Israel is not just the geographical designation most people give to the Jewish project taking place in the Land of Israel. Living in Israel is part of living in a grand old myth that believes the world is redeemable and that we have to pursue justice to redeem it. How, exactly, we pursue justice is a uniquely Jewish. Part of it is in our beliefs, much in our ritual. We believe that we are a nation that was oppressed and found salvation in freedom and obligation. We left Egypt to become a free nation and chose to live within a covenant.

If there were no anti-Semitism, being Jewish would only be about choosing to live within the covenant, and our biggest concern would be how we interpret that covenant. Without anti-Semitism, we would be equal but different from other nations. But we live with anti-Semitism, thus we are forced to have a balance between a state of Jews, as defined from the outside, and a Jewish state, which we constantly redefine from within.

If the State of Israel were not to aspire to synchronize itself with the covenant of Israel, I would not support it. But we declare ourselves to "be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel." Everything else we declare is frosting on the cake of Western Democracy; to "ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all [our] inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; [to] guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; [to] safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and [to] be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations."

The meeting point of Israel, the people, with the modern realities of nation states and continued anti-Semitism force us to live in a balance between secular, Western democratic values and Jewish values. The nexus of many of these values is quite clear. How we Jews get there is uniquely Jewish, and I wouldn't trade that for all the normality in the world.

Praying with our Mitsubishi

2010-06-05T14:41:00.000-05:00

When Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was asked about his marching in Selma during the civil rights movement in America during the 1960's, he said he was praying with his feet. This Shabbat, my son and I prayed with our Mitsubishi. In a week that was plagued with great moral challenges and tragic loss of life on a flotilla that was loaded with humanitarian aid to Gaza, Itamar and I decided to take a trek up to Um El Fahm, the largest Arab city in Israel, to visit my friend Abed and his family.
Earlier this week, I was devouring press reports, blogs, analyses, op-ed pieces and listserv tirades. I had discussions, wrote, pondered and implored friends to address the situation with patience. Yes, something needs to be done, but the first step in solving a problem is identifying it. We don't have enough information about the flotilla and the Israeli response. I propose an independent inquiry.
Still, there is the matter of human pain and outrage at what was experienced, even if those feelings are based on possible misperceptions, misinformation, or simply desired understandings. People often see the world as they perceive it. It's a matter of the lenses we wear. By going to Um El Fahm, my son and I were addressing those feelings in our own humble way. This wasn't a revolution. It was drip irrigation.
I have known Abed for 19 years. He travels five days a week to Tel Aviv to clean hallways in apartment buildings. When he cleaned our hallways, I would have him come in for Turkish coffee and conversation. This is how our friendship was conducted. When we left Israel 14 years ago, I lost contact with Abed. Recently, he spotted my wife on the street in Tel Aviv and made her promise to have me call. I did, and it was great to hear from him, but I never made the extra effort to come drink coffee with him in his home, until now.
In the Talmud, (Sanhedrin 4:8, 37a) we learn, "Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." Jews share this quote with our Moslem cousins. I often wonder what the rabbis meant by saving a life. What we did by visiting Abed and his family was really a small gesture. No lives were saved. They fed us. Yet, I was compelled to try to be part of the solution, and, for me, that meant showing a human face and compassion in a time of great sadness. In the Ethics of the Fathers, we read, "In a place where there is no man (mensch, good person) try to be a man." This Jewish value feels like it has been replaced with the secular, "When in Rome, act like a Roman."
I am in Israel and I want to act as a Jew, at least as a Jew feels commanded. Acting like a Roman, at this juncture in time, would mean to join a chorus. It could be the choir of Jews who feel compelled to defend our homeland, right or wrong. "Either you are with us or you are our enemy," the Bush doctrine, or the choir of "Israel can do no right," which is having its heyday right now.
Being a mensch turned out much better. We had a really delicious Arabic lunch, enjoyed the great company of Abed's family, went to an art museum, and picked fruit in the garden. Our conversations were political and very personal. We both regret the loss of human life. We both hope for the end of the closure that is the meta cause of the flotilla events and we both celebrated the potential of our shared country once the craziness of war finds its peaceful resolution.

Response to a rabbi regarding the flotilla

2010-06-05T00:11:00.001-05:00

A rabbi from a community I care deeply about recently wrote an upsetting message to the congregation in the aftermath of the flotilla disaster. In the spirit of refraining from using lashon harah, the evil tongue, I would like to address his comments anonymously. (See his piece below)

Rabbi,

I am very concerned with the message you presented to the community in the aftermath of the flotilla disaster. My concern stems from innocent statements which were made four days after the event, "[T]he more I learned about it, the more my reaction has evolved, "

The premise of my dissertation about peace education is that we are not literate enough to effectively manage our existing discourse with our Palestinian neighbors. As this research pertains to your statement, I must be critical of the learning, early judgment and pronouncement.

In Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), we learn, "To every thing there is a season." Four days after the horrible event is not the season to pass judgment. I would like to suggest that part of the discourse literacy we need to achieve peace is to follow King Solomon's words, "To every thing there is a season," with the same self control that we learn of from Ben Zoma, in Pirkei Avot, The Ethics of the Fathers, "Who is mighty? He who subdues his instinct. (4:1) "

It is our very human instinct to try to rationalize and defend our behavior. We cannot live with cognitive dissonance, the state of being in which our thoughts are inconsistent. It is hard to think of ourselves as good people and know that we have done wrong. This is the role of teshuvah, repentance, in Judaism. Jews understand we are flawed beings, "only human." We recognize our flaws, repent and try to turn them around. To try to make consonance of our actions with our positive self perception is, therefore, not very Jewish behavior. The Jewish response is in Pirkei Avot. We must try to subdue the instinct to always understand our behavior as consistent with our belief in our righteousness.

Now is not the time to judge the situation. Now is the time to call for an independent inquiry into the flotilla disaster.

During the month of Elul, we reflect on our sins and atone. We do this secondarily with God. First we do it with those who we have wronged. It is not a Kantian endeavor. We don't look into a mirror. We address the other. It is dialectical. Having the Israeli Defense Force or the government investigate itself is not the way Jews address their behavior.

You claim that, "Israeli soldiers initially fired paintballs, and only resorted to live artillery when attacked." This is what I call convenient information, at this stage in our understanding of the events. It works wonders on the dissonance we are feeling, but it hasn't gone through the critical inquiry we need to attempt to honestly understand what happened. Where does your information come from?

You said that, "[T]he turning point for me came when listening to a radio report from the British Broadcasting Corporation." In that report you heard a woman activist say," I would do it again tomorrow. It shows the terror and murderers of the Israeli government."

To this you responded, "[T]his activist would sacrifice human life to illustrate and publicize her feelings toward Israel. This kind of reaction is the opposite of the values of Israel, which two years ago released hundreds of prisoners to ensure the safe return of three civilians."

I would like to suggest that these are two very different dialogues. The activist was addressing the world when she said she wants to expose Israel. Israel was addressing two audiences; the world and Israel, internally.

On one hand, there was a complicated Jewish message to the world which needs to be unpacked. We love our sons and daughters and will do a lot to bring them home. This is why I explained to my son that after the first soldier was seen being beaten by the flotilla activists, we continued to send more troops. But there is more to this Jewish message to the world.

My son asked, "Why not just shoot from the helicopter?" This very innocent question reveals a lot. Maybe, as Israel suggests, they didn't expect to be confronted with violence from peace activists. I would like to believe something different. It is the argument we made when we sent infantry into Jenin during the second intifada instead of bombing from above and obtaining the military objectives without loss of Israeli lives. "We love all of God's creations and will do our best to protect their lives." This perspective is moral, in a vacuum, and somewhat innocent. Could it be that Israel sent our soldiers onto the boat to speak to the activists instead of fight with them? With all of my Zionist ethos, I wish this were the case, but so much time elapsed before the confrontation that it just doesn't seem plausible that Israel found it most wise to board the ship at four in the morning to discuss peaceful resolution to the situation.

The second message from Israel is to herself. It is about maintaining order within. If the government did not make painful efforts to bring home our soldiers, it would communicate to all the parents, like me, who have Israeli children, "Don't be so certain that when we send your children off to war that we will do everything in our power to return them." This is a major problem today when Israel faces four years of the absence of our kidnapped soldier, Gilad Shalit, whose parents continuously reminds us in the Israeli media that Israel is not doing enough to return their son.

The last part of your message is really the most upsetting to me. You said, "Israel is not perfect, and we should not expect it to be." As Jews we should aspire for perfection. If Israel is just a normal country, as many Israelis and Jews want it to be, then what does this say about the events of 1948, 1967, and the entire Zionist endeavor?

I am not a Zionist simply because I want to have a homeland for Jews in the historical home of my people. That is only a part of the dream. And it is not because I understand that Jews need a refuge from anti-Semitism, that is a reality forced upon me. I am a Zionist because I think our intellectual inheritance has provided something special and important for us to offer the world. Certainly, we cannot fulfill our purpose if we are destroyed by anti-Semitism or disappear by lack of interest and commitment. Likewise, I believe that much of our purpose is fulfilled in our historic homeland. But we definitely cannot fulfill our mission if we don't expect the highest of moral standards for our collective endeavors.

To excuse our behavior with a lack of moral imperative, or because, as you say,"[Israel] is surrounded by countries that oppose its very existence," is to rationalize and excuse the deep inconsistency between our behavior and our purpose. Israel will be a normal country, if it is only, " a modern-day miracle," as you claim. But anyone who reads the books of the prophets understands that miracles were not arbitrary. They were intentional.

It is not enough to be, "a place where persecuted Jews found hope and a culture was reborn." There are many cultures in the world. Jews live comfortably and contribute much from the diaspora. If we want a country, there has to be more. Israel should be a culture of peace with aspirations for justice. This requires serious introspection and teshuva, interactive atonement among neighbors. Excusing our behaviors prematurely to make us feel good about our existence is not a recipe for peace nor justice. It is not the Jewish answer to statehood.

Sincerely,

Dr. David J. Steiner

*****

The "Free Gaza" Flotilla and Its Aftermath

The recent incident involving the "Free Gaza" flotilla and Israeli Navy has generated enormous publicity. It is saddening and tragic. I must admit that when I first heard the news reports, I said to myself, "How could Israel have done this?" Yet, the more I learned about it, the more my reaction has evolved.

I am thinking not only of the violence--clearly illustrated on video--engaged in by the "nonviolent" protesters, and the indication that Israeli soldiers initially fired paintballs, and only resorted to live artillary when attacked. These are important facts, but the turning point for me came when listening to a radio report from the British Broadcasting Corporation.

The BBC is not known for being pro-Israel. Yet, in interviewing one of the leading activists on the flotilla, its reporter asked her if she had any regrets in leading the "humanitarian" mission that resulted in at least nine deaths. The reporter wondered if--given the subsequent loss of life--the activists regretted not accepting the Israeli offer (prior to the raid of the ship) to deliver its humanitarian supplies to Gaza. She replied, "Absolutely not. I would do it again tomorrow. It shows the terror and murderers of the Israeli government."

In other words, this activist would sacrifice human life to illustrate and publicize her feelings toward Israel. This kind of reaction is the opposite of the values of Israel, which two years ago released hundreds of prisoners to ensure the safe return of three civilians, and which has already begun an investigation into what happened aboard the "Free Gaza" ship.

Israel is not perfect, and we should not expect it to be. Neither should we automatically excuse wrong-headed acts simply because they are done by Israel. Yet, we cannot refuse to recognize the predicament in which Israel lives. It has an extraordinarily strong military and vibrant economy, yet it is surrounded by countries that oppose its very existence. Even with deep-seated problems among its own political and religious leadership, it remains a modern-day miracle, a place where persecuted Jews found hope and a culture was reborn. The vast majority of its citizens yearn to live in peace with its neighbors. It is our obligation to bring this fleeting dream closer to reality.

Explaining the attack on the flotilla to my ten year old son

2010-06-01T01:00:00.000-05:00

I could start by kvelling about my ten year old who is so concerned with world events and justice, but that would be inappropriate the day after 9 (or more) people were killed by my army on the high seas.
I could also start by condemning the actions of the government which led to this catastrophe, but that would be uncritically assessing a very complex situation, something that goes against my democratic sensibilities.
I will start with the pain I feel for the deaths of 9 civilians whose families will miss them forever and whose country folk will make martyrs of them, further perpetrating the violent animosity.
Last night my children couldn't watch the news with us. They were terrified by the images of Israeli soldiers being beaten by angry mobs of metal rod bearing thugs. This is what they saw before they ran away to their bedrooms. This is what many Israelis will see and never look deeper. But in a democratic country, a country not defined exclusively by free elections (only 63% of Israelis voted in our last election, the lowest number ever) but by democratic values, it is incumbent upon citizens to look deep and ask challenging questions. This is what my son did this morning as he grilled me on the situation.
"Why did we drop our soldiers into a boat of angry people with clubs?" "Why didn't they just shoot from the helicopters?" "What was on the boat that was so important they had to fight over it?" "Why didn't Israel just let the boat go to where it was headed?" OK, I will kvell for a second. My son asks great questions. The challenge is answering him in a way he can understand and come to conclusions for himself, unlike the way Israeli citizens will be answered by their government.
There are some answers I cannot portent to provide at this point in time. I want my son to know that I don't have all the answers and that there are good and bad ways of acquiring them. I tell him that we will need an independent commission of inquiry (not in those words although I do work to improve his vocabulary) into the situation. I explain that we cannot expect the army or government to investigate themselves, and get full disclosure of the facts. For his sake, I compare this to him fighting with his sisters. When we ask him what happened, does he ever say 'I acted wrong. I should have thought more before…'?
"Why didn't Israel just shoot from the helicopters?" I through this question back at him. "Why?" His response was exactly where I hoped it would be as a result of my parenting. "If we did that, we would probably kill a lot more people." For my son, this was a great answer. My fear is that in Israel we will take this to illustrate how "moral" we are and how highly we value human life, but that is a crock of … (I won't say it). Asking questions on their own, without context is a great way of getting the answers you want instead of the answers you need to hear. There is no way to examine this issue without the remaining questions. "What was on the boat that was so important they had to fight over it?" and "Why didn't Israel just let the boat go to where it was headed?"
These questions really address the crux of the matter and open up a slew of other important questions. It is important to address the question "What was on the boat that was so important they had to fight over it?" in a manner befitting the situation. We were told that there was humanitarian aid. We can't be sure without checking? We had to weigh the possibilities of not checking and having "bad stuff" get into Gaza, against the possibilities of blocking aid from getting to people who need it.
Here I didn't go into all the details because it is a lot for the young mind of my son. There is a precedent for dishonesty and smuggling "bad stuff" into Gaza, I told him. I didn't know how to explain that Gaza is ruled by Hamas, a terror organization that won the Palestinian election and lost control over the majority of Palestinian territory in a violent civil conflict with Fatah. I didn't try to explain that many of my Palestinian friends told me that they couldn't vote for Fatah any longer because of the corruption, even if they didn't vote Hamas. I didn't try to explain that the Palestinian election system can run two candidates from the same party on one ticket against one from the opposition ending in loss by plurality. These are the kinds of information I expect my fellow citizens to look for when they judge our neighbors, but my son is too young to understand this.
What was hardest to explain was that Israel has been conducting a siege of Gaza and blocking humanitarian aid to its civilians in order to get Hamas out of power. This point I considered explaining. I had an analogy, the South Africa divestiture movement I participated in as a college student, except in that case the people who would suffer from the lack of aid were the ones who asked for the divestment. Gazans, whether they agree with Hamas or not, want to rebuild their homes after the devastation of the war we had with them two winters ago. They want medical supplies and food. I was embarrassed to tell my son that Israel was spreading videos on You Tube showing that Gaza has plenty of food and supplies. What would I tell him, that what really matters is what people think about the bad things you do not whether they are bad in and of themselves?
Why didn't Israel just let the boat in is also complicated? Many will claim that that would be a terrible precedent. I told my son that this question is great and asked him how he might have done this. He said, "Can't America check what's on the boats for us?" He said, "If it's not bombs and guns, then why not let the people deliver the stuff?" Again I kvell. My son's insight was amazing. Would it have been so hard to seek a neutral inspector for these boats? On one hand, Israel claims that they acted according to international law, on the other, they reject the involvement of international bodies designed to prevent these types of situations. How crazy is this?
In the Judaism that I grew up with, that makes me want to live in Israel, that makes me want to be a rabbi, we have a saying that goes, "whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world. (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:8 (37a)" Islam shares this saying. I cannot understand, and I can surely not explain to my son, how it is that our Jewish homeland and country has not acted according to this very important and contemporary value.

Lagging on this 33rd Day of the Omer

2010-05-01T01:55:00.002-05:00

Tonight is Lag B'Omer and the country will fill with bonfires and little kids running around with bows and arrows pretending to be Bar Kochva's army. Another 400,000 will visit Mount Miron where the (supposed) grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai is located. In many ways this is the most tragic holiday of the year and it has to do with the shortsightedness of the founders of the state. In my view, the 33rd day in the counting of the Omer is a clear sign of "lag" (pun intended) in our civil development.
The founders wanted to change the identity of the Israeli Jew from someone who was a frail scholar, or walked meekly to his death in Auschwitz without resistance, to somebody who fought back with courage and bravery. The problem with this approach was that not all courage and bravery is intelligent, ethical or democratic. In the end of his days, Shimon Bar Kochva was a vigilante who, likely, assassinated Rabbi Elazar (depending on how you read Talmud), and who defied the Sanhedrin. He was a vicious leader who wanted his soldiers to cut off a part of their finger as a sign of loyalty, and his revolt led to the murder of over half a million Jews living in Eretz Yisrael. By edifying Bar Kochva, the founders of Israel either intended to put the ends before the means or they were hoping to have a critically illiterate Jewish population who wouldn't ask why we celebrate.
The stories of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai are much different and it is for the reader to determine whether he is a sainted scholar or a zealot or both. The problem is that 400,000 Jews will make him a sainted scholar by visiting his grave and performing all kinds of superstitious acts with the hope of divine response. Why is this a problem? Well, I admit that the rabbis beliefs, at times, were similar to what I am calling here superstitious, but it is a problem because the performance of them is avodah zara, idol worship, and it is making holy a place in space as opposed to a moment in time.
I would argue based on my understandings of Jewish holiness, that we create holiness in time. Shabbat brings us holiness each week (as you might like to read about in Abraham Joshua Heschel's acclaimed book The Shabbat), as do the other moments in our calendar. The only places that have ever been graced with holiness are those were the shechina have visited, and Jews, for instance, clearly don't identify where Mount Sinai is. In fact, unlike Catholics, who have located and named Santa Catalina, as the place where God revealed Himself to Israel, we Jews do not identify holy spaces, with the exception of the place designated as holy in the Bible, our Temple in Jerusalem.
Why do I ascribe this problem, also of new Jewish behavior, to our founders, because they never fulfilled the promise in our Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel, the promise of a, "Constitution which shall be adopted by the Elected Constituent Assembly not later than the 1st October 1948," and this has led us to a situation where we have at least two Jewish states living in the Land of Israel, one which clearly lives by the laws and governance of the democratically elected government, and others.
I am not suggesting that all the people who went to Mount Miron this weekend are not good citizens. I do, however, believe that the founders failed us by not forging a way for all Israeli Jews to respect and participate in Clal Yisael, as our sages demanded, "All of Israel is engaged with each other." Instead of this national unity, we have different school systems, political parties which represent strictly religious perspectives, and a growing population that do not respect the laws of the state.
I remember, for instance, shopping for sandals with my father in law in Beit Shemesh. In the city center, a merchant didn't have the sandal I wanted in my size. He suggested that I go to his brother's store in the religious part of town. As further encouragement, he told me that there I wouldn't be charged value added tax. This is because this portion of our citizenry in Israel don't participate in the funding of

the paving of our streets,
the payment of salaries to our police force,
the payment of teachers salaries

or any of the many constructive civil uses of our tax money. This is reminiscent of the American, Boston Tea Party, which is getting so much attention these days among, according to a recent New York Times poll, elite, disaffected white people who don't want to share their wealth with the less fortunate. This is not what I want for either of the countries I call home, but it is definitely not what I want for my Jewish homeland which was founded on the ideals of, "freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel," as written in our declaration of independence.
"All of Israel is engaged with each other," is not an idle claim. It is a demand of our sages who saved Israel from collapse almost two thousand years ago. It is the glue that brings to life the words of the Bat Kol, God's voice, which proclaimed that, "[Both] these and these are the words of a living God." Without the engagement of Clal Yisrael, constructively engaging each other, in an agreed upon framework, we are lost among the nations and lost to ourselves.
If we really want to engage in the constructive use of writing our narrative, then let's turn Lag B'Omer into a day of discourse about how we want to live our lives, together, in a united, sovereign and democratic state with a constitution and an agreed upon ethic of civility. When we reach that moment in time, we will clearly have created holiness and have lots of reasons for celebration.

My Dance with Dvora

2010-04-19T07:34:00.005-05:00

I first met Dvora Bertonov at the home of Ruti Dyches, our mutual friend and acting teacher. Dvora was 79 and I was a mere 29. It wasn't exactly Harold and Maude, the acclaimed (1971) Hal Ashby movie featuring Ruth Gordon as an 80 year Holocaust survivor and Bud Cort as her young lover, but it was a different kind of love as I understood from her frequent reference to me as "mein kind."

Mein kind was not just a term of endearment. In 1972, Dvora lost her only son, Ido Bin Gurion, to suicide after a long battle with depression. Ido, a wunderkind, was an actor, singer, and the first to translate Edgar Allen Poe into Hebrew. No wonder, he was the grandson of the renowned author Micha Josef Berdyczewski (Berdichevsky), the Hebrew, Yiddish and German author described as "the first Hebrew writer living in Berlin to be revered in the world of German letters." Berdichevsky was the father of Dvora's husband, Emanuel Bin Gurion, who spent much of his life archiving his father's legacy. If this is not enough, Ido's maternal grandfather was Yehoshua Bertonov, the doyen of the Hebrew National Theater in Moscow which became The Bima before the troupe came to Mandate Palestine in 1928. One of Dvora's favorite stories was of her dancing before the Hebrew National Poet, Chaim Nachman Bialik as a young child in the shadow of her parent's work at The Bima.

Bridging between Ido's and Dvora's legacies, I had the rare opportunity to interview the members of Ido's singing group in the Nachal branch of the Israeli Defense Force. Ido served with such legends as Arik Einshtein and Uri Zohar, and some of the troupe members gathered for an interview I conducted for a CD ROM Dvroa and I collaborated on. This was just one of the many expressions of love and respect for Dvora I observed in our 15 year friendship.
Unlike the Ruth Gordon character in Harold and Maude who took her life on her eightieth birthday, Dvora was full of life at eighty with no plans to stop. She had just acted in the movie, The Flying Camel and was working on a duet dance performance called "Curfew" (Im Kibui Orot). While she had received the Israel Prize recognizing her contributions to Israeli Arts and Culture in 1991, in 1995, at eighty years old, she was reaching new heights. This is when we had the bright idea to celebrate her work with an 80th birthday party at the Suzanne Dallal Dance Center in Neveh Tzedek. The night was spectacular. The audience was filled with dignitaries including the Mayor of Tel Aviv Roni Milo, Ehud Manor, Naomi Shemer, Chava Albershtein and more. On stage, Dvora was interviewed by Rivka Michaeli, lauded by former President Yitzhak Navon, and entertained by several dance companies including the Kibbutz Dance Troupe. Of course the show was stolen when Dvora and her young dance partner took the stage and performed "Curfew."

Big names and big performances were par for the course with this small woman of great stature, as her friend Dan Almagor used to refer to her. But maybe her biggest contributions were in the field of dance research and ethnography. I remember once sitting in Dvora's living room with Judy Alter, a dance professor at UCLA, listening to the two of them discuss dance in the performance of Jewish ritual in the Tanach. In that same conversation, Dvora explained the difference between Ghanese and Indian dancing as they related to the tiles of her two dance ethnographies, Dancing to the Earth and Dancing to the Horizon. "In Ghana," explained Dvora, "they hunch over and dance to the mother Earth. In India," she explained as she demonstrated, "they dance to the horizon."

Academics and the spotlight aside, my favorite moments with Dvora were when we sat alone in a Tel Aviv cafe and she would explain Schopenhauer to me or talk about the religious philosophies of the Gurdjieff. When my first child, Maya, was born, Dvora explained to me that Maya is a name for the creative energy of the Gods in India.

Once we had Dvora over for Shabbat chamin at my mother in law's house in Beit Shemesh. I invited a peace activist friend from Ramallah, Hania Bitar. During the meal Dvora said to Hania, "If my father knew what coming here would mean to your family, I am not so sure that he would have come." She then proceeded to ask with complete bewilderment why we can't all just get along? It was really a beautiful scene, especially since we had 4 generations, Dvora from Russia, my mother in law from Morocco, my wife and Hania from here and my daughters from America, and all of them call this place home.

I left Israel in 1996, shortly after the birthday celebration. For 13 years we stayed in touch long distance and during my summer visits. One of the greatest of these was when Dvora took my three children into her basement dance studio in her apartment building in Holon and told them about and demonstrated her performances of The Begger's Dance in The Dybuk. Dvora handed out instruments from her vast collection of musical folk instruments and the kids played along as she danced. This is my most treasured memory of Dvora, and it is the one that will stay with me as she dances her way back to mother Earth. Good bye Mein Imma.

Passover letter to President Obama

2010-04-03T12:53:00.002-05:00

Dear President Obama,

I am an American Jew living in Israel. In America, I proudly voted for you for the Senate and for president. I campaigned with my three children for your presidency in Michigan, Iowa, Wisconsin, Indiana and Illinois. I came to Israel to train to be a rabbi and to live among my people in a sovereign Jewish state with my wife and children. When I finish my studies, I hope to return to America and to join you in the pursuit of a more perfect union.

My wife and I also have Israeli citizenship and as dual citizens, we want to express how much we appreciate your stewardship of the relationship between our two countries. Sometimes, as my Israeli father in law says, “You can’t see the forest because of the trees.” I think this is the case of my Jewish homeland.

We are a well-intentioned people. We treat our destiny as if we have a unique relationship with God. Not all of us believe this narrative, but we all live within it and it frames our worldview. Soon we will be celebrating Passover. We will engage in the ritual of a Passover Seder and recall our collective memory of slavery and redemption. Whether this narrative is history or not, we all treat ourselves as a nation of freed slaves who have an obligation to wrestle with our freedom and our nationhood. Sometimes we do this better, sometimes worse.

Added to this narrative is the narrative of anti-Semitism. Anyway you look at it, we are a people who have been oppressed for being who we are. It is an ascribed identity that is irrational but must be treated with the utmost seriousness because of the numerous human tragedies it has led to. If for no other reasons than the Holocaust and the continued hatred of my people for the simple fact of their Jewish birth, we need a country of our own.

Israel isn’t perfect. We are a country of immigrants, many of who were forcibly driven from their places of birth. We are still working on writing a constitution to regulate our collective rights and responsibilities. We still don’t give freedom of religion to all of our Jewish citizens, a reality which was specifically harmful to me and my wife when, living here sixteen years ago, we were forced to get a civil marriage abroad in order for our Jewish wedding with a Reform rabbi in Israel to be accepted.

But we are also a country that takes its role in the comity of nations very seriously. We recently participated on a grand scale in Haitian relief. We have even tried to do the same for some of our Arab neighbors in times of natural disaster. We contribute greatly to biotechnology and the computer industry, and we have a considerable flock of great artists and writers who make the world a more cultural and beautiful place to live.

Our problem now is not seeing the forest for the trees, and it is very similar to our ancestors, who we will soon recall on Passover. Granted freedom, they didn’t know how to behave as a free nation and built a golden calve. Despite their redemption, they continued to accept and participate in the institution of slavery, and blessed with a great leader, many chose to rebel and some yearned to return to the tyranny of Egypt.

Today we suffer from similar misgivings. Granted our sovereignty, we continue to deny it to our neighbors, people who, like us, are not tourists in this land. We have built golden calves, idols, out of land instead of creating holiness in time as a nation that shows mercy and compassion to the people living under our rule, qualities we ascribe to our God. And as free people in our own land, we now show little understanding or appreciation for our freedom as we import foreign workers to do that which is hated by us and turn away refugees when we are best suited to understand their pain.

President Obama, sometimes it takes a courageous leader, a Moses, to throw the tablets at the people as a wake up call. We need someone who responds to injustice, as the young prophet did with the Egyptian taskmaster, someone who seeks justice among brothers, as he did when he saw his own people fighting amongst themselves, and who seeks justice for the stranger, as he did when he defended Jethro’s daughters at the well. These are the qualities of great leaders, and they are the reasons why God chose Moses to demand of Pharaoh, “Let my people go.”

Unfortunately, we don’t have these types of leaders here. Instead of self- reflection, our leadership has created an environment of self-censorship. Instead of moral leadership, we have come to rely on loyalty over justice and vilify those fine citizens who question the integrity of our ways. And we have become a nation that speaks in the evil doublespeak of George Orwell’s 1984. We demand of our Palestinian neighbors, as a precondition for serious peace negotiations, that they acknowledge the Jewishness of our state, as if this were really something they could judge and in spite of the fact that our behavior is not very Jewish. We talk about the eternal, indivisible capitol of the Jewish people as if we ever ruled outside of the walled ancient city of Jerusalem, and then use this language for a land grab of conquered Arab real estate beyond the city walls. And we talk about living in a democratic state, when we have over two million people living under our control without basic civil rights, Palestinians and foreign workers alike.

So president Obama, I am urging you to continue your pursuit of justice in this region. Don’t feel obligated to seek the approval of public affairs committees who don’t represent the silent majority of my people. We need another Jethro, a non-Jewish leader who saw us from the outside and advised our leadership in ways that made us a better nation.

It will not be enough this year for Jews to say, at the end of our Seders, “Next year in Jerusalem.” Rather, we must make the name of our eternal capital fulfill its mission, Jerusalem, city of peace. Then, and only then, will we Jews be able to sanctify our redemption by living the values of our ancestors and acting responsibly among the rest of God’s creations.

It is with your leadership, President Obama, that we will finally leave the wilderness of war and bloodshed and enter the promised land of peace and sovereignty, two states for two peoples. This Passover, I wish you Godspeed in your mission.

Most sincerely,

David Steiner
Tel-Aviv, Israel

Passover Pita

2010-04-03T12:48:00.000-05:00

Passover is here in Israel. The season of our joy, the celebration of our freedom, holiday of matzah and the arrival of spring. And yes, it is a joyful time in the Jewish country. We read in the newspapers about the pilgrims who arrived in Jerusalem to receive the priestly blessing and about the continued growth of the economy. On the beach yesterday with my son, I heard people sing the echoes of Seder songs stuck in their heads after the mere one night of recounting our Exodus story as is required in Israel. Oh what a joy to live, if only for an extended hiatus, in the holy land.
There is, however, an undertow to this holiday celebration which is increasingly bothersome to me and reflects a larger trend in Judaism. It could be best explained with the example of my friend Ofer.
Ofer is a great guy. He and I come from very very different worlds. His parents were immigrants from Iraq. He worked hard, at the exclusion of a higher education, to make his small fortune and started with the mini-market next to my apartment 18 years ago. Now he runs a successful Shwarma and falafel restaurant in central Tel Aviv. I remember two things very well from the five years we were neighbors. One is the coffees he would make us in the little kitchen in the store, the other the kindness he showed to poor people who he frequently gave food to for free. Ofer was there at my wedding and at the birth of my first child. We have a bond.
That said, Ofer is a businessman, and, as such, he looks to fill needs in society. During this week, that need is something resembling leavened flour that can house the contents of a falafel or shwarma. In short, Ofer's kosher restaurant continues to sell food as usual with a kosher for Passover version of his usual pita. What's the big deal, you might ask, and how does this relate to a larger trend in Judaism? As I see it, this is the perfect microcosm for understanding the direction of our people and, in a sense, the changing relationship we Jews are having with the God who we believe took us out of Egypt.
For many people in Tel Aviv, where I live, Passover is an excuse for a party, time to see family, paid vacation days from work and a bump in the road to culinary delights. It may be a time to tell the stories of our collective memory of exodus, but it is not a time of unique commandments or rituals that guide our collective behavior, and I am not trying to make a bad name for Tel-Aviv, my second favorite city after Chicago. The conclusion I get from this is that we are more a community of memory than we are of belief. But belief is not the only reason we refrain from leaven during Passover. In fact, the only reason I don't eat bread this week is because it helps me remember my collective past and reminds my that the bread of affliction is still being served around the world.
This year, my mother's husband, grandfather of my children, an African-American, sat at my mother in law's table for Seder. Just before we sang Oh Freedom, the Negro spiritual used frequently in civil rights demonstrations, I reminded everyone that Grandpa Claude is the person at the table who is best suited to really recall the enslavement of his ancestors. What I didn't say was that as an African-American, Claude remembers differently.
Rabban Gamliel reminds us, at our seders, that whoever does not discuss the pascal lamb, the matzah and the bitter herbs, has not completed the Passover observance properly. What does he mean? Does he want us to discuss the minutiae of what makes matzah kosher for the holiday or does he want us to discuss the expediency with which we had to flee Egypt and why that didn't allow time for our bread to rise? Does he want us to focus on cute furry mammals or is he interested in their role in past ritual observance? Does he care whether we eat horseradish or bitter lettuce or whether we remember how Pharaoh's treatment of us as resident aliens, enemies of the state and slaves made our lives so bitter? In short, as the innocent son asks, “What is this?”
Today, particularly in Israel, the so-called “wise” son rules. He asks a narrow, almost scientific question, “What are these testimonies, statutes and laws?” and we answer with narrow answers about why Ofer's pita replacement is kosher but not Shlomo's pita. And we forget the answers given to the wicked and innocent sons, that God did things for us when we were in Egypt and that He led us to freedom with a strong hand.
What I want to know is where is freedom in Ofer's pita? Where is memory?
More and more these days, I find Judaism focusing on the letters of the law and not the spirit and purpose. It reminds me, in a way, of the dilemma I have when I sit at a red light for an excessively long time, late at night, with no cars on the street. I ponder whether I should drive through the red or not. The purpose of the law, I understand, is to moderate traffic patterns, but there is no traffic. Thus far, I have been conservative and decided that I don't want the law interpreted by each individual, on her own, so I remain faithful to the letter, but in truth, I am not adhering to the spirit of the law which only wants to keep people safe and traffic flowing. The law doesn't intend to disrespect my time.
Some might not like the comparison between human law and that of the divine. I can respect that. But in many ways, this comparison is useful. I am not completely in favor of every Jew taking the tradition in her own hands. Just as we persist as a community of memory, I think that memory must serve a collective function. There is no value in remembering that “my father was a wandering Aramean,” if it doesn't teach us something about being strangers in strange lands and compassion. But, on the other hand, I am more fearful of strict adherence to the law, especially when some Jews dictate for all what the tradition might be. This can lead to Passover as the wise son will understand it, as a set of testimonies, statutes and laws at the expense of larger social missions.
I believe that Ofer's matzah is dangerous because it makes the holiday about laws and not their purposes. The Passover Seder, on the other hand, is wonderful because it is our chance to lean back and recline as we consider why we do the things we do, and it forces us to do it together in a framework that uses memory to instruct our decisions about the future.
The problem is that we only have a Seder once a year and that leaves us a gap that is filled by chief rabbis, non-democratically chosen community leaders and self-interested politicians. We don't participate in a Jewish national Seder, or dialog, neither as a country nor as a people. Our Jewish homeland hasn't had a constitution since it's establishment 62 years ago. And now we are acting as if we have no future without the intervention of God's strong hand.
So this year, as I avoid my friends kosher for Passover pita, and crunch my matzah, and remember the suffering of my ancestors, and grapple with the realities of Jewish statehood, I ask why remember the pascal lamb, the matzah and the bitter herbs, if doesn't lead us to celebrate our freedom and remember the slavery of others? But more importantly, I ask how I can make the spirit of the law come before the letter and how I can reach an understanding of this spirit collectively with all of my people?

Keeping up with the Steiners: The Sequel

2010-03-25T14:44:00.000-05:00

We had a lot of challenges in making Sahar’s bat mitzvah a success. Maya’s bat mitzvah felt magical. Our whole community came out to Beth Hillel to cheer as we welcomed her into the responsibilities of adult Jewish life. Now in Israel, significantly poorer than we were a mere year and a half ago, with a smaller community much less interested in Jewish ritual, we had to make this feel equally special.
Together with Sahar, we chose to do the entire enterprise in a small Bedouin camp called Khan HaShayarot in the Negev desert near the Ramon crater. The decision was brilliant. This location oozed symbolism. We were five minutes south of David Ben Gurion’s desert home, a place where my mother, as a teenager, ate dinner with Israel’s first prime minister during a trip she was on to break ground at the ORT school my grandfather helped build. Likewise, we were probably camping on land the patriarchs had traversed numerous times as they shepherded their flocks. Maybe this was one of those places that Abraham heard God’s call. Ideally, an echo remained for my daughter’s ears.
Our bus left North Tel-Aviv with twenty six kids from Sahar and Itamar’s school in the Lamed neighborhood and another twenty plus family members and friends who chose not to drive the three hour journey on their own. I drove our fifteen year old Mitsubishi station wagon but heard reports of the noisy drive which included a viewing of the movie Madagascar with Hebrew subtitles. They stopped twice along the way, which is not atypical for Israelis who are not used to traveling such long distances.
Upon arrival, everyone disembarked and unloaded their things from the bus. Some of the older guests ordered cabins at the Khan, while most of us planned to stay in the mahal, the Bedouin tent, which was large enough to contain a full basketball court and beautiful enough to be part of the set in an epic desert movie. Shortly after we arrived and settled in, we sat down to eat. Of course, this meant finding a spot on a mattress on the ground, around a big round table, which served five or six. The chicken came out whole, on trays loaded with rice and roasted potatoes, onions and peppers. The rest of the table was filled with various Bedouin salads. I am certain the food was good because my mother in law must have told me so five times how much she liked it, and she knows food. My father in law only eats at home, and I, who had the pleasure of eating couscous in Morocco, would prefer Safta Raquel’s couscous any day. Her seal of approval means much more than that of the Chicago public television show Check Please or any newspaper review. And she wasn’t alone. Everybody loved their dinner.
Dessert was less appreciated but good. We had baklava and tea. People got dressed in their party clothes and the entertainment set up their world music show. They unloaded about thirty drums, set up a screen for our montage, broke out the sound system and lights. The party was set and the guests were ready. We passed out instruments and had an incredible drum roll as the guest of honor entered the tent. The entertainers taught everyone how to play their drums. We sang. There was belly dancing, and my wife was the leader of the pack. She even brought her special belly dancing waist wrap with the Middle East equivalent of rhinestones. After the show, we danced the night away and then sat down for a montage about Sahar’s life. As a video editor, I felt compelled to produce something beyond a Power Point slide show. I was also bound by the montage I made for Maya’s bat mitzvah, and had to include humorous film clips. I included something from Borat, which I had also done for Maya, and I put in a scene from Joshua Then and Now, a movie based on a Mordechai Richler novel, in which the Mafioso father explains to his son that the Ten Commandments is like a test and, “If you get 8 out of 10, you’re in the top of the class.” Everyone loved the montage. Next, we went outside, under a star covered sky, roasted marshmallows and sang along with my guitar wielding classmate Uri Allen, who very generously came to make the evening special and accompany Sahar during the service.
If there was one downside to the bat mitzvah, it was sleeping in a tent with twenty seven kids from north Tel-Aviv. These kids don’t recognize dust in their own homes, let alone sand on the desert floor. Many of them had never slept away from home. All of them were trained by Israeli society to be rambunctious and not respectful of authority, and they were far from being ideal tent mates. For Irit and me, it was a challenge to be somewhat firm and have the kids respect the others in the tent who wanted to sleep and to not make Sahar look bad in front of her friends. Fortunately, we had Sahar sleep in a cabin with her grandparents, which gave us a little more freedom to be firm.
Breakfast was at eight, and boy was it good. Fresh pita made on a Bedouin tarboon, eggs, labaneh and other cheeses, vegetable salad… We left time for the possibility of guests coming just for the service and were happy to welcome Irit’s cousin Galit and her family from Pardes Hanna. They drove 4 hours just to celebrate with us. There were many things about the ceremony that were spectacular. My classmate, Josh Ladon, who is training to be a rabbi, proved that he will excel in his choice of vocation. Another classmate, Shoshi Rosenbaum, who wants to be a cantor and trained Sahar in reading Torah and the prayers, added a ton with her beautiful voice and reassuring presence for Sahar. I found it particularly interesting that we were praying on ground that Abraham, Sahar, Leah, Rivka, Rachel, Isaac, Jacob, Hagar and Ishmael, among many others, had prayed on, and that at the time of our prayers, we were randomly interrupted by the sounds of Israeli jets flying overhead. We also prayed facing north toward Jerusalem instead of our traditional East, and in our line of view were mountains, tents and a herd of camels.
Sahar gave a dvar Torah that hinted at a potential future in the rabbinate. She questioned how a God who got mad at the angels for rejoicing when Pharaoh’s army was destroyed, “When my creations are dying,…” could possibly ask Moses and the Jewish people to make animal sacrifices. She also lamented the current events which included the plan to lay a cornerstone of the third Temple. Sahar argued that she preferred Rabbinic Judaism which replaced sacrifice with “Torah, worship and acts of loving kindness.”
Near the end of the service, Irit and I gave Sahar the priestly blessing and I presented my own blessing for Sahar. Here is part of my blessing.

As your father, I want you to understand where I see myself in this binary, and what I would like for my children. I think that the decision to believe in God is much less important than what you think of that God. At the same time, I have great fear of those who believe in God and think they know Her absolute truth.
The way I have always lived my life is not to concern myself with God, but to act as if She is warm, generous, just, intelligent, merciful, loving and completely impotent in affecting my world. This way, I am forced to act as if the world rests on me and my fellow human beings. It also prevents me from getting angry at a God who allows so much evil and tragedy. Not concerning yourself with the question of God’s existence has freed me up to do my share of good in the world and I believe it will do the same for you.
That said, not believing in a commander means that you will have to find ways of understanding what a warm, generous, just, intelligent, merciful and loving God might want from you and you’ll have to figure it out with the people around you. This takes lots of skills and sensibilities which I am very proud to observe in your behavior.
I have always been proud to march beside you, whether it was for the rights of all loving couples to be able to get married legally, or for the sake of the victims of the fighting in Darfur, you have always had a keen sense of Justice and a call to action. These are among your best qualities.
But I see in you even more than an activist. You are a person who develops her skills in order to understand the world and express yourself in it. You don’t just read books, you devour them. You are also among the best young writers I know. In poetry and prose, you express yourself with passion and verve. You radiate your joy for life in dance and song, and your keen sense of fashion adds to the world’s beauty. These are amazing qualities that I hope you continue to pursue and your mother and I will continue to support in everyway we can.

At the end of the service, we ate cakes prepared by my mother in law, packed our things and loaded up the bus. Ironically, I was reminded of the end of the movie Jesus Christ Superstar when all the passion play actors loaded up their bus and left the desert. The whole ride home, I was kvelling. Sahar was amazing. The experience Irit and I created for our friends and family was perfect, and we were surrounded by love. What a way to bring a daughter into her adult Jewish life?

Two down, one to go.

Of states and peoplehood

2010-03-16T16:14:00.000-05:00

    My teacher at the Shalom Hartman Institute asked us to consider the implications of statehood for the Jewish people. This is no surprise at an institute founded by a rabbi who claims that Israel changes everything. The irony is that in the same week I was asked to write about these considerations, I have traveled to Bethlehem to meet with Palestinians, I was told by my wife that she is constantly confronted by people who say I find no good in Israel, and my American vice president was seriously disrespected during his visit to the country. So where does one begin?
    I think there are assumptions behind this question that need to be unpacked. Jewish peoplehood is a touchy issue. Lots of greater minds have written about it. I can only skim the surface.     One question that comes to mind is “how is peoplehood established?” Once in Sarayevo, I heard Benjamin Barber, a professor emeritus from Rutgers University, describe a difference between ascribed and assumed identities. I understand him through two stories. One is a small piece of Jewish learning that says that Abraham didn’t receive the Torah from God because he didn’t have a people to lead. The second story is in the first chapter of Exodus when Pharaoh decides that Egypt is threatened by this growing nation; the children of Israel. Pharaoh is the first person to call us a nation, Am in Hebrew (no, I don‘t think Pharaoh spoke Hebrew).
    For Barber, Abraham may have had an assumed identity as one commanded by the sole God of humanity, but it wasn’t a national identity. Likewise, the children of Israel, forced into slavery by the Egyptians, were victims of the ascribed identity given to them by Pharaoh. He thought they would rise up against Egypt. Little did they know that we can barely do anything as a collective except quarrel. The implications of the these contradictory yet coexisting notions of identity have great implications for the Jewish people. One might ask, “Are we a people because we have a common set of values
?” Or, “Are we a people because we have been treated as one for millennia?” Both of these questions are oversimplifications of Jewish peoplehood. Clearly, we are not a people bound together by values. I could bring several proofs for this; my Buddhist cousin who does seder with my family or the behavior of committed and engaged Jewish community members, the extreme being Madoff. There are lots of examples and every Jew has her own.
    As for the way we have been treated, this is an extremely complex matter. Jews have a shared and collective memory. A great book about this is Zakhor by Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi#. Of course this is a myth, but it is the myth we live in. One might even say that it is the glue that binds our assumed identity. We are Jews because “Our father was a wandering Aramean.”
    I believe that memory has a great affect on human agency, and, kal vachomer, therefore, collective memory has an affect on collective agency. We Jews, sometimes, act as Jews upon the world and not as individuals. We do this because we imagine ourselves to have experienced everything Jews have experienced for ages. This is the result of ascribed identity affecting assumed identity. Part of the way we respond to the world is based on the way we perceive the way the world treats us. Think of the ramifications for the Jewish people and statehood. When we have a state, we have some tools previously unavailable to us as a collective. We have an army, police, laws and other social institutions. We have a government, a land and an official standing in the comity of nations. There are also some things that many nations have which we have not acquired for ourselves yet, particularly, a constitution and permanent borders.
    I proceed to unpack the inquiry of my teacher by looking at Jewish statehood through the lens of Barber’s dualism. The wise son asks, “Is Israel a Jewish state or a state of Jews?” and the wicked son, “What have you done by creating this country?” The innocent - though maybe the wisest - challenges us by simply questioning, “What is this?” And the one who doesn’t know how to ask will simply assume a different identity until he is reminded of his Jewishness by the ascribers of our negative attributes.
    Jews have lived without assuming the yoke of their Jewishness. The ascription of the identity is probably worse for these people. Heinrich Heine, the great German poet who converted from Judaism to Christianity, was quietly resting in his coffin, years after his death, when Hitler bothered to desecrate it during the mere 24 hours he spent in Paris after its fall. Clearly Jewish identity is something that can’t be completely removed, but we should ask if everything a Jew does is Jewish? When Sandy Koufax refused to pitch in the World Series on Yom Kippor, he was undoubtedly acting as a Jew. Ideally, that could also be said for wealthy Jewish philanthropists like George Soros, although I tend to believe that he would not ascribe his generosity strictly to his Jewishness.
    When Jews have a state of their own, is it fair to say that the ingenuity of Jewish Israeli citizens is a collective contribution of our people to the world? Most Jews would answer in the affirmative. I have loads of emails testifying to the collective contributions of individual Jews, even though I am not sure that Avram Hershko, a Hungarian born Israeli chemist (2004 Nobel winner), would say that his science is Jewish or necessarily a part of his living in Israel. Would it be fair to make the same claims about a non-Jewish Israeli citizen?
    “Is Israel a Jewish state or a state of Jews?” is not really that wise of a question, but neither is the wise son’s question on Passover. “What is this?” however, is brilliant?
    When the vice president of Israel’s greatest ally and financial backer comes to Israel as a guest hoping to reignite the peace process and is greeted with an announcement of 1600 new homes being built in East Jerusalem, we can describe this in many ways, but nobody would be so bold as to call it Hachnasat Orchim, the Jewish value of welcoming the guest. When I encounter Palestinians in Bethlehem deprived of basic human rights like freedom of movement or the right to visit their holy sites, I am quite certain that this is not a case of “veahavta lereehcha cmocha,” loving thy neighbor as thyself. But when I rebuke my fellow countrymen and leaders for our misbehavior as a state, I am quite certain that I am following the Jewish behavior prescribed in Leviticus, “Hocheach, Tocheach,” you shall surely rebuke your neighbor.
    The question that remains open for me is whether a state, which is a modern creation of humans, can embody all the characteristics of what we refer to when we speak of peoplehood? Is peoplehood something we use as a word for descriptive purposes but don’t dare try to reify as a concrete object, or is peoplehood something that exists and needs to be channeled properly to make its essence good? I don’t like states, but I find that they can be beneficial to my existence. My American passport can get me into any country in the world, even Cuba with some lubrication (I’ve been twice). States can also protect human freedoms in ways that universalism cannot. Some countries allow people of the same sex to get married. Some countries have free press and assembly. But states are still forms of authority, and authority can be used for good and bad purposes.
    Israel is a state that includes Jews who seek refuge from their oppressors, or who want to be here, some who came to be part of this huge Jewish enterprise and others who were simply born here and don’t have a Jewish identity as much as an Israeli identity. The addition of non-Jewish Israeli citizens and foreign workers may exacerbate the problems, but they are not the cause. Quite simply, it is not easy to imagine or bring proof for the existence of some moment in history when Jews had personal agency, lived democratically and functioned as a collective. The fact that we have a collective memory does not have clear implications for how we should build a collective future. Yes, our understanding of our ascribed identity and the victimization that has caused us leads us to acknowledge the need for a refuge state, a state of Jews. But what about a Jewish state?
    When David Hartman says that, “Israel changes everything,” he is absolutely correct, even though change is nothing new to our people. Having a state creates a new Judaism just like living during the Middle Ages or in a ghetto in Poland. The addition of sovereignty and a vehicle of collective agency, byproducts of statehood, accelerate the pace of change, and being part of the comity of nations limit’s the change, but Israel changes everything. There is a new dualism in the Jewish world. No longer are their just assumed Jews and ascribed Jews. Today we have Jews who are part of the biggest Jewish project in our history and those who are not. And the way to make the best of our existing reality, being a people with a country, is to find ways to collectively and righteously address our predicament.
    To this goal, I think that the idea of Israel education is a myopic term. Israel is a project of the Jewish people on the same level as Jewish community centers, synagogues and kosher restaurants. We need to assess the assets of our nation and find ways to work together to reap the benefits of these assets. The key is finding ways. At one time in our history, the mara dátra, the spiritual leader of a community, was a directive force in Jewish enclaves. Today, in a smaller, global village linked together by computer networks and extremely rapid forms of transportation, the conversation needs new rules. We need to develop a discourse literacy with guidelines that can help us continue the collective pursuit and discussion of what it means to be Jewish, and that conversation should not be limited to Israel education. Israel is a means, not an end for the Jewish project. As a refuge, it is a response to anti-Semitism. As a collective endeavor, it is only one, albeit the largest, Jewish enterprise. But if we want Judaism to succeed, I believe that it will require of us to examine our projects within the trajectory of Jewish history and not as an end in themselves. To do this, we will have to reflect hard on why we believe God gave us His Torah, and what was the purpose of promising this land to our ancestors. Most importantly, though, we must develop the skills and disciplines needed to have the conversation which is the constitutional part of our peoplehood. We must remember that the Torah is no longer in Heaven, and it is our task alone to extrapolate its meaning.

The Human Condition

2010-01-21T04:49:00.000-06:00

A Salute to Offer Pines Paz

2010-01-08T04:26:00.000-06:00

A few years back we, Chicago Peace Now, hosted Labor MK Offer Pines Paz in Chicago. We brought him to be interviewed on WBEZ and he spoke to our usual gang of suspects on the left. I was privileged to get to spend time with Offer and found him to be a nice guy, very ambitious and somewhat full of the Israeli arrogance we have all grown to love and despise simultaneously. Anyway, today Offer rose a notch in my mind. As I sat in the Carmel market eating my Turkish burekas and reading the free Yisrael HaYom, I spotted the article describing his resignation from the Labor Party and Knesset.
I have mixed feelings about this. He has proven to be a person of integrity, but he did it by leaving the hard work to those politicians he opposed. Instead of fighting for the Labor leadership, he has left it to crumble under the despotic reign of Ehud Barak. Instead of worrying about prisoner rehabilitation, peace with the Palestinians, poverty in Israel, (among his pet causes) Offer will now join the private sector and his place will be filled by a Barak crony. I cannot imagine what good this will do.
It is a real pity that it has come to this in Israel: a choice between integrity or leadership, but this is the case in a country where the entire leadership is corrupt. Here we have a recent former president who is a rapist, a head of the army who sold his stock portfolio on the day he started a war in Lebanon, a defense minister (Barak) who is constantly apologizing for misuse of the public coffers and a former prime minister who is about to get his day in court.
Two weeks ago, my high school friend, Bat Yam Mayor Shlomi Lechiani, was arrested for corruption and most news reports showed citizens angry that their beloved mayor, who has truly done so much for his city, will not be able to continue to govern. Shlomi is, of course, innocent until proven guilty, but things don't look good. And the real problem with this story is that the citizens of Bat Yam don't care about his corruption as long as the city looks good and the education levels remain high. And if this is the case in Bat Yam, Israel's 5th largest city, then of course it's going to be the case on the national level. As long as bombs don't fall and suicide bombers don't make their way into the streets of Jerusalem, we will tolerate corruption, lack of integrity, foot dragging with regard to the Palestinians and straight-up disrespect for the American administration.
Anyway, it's nice to take a pause and salute the integrity of Mr. Pines Paz. Now let's get back to work.

On using "apartheid" in the Israeli context

2010-01-07T15:29:00.002-06:00

I am grappling with this question/article by Akiva Eldar - Are Israel and apartheid South Africa really different? Eldar claims, “In Israel, ..., institutional discrimination is meant to preserve the supremacy of a group of Jewish settlers over Palestinian Arabs. As far as discriminatory practices are concerned, it's hard to find differences between white rule in South Africa and Israeli rule in the territories; for example, separate areas and separate laws for Jews and Palestinians.” I think that there are two issues being conflated here; the issue of discrimination in the West Bank and the use of the term “apartheid.” I will address the latter first.
Apartheid is a Dutch word for separation. Everyone knows that it is a reference to unjust and discriminatory White rule in South Africa. Some people use the term because they want to compare the injustices of the Apartheid regime in South Africa to those in the occupied West Bank. (In Israeli politics, everything is up for scrutiny, including the adjective I just used for the West Bank, but I will stick with it as even the former right wing prime minister, Ariel Sharon, has used the same adjective to describe Israel’s presence in what some call Judea and Samaria.) The question is whether the use of the term is helpful in addressing the questions Eldar has about Israel’s behavior vis a vis the indigenous Palestinian population.
For me, it is a no brainer that Palestinians, who are not autonomous in the West Bank and are patrolled by the Israeli military are subject to discriminatory practices. They have different license plates, drive on different roads and have different levels of representation with regard to the authorities that control their political destiny. Israelis in the West Bank are full citizens of Israel while Palestinians are not. The social and economic conditions for Palestinians and Israelis are completely different. The respect for human rights is different toward Palestinians than it is for Israelis. But I am not looking to equalize the status of Israelis and Palestinians. I want two states for two peoples. Let the Palestinians rule themselves. This is even the stated goal of my Israeli prime minister.
So what about the word “apartheid.” Are people using it because it describes the separation we “officially” (in the sense that it is the policy of our government) aspire to? Or is it being used to infuriate and paint Israel as a degenerate nation?
I think that people like Akiva Eldar are trying to force Israel to look in the deep dark truthful mirror and decide whether we are really working toward separation as two distinct nations or whether we are comfortable living with this ugly status quo. I have great respect for his efforts, even if I question his method. I don’t think Israel is an apartheid nation. Many of her behaviors vis a vis the Palestinians look and smell like... But, ultimately, using this term is not advancing the effort to change the status quo, so I am joining the chorus of those who will refrain from its use.
At the same time, I have no interest in regulating how people express themselves, and I am glad there are people out there who are willing to put the mirror in our faces. After all, we need to remember that we describe ourselves this way.
“The State of Israel ... will foster the development of the country for the benefit of all its inhabitants; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions; and it will be faithful to the principles of the Charter of the United Nations.”
With this as our creed, maybe we who care about changing the status quo should replace “apartheid” with “Jim Crow” since Brown vs Board of Education pointed out about these laws that separate but equal is inherently unequal, just like claiming the desire for two states for two nations while continuing to occupy and oppress Palestinians is inherently dishonest. Of course, I know what will happen. Those who want to drag their feet, our nations feet, will draw attention to the use of the “inappropriate” comparison and distract us from the business of getting back to our professed national goals of “freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel.” Ultimately, this is the most important objective. The rest is just words.

Putting a minaret in my window this Hanuka

2009-12-11T06:25:00.000-06:00

Tonight is the first candle of Hanukkah and I can’t imagine placing the chanukkiyah in the window without concurrently speaking out against the Swiss referendum banning the building of Minarets in mosques.
Why am I celebrating this holiday? is a question I ask every time I punctuate my year with a holiday. It seems natural. I probably share this ritual with my co-religionists, compatriots, neighbors and friends. Doing things without asking would be acting like a robot.
I just came from Israel’s first human rights rally ever. It was held in Tel-Aviv and it included every color of progressive activist you could imagine. There were Gay, Lesbian,Transgendered and Bisexuals, Arabs, Foreign workers, unions, socialists, environmentalist and more. They all came to uphold the basic principle established in Genesis; we are all made in God’s image, thus we are all entitled to the same human rights.
The march and rally were beautiful. This is my left. Before I departed the States, I was a member of a left that didn’t let me feel at home. They made me feel like a pariah because I wanted national rights for my people. It was not a warm place. The left in Israel are unique. They put vision before anger. They articulate a message about humanity that has profound meaning. There values are native to this little piece of the world.
And today, the day I place my chanukiyah in the window to say to the world, “I am a Jew and I am proud.” The day I remember the dedication of the Temple and consider God’s heroism as an act of self-restrain and control in a sometimes violent world, today I want am full of pride from the Jewish resistance to the Swiss referendum against the building of minarets in new mosques. For instance, Rabbi Pinchas Dunner, executive director of the Conference of [Orthodox] European Rabbis, said "a war on religious freedom cannot defeat Islamic extremists. The best weapon against radical Islam is support for moderate elements in the Muslim community and promoting interfaith dialogue." The Anti-Defamation League said, "This is not the first time a Swiss popular vote has been used to promote religious intolerance,... A century ago, a Swiss referendum banned Jewish ritual slaughter, in an attempt to drive out its Jewish population." And the American Jewish Committee's David Harris exclaimed, "The referendum result amounts to an attack on the fundamental values of mutual respect... While there are certainly understandable concerns in Europe over Islamist extremism, these cannot be legitimately addressed through a blanket assault on Muslim communities and their religious symbols.”
I wish these comments were shared today at the rally and on the floor of the Knesset, but I’m happy we have a strong starting point for condemnation of this terrible Swiss referendum, and I’d like to think the our experience of Hanukkah and the various retellings of the story over millennia, have helped create this humane sensibility.
Happy Hanukkah. Chag Urim Sameach.

My brother Benny is Superman

2009-12-11T05:59:00.002-06:00

I wrote about Benny recently. He’s my buddy that was arrested for “moving while black.” I spoke to him the other day and he told me he isn’t superman, and I cried.
Benny is superman. He is one of the most amazing people I know.
Benny was a general in one of the strongest and most influential army’s in the world, a Chicago gang which I cannot mention by name. He had everything a nihilist could want; sex, drugs, money, power. He was respected and revered by his subordinates. He was protected by a circle of guards wherever he went. All Benny had to do was rule fiercely, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t send kids out to sell drugs or commit violent crimes. He couldn’t teach new members of his gang to go through the ranks as he did. He couldn’t stand to have his own son grow up in this world. So he did what know one has done before him. He picked up and left.
For those that don’t know the codes that gangs operate under, take my word, exiting the gang is a capital crime and Benny was the top of the list of violators. But there was something different about Benny and his successors knew it. They didn’t prosecute. They didn’t even cut off the friendship. They just let Benny go off on his own into a life of monogamy, fatherhood, manual labor and a few notches above poverty.
But Benny took his choice and made the best of it. He raised a wonderful son who has served two tours in Iraq and continues in his service of the country. He has a loving wife who works hard and is dedicated to her husband. He has a new apartment which, among other things, he had to pay for with a month of his freedom, he has many dedicated friends, and he has his integrity, which is worth everything.
Benny works hard. He helps everyone who asks. He even helps those that don’t ask. As my father’s right hand in the management of his properties, he stays overtime to help out the nuns that operate a day care center in my dad’s building. He helps drug addicts and alcoholics on Chicago Avenue find day labor without judging them or their habits. When I ran a book club for homeless people in the neighborhood, Benny always brought dozens of people to participate and, according to Benny, “Improve their lives through education.”
The other day when I called Benny from Tel-Aviv, he told me that he’s not superman anymore. This was his way of bragging when he would lift a couch for a new tenant or move a refrigerator for a long termer. He said he could do anything, and I believed him. Benny could explain to me what the Cubs needed to change in their line-up to improve their game, and then when they finally got around to it, it would be a vast improvement just like Benny predicted. Every Monday he would break down the weekend football games for me and in the dead of winter he’d explain the ups and downs of Chicago hockey and basketball. Benny could have switched me in my statistics classes with ease because the statistics he watched and devoured every day when he’d read his paper on the bus to work were alive and ontological for him. This was how he understood the game. The fact is, Benny did teach for me. He lead discussions for my high school students in the school I ran and in the Chicagoland Jewish High school where I occasionally volunteered. He spoke to my master degree students about phenomenology and how to really understand the experience of inner city children. Benny could do anything.
So when Benny told me he’s not superman, of course I cried. Who wouldn’t? My society had beaten Benny to pieces. They put kryptonite at his doorstep and expected him to come out smiling. They greeted his integrity with shackles and chains. All this because of the color of his skin.
In America, the problem is not “driving while Black,” it’s not “moving while Black,” as in Benny’s case. It’s “breathing will Black,” and it is a shanda and a disgrace. And it’s our loss. We have to live without superman. Even worse, we have to live as Lex Luther, a whole society of Lex Luther’s. And the worst part about it is that we don’t see it. By allowing Benny to sit in jail and not concerning ourselves with the basic dignity of all Americans, be it through proper, affordable health care, or be it through the elimination of all forms of racism, we are not doing our part, and it really sucks being Lex Luther.

Same old square

2009-11-08T16:03:00.001-06:00

When I first went to Kings of Israel Square (Kikar Malchei Yisrael) with the fledgling political conscience of a Habonim kid living in Israel during the first Lebanon War, I was swiftly consumed by the angry response of much of this country to the governments culpability in the Sabra and Shatilla massacres. I was 17 and my older friends, who were already serving in the army, asked me to demonstrate and get them back home as soon as possible. I was also work supervisor over 250 students in my agricultural high school, the Kfar HaYarok, and I remember consciously turning away as most of the people I supervised ditched work that day to go to the rally. Some reports suggested that 600,000 Israelis were at what was undisputedly the country’s biggest demonstration ever. I was proud to be among them.
The square was much smaller when I returned as a proud Israeli citizen and new father. Thirteen years had passed, along with many demonstrations, but none felt as powerful as this. It was November 4th, 1995, and my wife and I took our 4 month old baby to see the first Israeli prime minister either of us had voted for. Little did I know that the events that unfolded that night would create a commonality with my parents of a sad and unique nature. Both me and my parents lost the first leader we chose to assassins bullets. They, of course, lost John F. Kennedy, and I lost Yitzhak Rabin.
Last night, when I returned to the Square with my daughter, it bared the name of my lost leader, but little of his legacy. A mere 15,000 people, as reported by the free Hebrew version of the Jerusalem Post, showed up to honor my prime minister, and among those who spoke were people who must have had him turning in his grave.
I must admit that I didn’t boo loud enough when Defense Minister Ehud Barak took the stage. The traitor to Rabin’s legacy who has destroyed the great Labor party of my childhood is also the man behind the continuous building of settlements in the occupied territories and the right hand of the evil Benjamin Netanyahu, who now occupies the prime minister’s office.
If Barak wasn’t enough to make Prime Minister Rabin turn in his grave, then the appearance of Education Minister Gidon Saar surely finished the job. Saar is the minister who’s first act in his new job was to cut off funding for public school, co-existence education. He also had the great idea of teaching Palestinians living in Israel the Jewish national anthem, HaTikvah, as if this will win over their loyalty.
The beacons of light last night were the thousands of youth movement members in their blue uniforms, the leader of the opposition, Tzipi Livni and my other president, Barak Obama, who was broadcast to the crowd on big screens throughout the square. Tzipi was most impressive for me as I know that she has made huge ideological transformations, as had Rabin before her. Minister Livni was raised in a Revisionist family, like our current prime minister, but she was able to transcend the ideals of her upbringing to meet the tough realities of power. Ms. Livni told the crowd last night what all of Israel needs to accept; we cannot continue to rule over our neighbors. Their dreams of independence need to be fulfilled just like our dreams.
Prime Minister Rabin would be proud of Tzipi Livni. The man I once detested for saying that if the Palestinians throw stones (during the first Intifada) we should break their arms, became the man who said, at the signing of the peace treaty with Jordan,

There comes a time when there is a need to be strong and to make courageous decisions, to overcome the minefields, the drought, the barrenness between our two peoples. We have known many days of sorrow, you have known many days of grief -- but bereavement unites us, as does bravery and we honor those who sacrificed their lives. We both must draw on the springs of our great spiritual resources, to forgive the anguish we caused each other, to clear the minefields that divided us for so many years and to supplant it with fields of plenty... The time has now come not merely to dream of a better future -- but to realize it.

Prime Minister Rabin, the time has come, and your memory is a constant reminder to us that in order to create a better future, we must realize peace with our neighbors.

My Brother Benny

2009-11-03T13:35:00.002-06:00

I have a brother. His name is Gregg and he was born on my fifth birthday. Ironically, my buddy Benny, who I love like a brother, was born on my birthday as well. Actually, I was born on his since he is 3 years older than me.
Benny just got out of jail. His crime, blackness. That's right. Benny got arrested for being black while moving. His landlord wasn't fixing all kinds of problems in his apartment, so he and his wife decided to move. My dad was on his way to Benny's house to lend him his van to make the move easier, but, when he arrived, he found Benny in handcuffs next to the boxes of his stuff on a hand truck.
My dad told that police that Benny worked for us, and that he was a great guy, and that he was just coming to lend Benny his van, but they wouldn't listen. Instead, they put my brother Benny in hand cuffs, like a common criminal, and took him off to jail, where he sat for thirty some days. His crime, blackness.
The police arrested Benny because they saw a Black man moving boxes on a Saturday morning. They checked their computers and saw he had a record, but it had been over ten years since Benny had last been arrested. During those years Benny worked as a construction worker, for the last six of them he worked for me and my dad.
Benny could have continued his life as a gang banger and made much more money than he did with us. He could have had drugs and money and women and power, but Benny chose to leave that world. He also tried his best to prevent others from entering it. On numerous occassions, Benny lectured, for me, to my students. When I was doing my doctoral work, Benny advised me as I volunteered in the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center. He wanted to come with, but they wouldn't have a convicted felon speak to delinquent kids, even if his message was preventative.
For most of the time I know Benny, his son has bravely served in the United States military, including two tours of duty in Iraq. Benny's wife works in a local supermarket as a cashier. She doesn't have the same burdens as Benny because her skin is white like mine. If she were moving the family's possessions with a hand truck, she wouldn't have been stopped. But Benny lost more than 30 days of his life because of racial profiling, and this insanity must stop.
Please, if you care at all about human dignity, go to the Southern Poverty Law Center's website, Teaching Tolerance, and read more about racial profiling, then call your congress person. You may even want to forward Benny's story to a friend. Just make sure you do something.

The Success Method - Shitat Hamatzliach

2009-10-31T10:54:00.001-05:00

My mother in law walks into a dress shop with her son, who is about to get married, and one of three daughters. She sees a dress she likes and her daughter asks how much it costs. The salesman walks over to them and says 1800 shekels, about $450. My mother in law then takes out a piece of paper and writes on it, seven, zero, zero. Seven hundred. She gives the salesman the paper and he says OK. She can have the dress, then he asks about alterations. She says of course and he tries to get her to pay for the alterations. She refuses. By the time they leave the store, the salesman cannot give her enough and promises to ship the altered dress to her house for free.

This, my friends, is called the success method, shetat hamatzliach, and it is a moving force in the Middle East. The only problem is when it enters the public sphere, which it has in many ways here in Israel. For instance, my brother in law was shocked to see his electric bill which had jumped 200% from one month to the next. He went to look at the meter and found that the electric company had made a mistake. He called and they corrected the problem. The next month, the same thing all over again. According to my brother in law, they tried to get away with something, were unsuccessful and then tried again the next month.

Even this story isn’t so bad when you consider what the success method looks like in politics. Dalia Itzik, former chairperson of the Knesset, decided to redo her private residence. She hired an interior designer, bought all kinds of things for her house, and then she submitted the bill to the government office for 40,000 Shekels, $10,000. As the method goes, Ms. Itzik tried to get her way, in this case she failed, and then she paid the price for her lack of success. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

And now we have the tip of the iceberg, Minister of Defense Ehud Barak spent a quarter of a million dollars on a business trip to Europe. Yes, he was doing business for the citizens of Israel, and possibly, by extension, the Jewish people, but what could have cost him $250,000 in four days of meeting with European leaders? Shitat Hamatzliach.

I am all for a little irreverence. I think there are times rules are made to be broken, but this is insane. These people are bilking my people for lots of money. And if those are their ethics when they use my tax shekels, then where are their ethics when they send our boys and girls to Lebanon and Gaza? Where are their ethics when they discuss attacking Iran. Where are their ethics when they lead my country in every which way but forward? This is not a matter of right and left. It is not a question of love of country or not. This is something every Israeli and every pushke contributing Jew should think about and then decide to demand, “Enough. We want good government and we want it now. Including a constitution.”

For the love of Da Bears

2009-10-18T20:41:00.002-05:00

It's 3:46 AM. Itamar and I have been awake since 2:30 watching the Bears play the Atlanta Falcons through Itamar's invention. He has our friends place their computer in front of the TV during the game and we watch through Skype. It's not the best picture, but it allows us to watch with friends. Now if we could figure out how to get the Old Style from their living room into ours life would be near perfect.

Peace Now doing the right thing

2009-10-05T13:27:00.002-05:00

I just spent the day with Peace Now in the West Bank, and my commitment to our cause has been reinvigorated. Peace Now is the conscience of this nation. They will look into the big, dark truthful mirror and then raise it up so that the rest of society can see for itself what we look like and what we are doing.

On our tour today was Yair Oppenheimer, the head of the movement, and many activists. We went to Nokdim, the settlement where Foreign Minister Lieberman has his private residence and we saw many demolished homes in Beit Jallah. We also saw hundreds of vacationing settlers climbing the Herodyon as if greater Israel were a fact on the ground.

All in all, the trip was sad on two levels. First of all, we are constantly marginalized, and our numbers really do point to our position on the fringe of Israeli society (not fringe in terms of our positions). There were plenty of empty seats on our tour bus during Sukkot vacation throughout the country. Granted, people travel, but there are also many more of us with time off from work. We should have been a larger group.

Second, what we saw was disgusting. Usually you think of house demolitions as a kind of family punishment for a terrorist, but the houses we saw were demolished on false pretenses: they were built illegally. The problem is that many of them were built before Israel conquered the land. Even my building in Chicago has many problems grandfathered in, so it seems highly unlikely that the Jerusalem municipality was working in the best interest of all of its citizens when they decided to wreck these homes. This was simply a matter of forced, unjust, eminent domain for the benefit of Jerusalem's Jewish citizenry.

To give some proportion to this issue, a house replacement costs about 80,000 NIS, which is slightly over $20,000, less than my annual rent in Tel-Aviv, but this cost is low because the houses are built by the sweat of the families that live in them.

Anyway, I want to encourage anyone involved in Peace Now to continue the good work and anyone still undecided to tip in our direction.

Sunday in the West Bank with Peace Now

2009-10-05T13:15:00.004-05:00

Outside Israeli foreign minister Avigdor Lieberman's home in the settlement town of Nokdim.
The police here don't like free speech when it comes from the Israeli Left.

Response to "Netanyahu at his best"

2009-10-05T01:28:00.003-05:00

The text below was sent to me by a rabbi friend who wanted to answer congregant’s questions without exposing his own biases.

Make this document live. Add your own comments. Argue. It’s like exercise for your mind. Just keep it civil.

Subject: Netanyahu at his best

Even those who aren't particularly sympathetic to Israel's Benjamin Netanyahu, could get a good measure of satisfaction from this interview with British Television during the retaliation against Hamas' shelling of Israel.

The interviewer asked him: "How come so many more Palestinians have been killed in this conflict than Israelis?" (A nasty question if there ever was one!)

Netanyahu: "Are you sure that you want to start asking in that direction?"

Interviewer: (Falling into the trap) Why not?

Netanyahu: "Because in World War II more Germans were killed than British and Americans combined, but there is no doubt in anyone's mind that the war was caused by Germany's aggression. And in response to the German blitz on London, the British wiped out the entire city of Dresden, burning to death more German civilians than the number of people killed in Hiroshima. Moreover, I could remind you that in 1944, when the R.A.F. tried to bomb the Gestapo Headquarters in Copenhagen, some of the bombs missed their target and fell on a Danish children's hospital, killing 83 little children. Perhaps you have another question?"

Answer to question above: More Palestinians died for many reasons, not all one sided.

Against Palestinians: The terrorists among them hijacked Palestinian society and used innocents as human shields.

They are much less sophisticated fighters and were not capable of inflicting the pain Israel did to them, not to say that they wouldn’t if they were given a chance.

Against Israel: We are Goliat today. We are fighting a band of terrorists as if they are an army, and we are fighting a nation as if they were all terrorists. This is not true of the Palestinian people, many of who resent Hamas rule in Gaza.

Israel was so vicious in the war that they used white phosphorus against innocent civilians in contravention to the Geneva Conventions. They also, not coincidentally, had to rewrite their code of ethics for the army and, under the guidance of a highly unethical and not very Jewish behaving professor at Tel Aviv University name Asa Kasher. Read the document. It is a neo-con, Bush era twist of morality.

Answers after each number below.

Apparently, Benjamin Netanyahu gave another interview and was asked about Israel's occupation of Arab lands. His response was, "It's our land". The reporter (CNN or the like) was stunned - read below "It's our land..." It's important information since we don't get fair and accurate reporting from the media and facts tend to get lost in the jumble of daily events.

"Crash Course on the Arab-Israeli Conflict."

Here are overlooked facts in the current & past Middle East situation. These were compiled by a Christian university professor:

BRIEF FACTS ON THE ISRAELI CONFLICT TODAY

It makes sense and it's not slanted. Jew and non-Jew -- it doesn't matter.

1. Nationhood and Jerusalem: Israel became a nation in 1312 BC, two thousand (2000) years before the rise of Islam.

So what. Nationhood is not a static term. Their were no modern nations in 1312 BCE. What is the point of trying to put a round peg in a square hole. The ancient Hebrew term nation is not equivocable with the modern term as used today.

2. Arab refugees in Israel began identifying themselves as part of a Palestinian people in 1967, two decades after the establishment of the modern State of Israel.

Just as I don’t want others to establish my identity for me, I don’t want to do it to others. In Israel in 1967, the big crisis was Israeli soldiers saying to the leadership that they are not Jews, they are Israelis. Identity is fluid.

3. Since the Jewish conquest in 1272 BC, the Jews have had dominion over the land for one thousand (1000) years with a continuous presence in the land for the past 3,300 years.

Have you ever heard of eminent domain. Sometimes governments need to step in and make adjustments. Sometimes it’s for the sake of stupid things like a sports field, which happened to my sister in Parkslope, Brooklyn and happened to be very lucrative for her. Sometimes it happens for important things like justice for the people who share the land. As my friend Professor Busool likes to say, “Neither of us are tourists in the land.”

4. The only Arab dominion since the conquest in 635 lasted no more than 22 years.

This is not a question of dominion. It is a question of justice. We need a just solution for two distinct people. I want a Jewish state that behaves Jewishly. It would be wrong to force that on “the strangers among us,” so I choose separation under fair conditions. The Palestinians need a viable state in the land that they treasure.

5. For over 3,300 years, Jerusalem has been the Jewish capital. Jerusalem has never been the capital of any Arab or Muslim entity. Even when the Jordanians occupied Jerusalem, they never sought to make it their capital, and Arab leaders did not come to visit.

The Jerusalem that was once the capital of the Jewish kingdom was two square kilometers surrounded by a wall. Palestinians are not making claims on West Jerusalem. Why don’t we just gerrymander East Jerusalem so each community can rule over it’s own people and both communities can have free access to their holy sites.

6. Jerusalem is mentioned over 700 times in Tanach, the Jewish Holy Scriptures. Jerusalem is not mentioned once in the Koran.

I may be wrong, but neither is Amman, and certainly not Washington, D.C. What is the point of this statement?

7. King David founded the city of Jerusalem. Mohammed never came to Jerusalem.

Mohammed is said to have ascended to heaven from Har HaBayit. Maybe you should read the Koran.

8. Jews pray facing Jerusalem. Muslims pray with their backs toward Jerusalem.

Maybe 20% of all Jews pray. All of them make money. Maybe we should ask for Fort Knox as our capital.

9. Arab and Jewish Refugees: in 1948 the Arab refugees were encouraged to leave Israel by Arab leaders promising to purge the land of Jews. Sixty-eight percent left (many in fear of retaliation by their own brethren, the Arabs), without ever seeing an Israeli soldier. The ones who stayed were afforded the same peace, civility, and citizenship rights as everyone else.

Arabs left for the reasons stated above and because there was some degree of what we call today “ethnic cleansing.” Some also left because they were afraid. The Israeli Declaration of Independence is a beautiful document that did afford the remaining Palestinians equal citizenship. It is a pity we don’t live up to the standards we set for ourselves.

10. The Jewish refugees were forced to flee from Arab lands due to Arab brutality, persecution and pogroms.

True to varying degrees depending on the country. I don’t like to justify my bad behavior based on the bad of others.

11. The number of Arab refugees who left Israel in 1948 is estimated to be around 630,000. The number of Jewish refugees from Arab lands is estimated to be the same.

Wonderful. Is this an equation for justice? An eye for an eye?

12. Arab refugees were INTENTIONALLY not absorbed or integrated into the Arab lands to which they fled, despite the vast Arab territory. Out of the 100,000,000 refugees since World War II, theirs is the only refugee group in the world that has never been absorbed or integrated into their own people's lands. Jewish refugees were completely absorbed into Israel, a country no larger than the state of New Jersey.

This is a huge generalization. If you’d like to speak to my friend Ray, whose father fled the coutry around the time of the establishment of the state and made a great life for himself in the United States, I can give you his number. Palestinians went to many places, and some of them had weird plans for the refugees. Does this mean we have no role in trying to make justice for the Palestinians.

13. The Arab-Israeli Conflict: the Arabs are represented by eight separate nations, not including the Palestinians. There is only one Jewish nation. The Arab nations initiated all five wars and lost. Israel defended itself each time and won.

These broad statements of truth are hard to address as a whole because they are such complicated issues. For instance, when the 1967 war started, we bombed the Egyptian air force before they ever shot a bullet. Much of the prelude to the war was the Soviets stirring the pot. It’s simply not fair to speak of so much history in a sound byte and think you can close the subject.

14. The PLO's Charter still calls for the destruction of the State of Israel. Israel has given the Palestinians most of the West Bank land, autonomy under the Palestinian Authority, and has supplied them.

There are two sides to all the Oslo agreements. Both sides have failed to meet the terms. Changing the charter would be a gesture of good faith, but it would be giving up an important card for negotiations. On the other hand, the Palestinians have not declared statehood independent of Israel’s consent, and this seems to be a much more valuable gesture on their part.

15. Under Jordanian rule, Jewish holy sites were desecrated and the Jews were denied access to places of worship. Under Israeli rule, all Muslim and Christian sites have been preserved and made accessible to people of all faiths.

This is not the truth. Many Palestinians do not have access to their holy sites because they cannot traverse the separation wall freely.
Also, it doesn’t matter what they did to us. We need to maintain a high level of decency in spite of what happened to us. “In a place where there are no people, try to be a person.

16. The UN Record on Israel and the Arabs: of the 175 Security Council resolutions passed before 1990, 97 were directed against Israel.

17. Of the 690 General Assembly resolutions voted on before 1990, 429 were directed against Israel.

18. The UN was silent while 58 Jerusalem synagogues were destroyed by the Jordanians.

19. The UN was silent while the Jordanians systematically desecrated the ancient Jewish cemetery on the Mount of Olives.

20. The UN was silent while the Jordanians enforced an apartheid-like a policy of preventing Jews from visiting the Temple Mount and the Western Wall.

The UN is not perfect, just like democracy, but it is the best system we have. If you have suggestions for a better system that doesn’t include a theocracy and retains power in the hands of people, let’s hear about it.

These are incredible times. We have to ask what our role should be. What will we tell our grandchildren about what we did when there was a turning point in Jewish destiny, an opportunity to make a difference?

START NOW - Send this to 18 other people you know and ask them to send it to eighteen others, Jew and non-Jew - it doesn't really matter.

Be Jewish about it and keep the answers in bold and add your own answers in other colors. Machloket is a Jewish value. Chevruta is how Jews make sense of the word and the world. Let’s not bow our heads before every demagogue.

Kol Nidre

2009-09-28T02:45:00.001-05:00

I must admit, this will be the first Yom Kippur that I fast in Israel. Despite this, I am typing this reflection during the day which my people consider the holiest on our calendar. Typing, for many, is a transgression on this holiday, yet writing is the way I best reflect on my life, which many would agree is part and parcel of this day.

Kol Nidre, All vows and oaths and promises which I made to God and was not able to fulfill from last Yom Kippur to this, may they be annulled? Give me a break God, I am only human.

This is the message of the evening. I start off my day of repentance by reminding God of my condition. I love this part of the tradition. We except that we are flawed and remind God of our fallibilities, but like everything else in the world this concept only works in balance. If we take it too far, we can excuse egregious behavior - because we warned God that we are only human, shit happens.

Another part of this holiday is the notion that it is the greatest of rest days. Not only do we refrain from everything we don’t do on Shabbat, but we also refrain from that which gives us sustenance; food and libations. Yom Kippur is a fast day, and in Israel, more important than refraining from food is refraining from driving. Go figure.

Last night, after our final meal, my 12 year old daughter rushed to meet her classmates in a teacher organized bicycle trip around the car-less streets of Tel-Aviv; not that otherwise she would take out the family car and cruise the town. Her class was merely taking advantage of the safety of Israeli streets without Israeli drivers.

The irony of this ritual, and it really is elevated to the level of a ritual, is that it probably evolved from two very different engagements with the holiday; no driving respects the holiness of the day for all Jews - an effort at Jewish pluralism or consensus, and respecting the restfulness of the holiday - like in not driving. (By the way, there have been many Yom Kippurs in cold, rainy Chicago where not driving to shul violated the restfulness of the day for me.)

I like the former aspect of the ritual. It’s not really pluralism because it forces everyone to accept behaviors that don’t necessarily agree with their own sensibilities, but it is an effort at consensus, which is rare among my stiff-necked people. There are two interesting sidebars to this. Last night, as I walked the car-less avenues of my new/old home town, I saw a group of Arab children from Yafo (Jaffa) enjoying the safety of the situation without any connection to the ritual. I thought this was great because it supports my firm belief in context. In a Jewish country, Yom Kippur provides a source of enjoyment for everyone, whereas, even in New York City, that second (?) Jewish Mecca, they only get the day off of school but no respite from taxis barreling down the broad avenues. The other sidebar is less pleasant. It happened last year when an Arab resident of Akko (Acre) accidentally drove into a Jewish neighborhood and riots erupted among the Jewish residents, many of whom were not even observant. This was a terrible example of a lack of balance in the observance of our ritual. The value that many of us reflect on during Yom Kippur, compassion, was thrown out the window and replaced with violence and anger. Instead of being introspective and examining our own behaviors, the people of Akko and their supporters around the Jewish world became obsessed with the wrongs of the other and sought to execute justice to the exclusion of the God they would otherwise be praying to. This has left a major scar on my evaluation of the success of the Zionist endeavor.

The latter issue of creating a new Jewish way (halacha, as informal as it may be) can also be problematic. It begs the question - did creating a Jewish country where Jews can be free, as the hope of our national anthem proclaims - help or hurt Judaism? Of course, this is a problematic question. Judaism is not easily defined. Imagine bringing Moses via time machine to Israel today. What would be recognizable for him, the land or the religion he helped found? Is Judaism the religion of the Jews or a concrete, reified set of practices and beliefs which one can refer to in order to check one’s own behavior; a sort of check list or rubric from which we evaluate our Jewishness.

I just finished a wonderful book by an editor at Esquire magazine, A.J. Jacobs, called The Year of Living Biblically in which the author describes his effort to live according the the letter of the law for a year. The book is funny and challenging, but, to my surprise, it was also profound. Near the end, Mr. Jacobs addressed the issue I raise above. Is Judaism a rubric which can be measured in ritual practices and beliefs? He addresses the question with an analogy to something at work in the Christian community where “more observant” fundamentalist types will say about their “less observant” co-religionists that they are “cafeteria Christians.” In other words, they pick and choose which observances and beliefs fit their needs at any given time, and, need I add, this is a derogatory ascription. The beauty of Mr. Jacobs insights, after his year of living biblically, is that everything is cafeteria style. Just think about those moments, for example, where “Do not lie,” is in conflict with the golden rule. (The rabbis address this in a famous Mishnaic argument between Hillel and Shamai about whether you answer a bride’s question about how she looks on her wedding day with the whole truth or the answer that will make her feel good.) A former Israeli Supreme Court Justice and Talmud scholar, Menachem Elon, has the same conclusion but phrases it differently. He says that there is no distinction between scripture (kra) and drash (interpretation). In other words, when you address a text, just like a cafeteria, you make choices.

In Israel, a lot of choices have been made about Jewish life, many by default. When the founding leaders of this country established a rabbinic court to rule over all matters Jewish, they consolidated power. In the words of John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, first Baron Acton (1834–1902), "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." I am not going so far as to call all Chief Rabbi’s of Israel “bad men,” but I fully agree that power, consolidated in the hands of the few, is corrupting, and this, I find to be the biggest contributor to the crisis in Judaism today. There is an official Judaism in the Jewish country, and everything else is “not Jewish,” according to the powers that be. And this creates a dichotomy that works bad for the Jews because the natural response is that we are either “not Jewish” or we need to redefine what Jewish is (or we ignore the question altogether.)

It was a tradition on many HaShomer HaTsa’ir kibbutzim to redefine Judaism by doing that which is furthest from tradition. Instead of fasting and praying, these new Jews would barbeque pork and feast on Yom Kippur. And if you think that this is a rare phenomenon, you are mistaken. I remember a permutation of this ritual that happened to me on Yom Kippur in 1983 while serving in the Israeli army. My base was not far from the kibbutz that housed us as part of our service and we all had families that adopted us on the kibbutz. On that particular Yom Kippur, beside many other groups of soldiers, we feasted on cakes and pastries brought to us from the kibbutz by our adopting families.

Maybe more common than this response to the hegemony of the orthodox official Jewish establishment is the non-response. This maybe best summarized in a story about Israeli soldiers who defined themselves to then Prime Minister Golda Meir as Israelis, not Jews. This led the country, at the time, into deep soul searching about Jewish identity and the relationship between Israelis and their Diaspora brothers and sisters. More recently, the Israeli author, A.B. Yehoshua stirred up the pot with similar declarations when he addressed a group of American Jews. What I found most interesting about this episode was the comment by a great Israeli journalist, Yaron London, who said that he has more in common with the Philippino and other foreign workers in this country than he does with American Jews. Mr. London explained that if a Scud missile hits the country, the foreign workers share the same risk as he does. Of course, this is true for Israeli Arabs as well, many of whom died in the recent Lebanon War, but Mr. London added that the foreign workers participate in our Israeli culture and now speak in our native tongue.

Among those that adhere to so-called “authentic” Jewish practice, that which is legitimized by the existence of a Chief Rabbinate, there is a lot of diversity, and some tolerance and pluralism, but just like anything that tries to define itself, it must also define what it is not, and this leads to an othering (a term which is not always negative). It is reasonable to declare that a person who believes in Jesus as the son of God is not Jewish, and I am clearly among those who exclude Jews for Jesus. Do I exclude Jews who barbequed pork on Yom Kippur? Absolutely not. They are struggling with their Jewishness, and while I don’t want their practice to be a generally accepted principle of our tradition, I want them to sit at our table and join the conversation. And as for the place of balance in this equation, my struggle and my resolution for this coming year is to work for a Judaism, here and abroad, where the discourse and the practice are equally valued so that we can continue our journey as Jews as a large inclusive family.

(Big Pause: I think I should stop here. I am deliberating between my responsibility to reflect on my own life and that of my community. I love that in Judaism we stand before God as individuals and as a collective. We pray, “Ashamnu,” we sinned, to God in the collective “we,” but our tradition also presents God as inscribing individuals in the Book of Life based on their individual behavior. I think now is the time to reflect on my own shtick.)

Things I learned in school today

2009-09-22T12:46:00.002-05:00

Today I started my orientation at the Hartman Institute. It was a great day. Here are some things that David Hartman told us about the institute he started.

I feed hungry people. Your task is to make people hungry.

This institute doesn't have the truth. It has seekers of the truth.

The task of philosophy is to undermine religious certainties.

To be an educator is to live in the gap between the reality and the dream.

Welcome 5770

2009-09-21T03:00:00.001-05:00

There is a familiar term for many Jews in America. They are called 3 dayers for the three days that they show up in synagogue each year: two for Rosh Hashana and one for Yom Kippor. In the last two years, while working for a Reform congregation, I learned that this can be brought down to 2 days, as the Reform only celebrate the new year for a day.

As Jews we all have a unique New Year celebration. Auld Lang Syne is not the song of the day and the spirit is very contradictory to the spirit of its lyrics, “Should old acquaintances be forgotten, and never brought to mind?” Like most Jewish holidays, our memories are exercised and our in-boxes are filled with greetings from “auld” acquaintances, some of whom we wish we could forget. And we are expected to ask forgiveness and to forgive.

In Israel, unlike my Diaspora upbringing, presents are also a big part of the celebration. My sister in law took my daughters shopping for new clothes, and my son received a remote control helicopter from his uncle. What was more amazing was the second day barbeques. After two days of going to shul, on Sunday afternoon, my religious in-laws had a big barbeque. Of course there were no pigs with apples in their mouths, but, as an interesting sidebar, you may be surprised to hear that this is a popular tradition on some of the more radical kibbutzim on Yom Kippor.

Our barbeque included steak, liver, an Israeli version of a combination Polish/Italian sausage and chicken. The idea behind it is quite simple. On Shabbat you are not allowed to light a fire, but on a regular holiday you can transfer existing fire. We transferred existing fire from the holiday candles to the presoaked charcoals.

After the festive meal, which didn’t include honey cakes or a round challah, as I am used to in America, everyone did their own thing. At one table, my mother in law read Psalms, my brother in law played games on my iphone and my father in-law argued with his grandchildren who wanted to choose their own flavors from the non-dairy Neapolitan ice cream. He later told me that kids these days are spoiled. “When I was offered ice cream, I would say thank you. Kids today want to choose their own flavors. Not in my house.”

By the time the holiday was over, I was glad to be back in Tel-Aviv with my secular homeys. The noon football games were starting at 8 PM and I was hopeful that the Bears would be broadcast. Unfortunately, hope was shattered. We watched the Saints clobber the Eagles and they didn’t broadcast the 3 PM Bears game which started at 11 PM here. Fortunately, when I woke up at 4:45 AM for my morning run and swim at the beach, I checked the Internet and found out that my year started with a Bears victory over the defending world champion Pittsburgh Steelers. Thank God for little things. Shana Tova.

Relativism and the lessons of a paper cup

2009-09-12T11:54:00.000-05:00

The other day my mother-in-law taught me a great lesson about relativism. She definitely didn’t mean to. She is a person who believes in order in the universe. She believes God has a plan and that He listens to prayer. I am ruled by doubt.

My lesson came when she very generously tried to stock us up with pots and pans and other kitchen necessities. Our shipment hasn’t come from America yet, and we don’t want to buy stuff we will be receiving in our container.

Among the things Raquel (Irit’s mom) tried to give us was a big stack of paper cups, and, despite her generosity, I rejected the cups on the grounds that it would be bad for the environment. This was when I learned my lesson. Raquel, rightfully, snapped back at me, “There has been a drought in this country for five years. Here it is better to waste a few paper cups than to waste water washing dishes.”

I know it’s not a major epiphany, but it was a great lesson for me. My environmental righteousness may have been well intended, but it was off-target for the environment I live in, thus the relativism.

The last time I learned this lesson was in a class for my doctorate called The Politics of Assessment. In the class, my teacher Terry Jo Smith, illustrated how standardized tests are inherently unfair because they demand answers that imply an absolute answer for the population. This could be true in most mathematics problems, but it is definitely not reasonable for issues of human behavior.

The example Terry gave was a question off the tests that asked what a person should do if they found a wallet; a) look for the owners information and call him to return it, b) take the money out of the wallet and leave it where it was found, c) return the wallet without the money. The first answer everyone gave was the one that was right for their personal situation in the world. As middle class students, we all said that you give back the wallet with all the money. But Terry challenged us. “What if you are a homeless student or a very poor student with unemployed parents? Would it be such a terrible thing to take the money if you really needed it?”

In essence, we all have relative values. This is why we cheer for Robin Hood or Nazi killers. I remember the uproar when the actor Will Smith said that the Nazis thought they were doing the right thing, but what was so outrageous about that? There are few things I believe about human behavior, but one is that we like to see ourselves as acting righteously. Nazis created a reality in their minds to justify their behavior. They spent a lot of resources on propaganda because they needed to make a societal shift in perceptions.

I learned from my Talmud teacher that the Israeli Supreme Court Justice, Menachem Elon said there was no difference between scripture and interpretation. In essence, even what God said in stone, written with his own finger, is relative. This is the beauty of the oral law. It provides us with a framework for interpreting God, or what we think of as the source of righteousness, because everything is ultimately relative. “Thou shalt not kill,” what about self defense. “Honor your Father and Mother,” what about those parents who abuse their kids, or, for instance, the orthodox Israeli mother who tried to starve her three year old to death.

I know relativism is hard to accept, but I think it is much healthier for us as a society to deal with creating the frameworks for interpreting what a good God would want for us than it is to waste time being dogmatic or fundamental about what we think She wants.

First baseball practice at Park HaYarkon

2009-09-12T08:05:00.001-05:00

Sahar and Itamar's walk home from school

2009-09-12T08:03:00.000-05:00

When in Rome…

2009-09-10T03:34:00.000-05:00

In a place where there are no people, try to be a person
– Rabbi Hillel, Mishna

There are some bad things about Israel that even the most staunch, nationalistic Jews would have to agree with me about. The one on my mind is the “I’m not a chump (Hebrew: Frier)” attitude in this country. Chump may be a bad translation. A chump is naïve, innocent and gets taken advantage of. A frier is worse. In fact it’s probably the worst thing you can be in this Jewish homeland.
A frier is someone who pays full price for anything, who drives according to the law, crosses at crosswalks only when the green man/light permits it, gives up his seat for an elderly person on a bus, believes what the government says, etcetera. In an effort to not be a frier, Israelis do whatever they can to advance themselves at the expense of most people around them without making waves.
Yesterday, when we went to check out the space where Irit was interested in opening her clinic, we were told that the guy who can show it to us will be there in 10 minutes. Irit sat in the sun and I ran an errand. Ten minutes later, when I returned, we kept waiting, for 35 minutes. Nobody called to say they were in traffic or that we should go sit down somewhere and have a coffee while we wait and that they would call when the guy is near. So we waited, until we called, and we heard that he’s almost there, which was 25 minutes before he arrived. Of course, this is not the biggest sin in the world. It’s just a sample of the many rude, inconsiderate and outright nasty things we have experienced here.
I am embarrassed to admit that at 35 minutes into our wait, I said to Irit, “When in Rome, do as the Romans.” I was trying to get her to leave and show the guy we were waiting for the same disrespect that he showed us. It took me a few minutes to cool down and then I had a mini-epiphany. The Romans had conquered this place 2000 years ago, and my role as a modern Zionist is to reclaim the land and the culture. This is not Rome, nor is it meant to be a bastion of Roman thinking. I am here to train to be a rabbi and Jewish educator and I must act in accordance with tradition. Then I remembered the quote of the great sage Rabbi Hillel, “In a place where there are no people, try to be a person.”
It was at that moment that I decided to drop my anger and discouragement with Israeli society and simply be a mensch. This is not Rome, I don’t want the influence of these meshugena statements in my life, and I am going to be a mensch, no matter how much of a frier I will appear to be. In essence, it doesn’t matter how people around me behave, I will be a mensch because that is how I believe that we should be. I can’t be a frier if I know I am doing what I think is right.

Gleanings

2009-09-10T03:07:00.001-05:00

Language
I went running with Itamar to Park HaYarkon to a Muscle Beach like workout park along the Yarkon River and learned something interesting about language adoption. It was five AM when we arrived and there were a bunch of Asian women speaking in their native tongue with occasional tangents in Hebrew and English.
All over Tel-Aviv you see women like these who accompany elderly Jewish Israelis, and what I found interesting is that when they speak Hebrew they have the same Eastern European accents as their employers. Imagine Jackie Chan speaking and it sounds like Jackie Mason. When I heard them, all I could think of was the Woody Allen movie, What’s up Tiger Lily.

Commercialism
I like to think of myself as a student of media, and I have been very sensitive to the nuances of Israeli advertising as compared to the American advertising media I am most familiar with. There is a lot of science that measures and tells us about our consumer behavior and how to address it, and I have always thought that this is a sham because humans are too complex to be measured in metrix that answer all questions about their behavior.
In support of my believe, I find that the differences between American and Israeli advertising don’t illustrate a difference in human constitution; i.e. now I am an Israeli consumer and included in the metrix of Israeli research. The differences in advertising simply illustrate the malleability of human responses. There is not one way to scientifically declare that 6 minutes of commercials during any given half hour of television is the maximum amount tolerable to humans. At best, we can say that this thesis applies now in this specific context.
My point, we need to be more critical of science. It doesn’t describe the world any better than religion, great literature or fine art.

Antibiotic treated fruits and vegetables
I have heard all the arguments against the industrialization of farming and have been sympathetic, but it the opponents of agribusiness really want to make there case, they need to bring people to a place where agriculture is still uninfected by hormones and antibiotics. The fruits and vegetables in Israel are so delicious. I could just eat tomatoes and cucumbers all day and be happy.

The Steiner's first home video from Israel

2009-09-06T09:21:00.000-05:00

Tel-Aviv

2009-09-06T07:37:00.000-05:00

Saturday, September 5, 2009, Motzei Shabbat
There is a scene in the movie Sammy and Rosie Get Laid (one of my top ten favorite movies) where we get a very romantic tour of London that makes you fall in love with the city in much the same way Woody Allen makes you fall in love with New York. I often feel like I could direct the scene that would make anyone fall in love with my beloved windy city on Lake Michigan, but today I felt the same about Tel-Aviv.
Many people have heard me say that there is no place like Tel-Aviv on a Friday, and I’m sure this is still the case, but this time around my Friday in Tel-Aviv was dramatically changed. As usual, I went to the Carmel Market to do my vegetable shopping. The Carmel has the freshest and cheapest fruits and vegetables available in Israel, and it is loaded with characters, smells, colors, sounds and tastes that are simply delicious.
In my past incarnation as a Tel-Avivi, I would ride to the Carmel on my bike, do my shopping, bring everything home and then go out for beers with my friends into the afternoon before heading to Beit Shemesh for Shabbat dinner at the in-laws. Once we got a car, this ritual changed for the better as I wasn’t trapped without public transportation in a city that has nothing to offer on Shabbat.
This past Friday was much different than in my previous life here. As a parent, the day started with sending off the children to school, and, as this was Friday, I had to accomplish all my errands by noon because of early dismissal. Also, the walk to the Carmel is about 3 times as long from our place in North Tel-Aviv, which makes me glad I bought a basket with wheels for my shopping. Of course, all this will be resolved when our container arrives from the US and we get our bicycles.
Shopping in the Carmel was fun, but the joy was lessened by the extreme heat and long walk. When I passed Choni HaMehagel Street, I was reminded of his story in the Talmud and considered drawing a circle around myself and making a deal with God that I would move when he would make rain. I took a bus home and got off at the Land of Israel Museum where I once worked. It is minutes from our apartment and across the street from the Kibbutz Seminar where I would love to be an adjunct professor of education.
After a small lunch, so we could save room for my mother in law’s wonderful Morrocan Shabbat dinner, Itamar and I went to Park HaYarkon, five minutes from the apartment, to join the Israeli version of Little League. Unlike in Skokie where I have coached for the past three seasons, the Israeli baseball league has semi-professional coaches. Itamar’s is a twenty year old who is still in the army and serves as a physical educator. He is the son of a guy named Larry who made aliyah from New York, I believe, and he coaches in a mix of English and Hebrew; Hebrish, ala the James Brooks movie Spanglish. This coach told the kids about how he was sent over the summer to a MLB training camp where he worked with Barry Larkin of Cincinnati Reds fame and learned drills that really impressed me. What I think he didn’t learn is to match the drill to the age of the player.
In Chicago, Itamar had a personal baseball trainer who we refer to as Pete the UPS guy because he would come watch Skokie Youth Baseball after driving his shift for UPS. Pete would always answer questions I had about training with, “That will come when the kids get older.” It was as if he had a secret trainers manual that broke down the training process into ages. Itamar’s new coach was sharing great exercises with the team, but I think some of them were not completely age appropriate.
After baseball (Is there life after baseball?) we went home and borrowed our car from my brother in law, Lior. We owned a car 13 years ago when we lived here and left it with the family instead of selling it because of complicated tax related reasons that I won’t get into. In this incarnation of our lives in Tel-Aviv, we are hoping not to be car owners, which explains why we borrowed the car from Lior.
Going to Beit Shemesh and having two great meals, dinner and lunch, doesn’t explain much about why Tel-Aviv is amazing, so I will skip forward to Shabbat afternoon.
When we returned to Spring Hill, the translation of Tel-Aviv, Itamar, Sahar and I took a walk to the beach. As this was the first time, we had no idea what was in store for us. We walked out of our neighborhood, Kochav HaTsafon, and headed south on Ibn Gvirol, over the bridge which crosses the Yarkon River, to a beautiful river boardwalk that leads to the sea. On our way, we discovered the unit of scouts (Israel doesn’t segregate boy and girl Scouts) dedicated to sea life. The Sea Scouts, as they are called, have a big clubhouse on the shore of the river where they store lots of boating equipment and have their weekly meetings. We took a brochure, and I hope to send Maya and Sahar to the first meeting on Monday (Itamar is still too young).
From the scouts to the sea is a short walk past the Tel-Aviv pier. The closest beach is called Mitsitsim, Voyeurs Beach, after a movie in the late sixties with the same name that was filmed there. The first impression at this beach was that it couldn’t be Israel because all the stores and restaurants were open. I was also impressed by the crowd. There were hundreds of people, all ages, and there was even an Elvis impersonator playing guitar and singing. The water was the same temperature as the air and there was a good sprinkling of clouds in the sky and breeze from the sea to keep the oppressive sun at bay. When we left the beach, we stopped for hummus in a cozy little restaurant. Sahar said the hummus was, “a hundred times better than anything in America.” I know a better place in Jaffa that I’ll save for her.
In the evening, the family took a walk to Park HaYarkon to the public workout area which reminded me of Muscle Beach at Venice Beach in LA. I did one of my greatest practical jokes of all time at Muscle Beach when I first arrived in LA with my friend Marc. The two of us were getting a tour from my native friend Danny when we stumbled upon Muscle Beach. We were a bit ahead of Danny and decided to knock him off his native high horse. We went to the biggest, strongest guy in the workout area and asked him to play along with our plank, then we got Danny.
“Danny, check this out. It’s so cool.”
“Look at these guys.”
Danny was unimpressed and snobbish. That’s when I went up to our co-conspirator, tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at Danny and said, “That guy called you a fag.”
The guy dropped his 4000 pound weigh, walked up to Danny, pointed at his chest and said, “Did you call me a fag?”
All Danny could say, in perfect Ralph Kramden fashion, was, “Huminah, huminah, huminah.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised in this city of actors that even a muscle bound body builder could act, but he had me totally fooled as well until he laughed and said, “Hah, your friends gotcha.”
Every year before Rosh HaShana, I consider calling Danny and apologizing.

In Park HaYarkon, there are no muscle bound actors, but it is also a place that breaks the image of the scrawny or paunchy scholarly Jew with glasses, a beard and a Talmud under his arm. Everyone in the park was exercising in one way or another. There were people on the machines, people playing basket ball, Israeli folk dancers, joggers and bikers. I felt totally out of place with my glasses and paperback, but I left my family to do their thing while I read.

When we got back to our apartment, I promised Itamar that we would jog through the park in the morning, which we just did, and now I must take a shower before the titanium of my MacBook rusts from my sweat.

Boker Tov Yisrael. Boker ohr, Tel-Aviv.

Wholey, holy, holey

2009-09-05T00:49:00.001-05:00

Friday, September 4th, 2009, Shabbat
It’s Shabbat, which according to tradition means I’ve entered holy time. I’m also in the Holy Land, but I’m struggling with the whole holiness thing (would it be very inappropriate to say thang?).
This is my second Shabbat in the Holy Land. Last week I went to shul with my father in law and felt distinctly foreign, like a stranger in a strange land. The melodies were unfamiliar and the mechitsah, which separated the men from the woman, gave me a very bad feeling. This week, I was glad to arrive at the in-laws after Irit’s father already left for his shul.

In our family, we have tried to adopt the traditions which are most dear to us, so we have created a Moroccan, American, Jewish, Labor Zionist Kabballat Shabbat which includes the secular “Hachamah Meirosh” from our Habonim summer camp - Tavor, “Lecha Dodi” from the Kfar Hayarok, my agricultural high school, and the regular Shabbat blessings with my in-laws Moroccan melodies. It’s a nice combination that helps us merge our families and our values as we welcome the Shabbat, and if we didn’t go through this process, which includes creativity and reflection on our values, I don’t believe I would feel like I was creating holiness in welcoming the Shabbat… And if you unpack my last sentence, you may start to understand one of my key beliefs that worry me about my entrance into the world of rabbinic studies.
I have always felt that humans create holiness. In fact, I never even consider whether God creates holiness. I’m not even sure how to define holiness other than to describe when I’ve felt it.
I have felt holiness welcoming Shabbat at camp on top of a knoll we call Shabbat Hill in the 160 acres of Michigan farmland we call Tavor. I’ve felt it in the seventh inning stretch in many ballparks, major and minor league, around America, and I’ve felt it when my daughter read Torah at her bat-mitzvah. I know it is a completely rationalist approach to understanding things, but I know holiness through experience, and people created all of my holy moments.
In Israel, I find it particularly hard to find holiness. I have tried feeling it at the Western Wall, but when I visit, my mind fills with thoughts of idolatry. As Cheech and Chong might say, “If it looks like an idol and smells like and idol, it probably is an idol.” I remember reading in Exodus that God instructs Moses to remove his shoes because he is on holy ground, but I don’t know how this stone remnant of our ancient Temple has become so holy that some Orthodox man has to place a kippa on my head when I visit it, and I can’t worship beside it with my wife. On the other hand, the place where I proposed to my wife on the Mediterranean shore has always held a special place in my heart (in much the same way as Wrigley Field or Shabbat Hill).
Likewise, I have sat on the beach in Tel-Aviv and felt awe at the amazing work of creation, but I don’t feel like this is holy. Awe and holiness, to my sensibility, are two distinct feelings.

What I’d like to do with my rabbinate (it seems like forever from now) is help facilitate a sense of holiness in people through acts of loving-kindness. I’m not sure what I feel can be experienced the same way as I experience it, but I know that I have managed to create holiness facilitating a film club in the synagogue where I recently worked or leading a rich discussion with the students in the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center. For two years, I ran a book club for homeless people on Chicago Avenue in the neighborhood where my father and I own property, and when I saw the light bulbs light up over the heads of the club members during our meetings, I felt like holiness was present.
I guess this is what makes the experience, and even the stories of the experience at Sinai so powerful. It was a moment of holiness in space and time when/where my people joined together to accept Torah. Now we can argue about the source of Torah or about the historical truth of that moment, but none of that really matters when you position yourself within a people that sees itself with a common history, mythological or not. We created holiness together and I want my rabbinate to reflect the idea that was present at Sinai: these are the precepts of a good god and we are willing, collectively, to bound ourselves to them.
Lila Tov.

"On the face."

2009-09-04T01:46:00.000-05:00

Thursday, September 3, 2009
“On the face,” my barber, Itsik HaKatan, Little Isaac, translated a very common Hebrew saying, which loosely means, “It sucks.” He was trying to sound sophisticated by showing me his level of English. Little did he know how silly he sounded?
Itsik is not silly. In fact, 13 years ago, it was in Itsik’s barber’s chair that I decided to take up my grandfather’s offer to come back to the States and help him deal with his businesses while he fights Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, the diseases that eventually killed him. Itsik said that if I stayed in Israel, I would be spinning my wheels and not reaching my potential. He reminded me that America excels in many ways, and that I have a unique opportunity to benefit from what my country has to offer. One of those areas of excellence is education, even if I struggle with the government’s education policies.

This week my kids started school for their first time in Israel and neither Irit nor I can recall the details of our own Israeli education enough to instruct ourselves about the nuances of this challenge. Irit did all of her schooling here and I went to agricultural high school. I didn’t come back to Israel with high expectations for my kids’ formal education, but I knew the supplement of life experience would be well worth the loss in the classroom. In education circles, this is referred to as non-formal education or life lessons.

My son, Itamar, came home from his first day of school and had what we call in America a play date. It was very refreshing to not have to stand face to face with another parent, or on the phone, and pull out calendars and schedule time for the kids to play. When Itamar came home from school, he said his friend’s mom would be calling and we need to get the two of them together. Life lesson number one: Over scheduling is bad and leaves no room for spontaneity. In Israel, my kids will learn to take charge of their own free time and plan it in ways that give them fulfillment.

My eldest, Maya, started high school. Wow! And I mean wow! on many levels. Wow! I have a kid in high school. How can that be when I’m still a 20 something? Wow! My daughter is following in my footsteps and coming from America to study in an Israeli high school. Wow!

I must say, speaking with my doctor of education hat on, I am not thrilled about the Israeli education system. When we went to the high school to meet the advisor and principal, I asked what makes this school special. He said that all Israeli schools teach toward the bagrut, the Israeli matriculation tests. Ugggh. In essence, Israel has decided that education is something concrete that can be passed from one generation to another. Students don’t learn to think. They learn to know, which, I’m sure if I opened up my Merriam-Webster dictionary would fit better under the definition of indoctrination. Of course, in America we call this, “No child left behind.”
I will have to work hard to deal with life lesson number two: currently, school is not the place where knowledge is constructed. I will need to expose my kids to the richness of Israeli society outside of the classroom. This reminds me of high school when my older friends came back from the first Lebanon War and told me that everything I was learning in school was a lie. We were all programmed that our country, Israel, does no wrong, and they had just returned from Israel’s Vietnam.
In school, my daughter will learn about her obligation to serve her country in the Israel Defense Forces, but she won’t be taught to think critically about the amount of IDF resources wasted occupying the Palestinians in the West Bank. She’ll be taught that we consider 1948 the year of our independence, but she won’t be taught that that same year is considered a major catastrophe for the indigenous Palestinians who lived here. She’ll be taught about her Jewish heritage, but it will seem like a museum exhibit in the context of modern, secular Israel.
Life lesson number three: Think critically and challenge authority.
My daughter Sahar and son Itamar are going to a school wear they are forced to wear uniforms. It’s really not so bad, just a t-shirt with the school logo and it comes in many colors. But Sahar didn’t like it and was upset that she has to wear a uniform. I told her not to wear it, but she’s afraid of making a spectacle of herself, so today I bought her some materials to personalize the shirt. Sahar is very creative, so she should have fun with it, if I can get her to go along with the rebellion. I told her about one of my approaches to authority, “better to ask forgiveness than permission.” I qualified it by adding, “from people other than your parents.” I know it is a delicate balance, but she will need to learn to not accept the world as it is and to make it the way she thinks is right (as long as she doesn’t hurt anyone).

First Impressions

2009-09-02T09:02:00.001-05:00

August 29, 2009
Okay, I’m now living here 4 days including a Shabbat, so I am ready to give a first impression. Mind you, I have lived in Israel 10 years already, five as a kid and five as an adult, so it’s not like I don’t understand what’s going on around me. But here’s what I have to report as a first impression regardless of my somewhat veteran status.
But first a joke.
Sherlock Holmes and Watson go on a camping trip. They set up their tent, put their things inside, roll out their sleeping bags and go to sleep.
In the middle of the night, Holmes wakes up and says to Watson, “What do you have to say about that sky?”
Watson, always swift to answer, responds in his usual character. “Well Holmes, from a cosmological perspective, this is proof that we are just a small speck in the vast universe. And from the astronomical perspective, I think Jupiter is aligned with Mars. From a meteorological perspective, it doesn’t look as if there is a cloud in the sky which leads me to believe that we will have a rather nice day tomorrow, and from a astronomical perspective, I think the moon is in the seventh house.”
Holmes responds, “Watson, are you a bumbling nincompoop?”
“What so ever do you mean, Sherlock?” Asks Watson.
And Holmes responds, “Can’t you see, my dear Watson, they’ve stolen our tent?”

Get it? You don’t have to answer. My point is that it is hard to answer the question about first impressions and give a single, comprehensive answer. So I will segment.
For many people moving to Israel is a very Jewish thing, so I will say this from a Jewish perspective, I am not impressed. Well, I am actually impressed, but poorly. For instance, the most Jewish thing I have seen repeatedly is a poster explaining why the war of Gog and Almagog, part of the end of days, has already started. You could ask me to qualify why I say the most Jewish thing when everyone around me is speaking the Jewish language, but I would answer that there are plenty of Philippines’, Taiwanese and Africans here who speak Hebrew and are not Jewish, let alone Palestinians.
Of course, the buses all stop for Shabbat and many stores are closed, but in Tel-Aviv plenty are also open; more than I ever remembered in the past, and it seems that the city comes back to life well before three stars appear to end the Sabbath.
Something about living here makes me want to be a secular Jew; especially when I see the behavior of the ultra-Orthodox, who this weekend rioted again to keep a parking garage closed on Shabbat. Maybe that’s part of their values, to break Shabbat in order to force others to keep it. Go figure.
And now for political impressions, maybe you should sit down. Today the former finance minister started serving time for taking bribes, and the former prime minister, Ehud Olmert, was indicted for criminal behavior and abuse of power.
When I asked my brother in law where he thought I could find a political home here he said that Meretz, the left of center party I supported in the 90’s, has become an Ashkenazi, libertarian elitist party that is out of touch with the country. The Labor party is run by a squad of corrupt veterans that have replaced vision with a lust for power. Chadash, the communist party, is openly anti-Zionist and claims that Israel was a mistake, even though they support a 2 state solution, and Kadima, other than some bold ideas on the diplomatic front, visa vi the Palestinians, is a party with a Republican social-economic agenda.
The advice I was given, and I may follow it, is to join Labor and help create a coup. I don’t know if I will have the time or political capital to do this, but I want to discuss the question with my friends in Peace Now and others.
From a moral perspective, I am completely appalled by this place. Everything is corrupt from the bottom up. When we got our cell phones set up, the people at the phone company told us where to get our iPhones unlocked. When we went to do it, we were charged value added tax for the service. In essence, what this guy was doing, which Apple Computer would consider a violation of its intellectual property rights, was fine as long as he paid taxes on the money he collected.
When we went to Maya’s school, we told the principle that we expected extra tutoring hours for Maya, which the Ministry of Absorption promised us, and we were told that the Ministry of Education never pays its bills when they provide these hours, so they had no plans on helping. The list is long, and these are not the best examples, just the most recent.
Last but not least, from a purely patriotic perspective, things haven’t changed. My barber, who 13 years ago told me I would be a fool not to go back to America, now tells me that things here are wonderful and “there’s no place like Israel.” And then there is the cab driver today who told me I was a fool for coming back. Yes, there was the religious woman in line beside us as we bought lunch who said she didn’t mind the long process of my kids ordering as long as we were happy with our return to the country, and there was the bank manager who said that he wanted to improve service so Jews all over the world wouldn’t feel like they were going down in quality of life when they came here.
So there’s my answer. My first impressions are all over the place. I love and hate this place, just like I do in Chicago. Here I curse the heat, there I curse the winters. Here I am astounded by the fundamentalist religious just as much as I am in Chicago, and here I have a hard time finding a political home just like I have experienced my share of unsettledness in Democratic circles, at times. Most of all, just as I love my home town, that toddling town, I love Tel-Aviv with all the good and bad, and I’m happy to be here for now, especially while I have no worries about missing a Cubs World Series.

Teaching baseball to Ethiopian immigrants

2009-08-29T17:17:00.002-05:00

This morning we woke up to more extreme heat. I imagined myself playing in the Cubs game in San Juan, Puerto Rico a few years ago. My kids and I taught a group of 6 Ethiopian immigrants to play ball, but we didn't have enough mitts to go around. My in-laws live in a relatively poor part of Beit Shemesh and the neighborhood is filled with Ethiopians.
My brother in law, Shaul and his fiance (my kids helped pick out the ring last week) were at lunch as were my other brother in law, Lior, and his kids. Lior is doing some ground breaking work with gray water which I will report about as I learn more. Yochi, my sister in law, the acupuncturist, was also present. She is wonderful, and I'm glad to be close to her.
After lunch, I passed out. It was a combination of jet lag and forgetting to take my synthroid. Later we returned to Tel-Aviv, even hotter than Beit Shemesh, and signed a lease for our new apartment. We now live at Abba Kovner 13, have two parking spaces, a storage closet, a view of the sea and no money to speak of. Everything here is so expensive and we are house poor without owning a house. I will have to explore doing some adjunct teaching in addition to my studies.
Now it is 1:30 AM and I am taking advantage of the MLB TV I subscribed to before I left. The Cubs had a 3 PM game, which allows me to listen live and I'm loving it. The benefits of jet lag.
Go Cubs Go & Pleasant dreams.

Lufthansa, Pope Benedict and my arrival in the Holy Land

2009-08-28T19:56:00.001-05:00

Thursday, August 27th, 5 PM CST.
The soundtrack in my mind this morning has been the song, Far from the home I love, from Fiddler on the Roof. That’s not to say, as the lyrics suggest, that my family doesn’t understand “why I do, what I do.” But I am full of sadness to leave my beloved city, my friends, parents, family, Cubs…
I started the day at my shul, Beth Hillel. Rabbi Kensky gave me the Levy aliyah to the Torah and then said a meesheberach prayer for me. This was a very touching way to say farewell to my congregation and well worth waking up at 6 AM after a night at Wrigley Field with my dad.
Breakfast at Jack’s in Skokie was also a treat. Some of my closest friends came to bid me adieu at my favorite breakfast restaurant. I often imagined myself sitting in Jack’s with my grandchildren and these same friends sharing stories of our past. I hope this is part of what the future holds for me.
As has been the case for the last week, I left Jack’s with my yellow “to do” list and made my way to the bank, Staples and a few other stops before a final packing of the suitcases. My last chore, to send out the prospectus for the book I have made out of my doctoral dissertation. The field of presses that publish peace education books is not very wide, but I sent four copies out and I hope I do better than the team average of my Cubbies. It only takes one publisher, and I hope it is among those I mailed my prospectus to.
On the way to the airport, my dad’s wife pointed out the irony of moving to Israel on a German airline. I thought that my last summer’s adventure in Munich had changed my perspective on this issue, but when they billed me an extra $150 for my overweight baggage, I temporarily reverted to my old stereotypes and cursed the anti-Semites. I know this has little basis in reality, but $150 could buy me a lot of baseball tickets and I’m angry.
Now I’m on the plane, which is packed. My friend Bennett mastered the art of sending someone off by sneaking a box of my favorite chocolates in with the baseball mitt he returned to me from our venture up to Milwaukee to see a Brewers game. In my last week in America, I managed to see the White Sox, Brewers and Cubs. Fortunately for me, my deal with God precludes a Cubs World Series victory before I return from Israel in 4 years.
I have to make a choice now between Chicken Teriyaki or Asian vegetarian. My travel agent forgot to order me a Kosher meal, so I guess I’ll go with the Asian vegetarian, not that I am strict about these things, but I am on my way to becoming a rabbi.
Well, I guess this is all for now. I promise to be more interesting as time goes on. It’s hard to reflect on your big life decisions when you’re in the midst of swimming in the deep water. Ciao for now.

Saturday, August 28th, 3 AM, Israel

It’s Shabbat and I’m writing on my computer. Really, I am not so bothered by this. I don’t think this violates the restfulness of my Shabbat. In fact, it is nothing compared to the unrestfulness of my jet-lag. The only other question is what behavior do I want to model? As I study to be a rabbi, this will become more of an issue. For the time being, I have ruled out “growing a black hat and buying a beard.” A favorite line from a secular Israeli lyricist, I think Yonatan Gefen, making fun of the orthodox here.
My flight to Frankfort was improved by the company I kept. In the seat next to me was a Polish divinity doctoral student. At first I was agitated by his arm creeping over the armrest that separated us, but eventually I was won over by his stories of work in Chicago on Polish-Jewish reconciliation. What most fascinated me was his comparisons of Pope John Paul and Benedict. Bill Ayers refers to Pope Benedict as Benny the Rat, and I coupled that with the little I hear about him in the news to form a negative impression. After speaking with Michael, my opinion has changed.
Yes, his changes to the Catholic liturgy regarding Jews is not something I feel good about, not his comments about Islam, but I was won over by two little understood facts. First of all, relative to John Paul, Benny is a much bigger supporter of Vatican Two, which was a major step in the right direction for the church, and second, Pope Benedict invited Jurgen Habermas to sit at his table and discuss the idea of discourse ethics. The school where I will study to be a rabbi, the Hartman Institute, has one guiding principle, every is welcome at our table that is willing to sit at our table with everyone there. For me, this is a great foundation piece for productive pluralism, and I see Pope Benedict’s action as very much in line with Hartman’s.
This said, I am very pleased to have witnessed Congressman Barney Frank put up a wall and say to an absurd (insane?) constituent who waved a picture of President Obama as Hitler and compared his health care plans to Nazism that “talking to [her] would be like talking to a dining room table.” Some people don’t earn their seat at the table, others earn my respect by making the table inviting, even for their philosophical enemies. Kudos to Pope Benedict.

From Frankfort to Tel-Aviv I sat with a fundamentalist 20 year old woman who was on her way to study Bible in a Christian university in Jerusalem near the Jaffa Gate. While she was a very nice girl, (I say girl without intention of patronizing) she was very innocent and I couldn’t help but feel as if she were filling voids in her life with Evangelical mumble jumble. She told me that she was coming to study Bible because she loved it, but when I tried to understand what that meant, she didn’t have much to say. She was loaded with platitudes about the role of women in the family, but didn’t understand that that was interpretation, not scripture (Even if Menachem Elon, the great Israeli Supreme Court Justice, Talmud scholar and candidate for the Israeli presidency claims that there is no difference between scripture and interpretation.) In essence, I saw this girl as a great example of that thin line between education and indoctrination. Lots of ideas and concepts were deposited in her with the hope that they will nurture her (indoctrinate) into a fine Christian woman, but she wasn’t educated to think for herself or understand why she holds the beliefs she does.
Regardless of the theoretical world surrounding her journey, she was very scared and excited and alone, and I felt great compassion for her. We got our baggage together and walked through customs together before I was greeted by Maya, Itamar, Irit and my two brother’s in law in Israel (the third lives in Vegas).

Arriving in Beit Shemesh, it started to hit me that this is my new world; Shabbat with the in-laws, extreme heat all summer, no baseball and a great distance from the home I love. Fortunately, the ten years that I lived here, over two 5 year stints, were quite joyful and I am full of hope that these next four years will be as rich and exciting as my past experience here has been.

Now I will disconnect the computer, walk over to the corner of my in-laws yard where I can piggy-back (can you say piggy-back in a Jewish country without sounding antagonistic?) on the neighbors wireless connection and upload this rant. Please share The Radish (www.davidsteinersblog.com) with your friends and send feedback.

Jubilee, Hank Williams & other pangs of pleasure in this rabbinic pursuit

2009-08-23T06:01:00.005-05:00

It’s 5 AM, Sunday morning and I can’t sleep. I’m wondering how this Jewish kid from Chicago who used to wake up early on Sundays, to watch Jubilee, the gospel music program, is now moving to Israel to become a rabbi. What’s even crazier is the destination. I have lived in Israel for ten years of my life, and in my Israeli identity, I have never inclined toward Judaism as a religion. In fact, I was among the numerous secular Tel-Avivis who stood in line at the video store the day before Yom Kippur to get my movies before going to the market to stock up the refrigerator. One year, to honor the distinctiveness of the holiday, I even rented Terminator: Judgment Day as a cynical twist on the intention of this day of fasting and repentance.

To be quite frank, the same irreverent kid still lives inside this aging body. I am not going to Israel to become a rabbi because I regret the behavior of my youth or because I have seen some light. I still get goose bumps when I hear the Staple Singers or Hank Williams singing I like the Christian life. The only difference now, I think, is the reverence I have for the rabbis who saved Judaism, and my awe and respect for the system they created which made a discursively ethical people out of our nation.

I am not going to become a rabbi because I believe in God’s revelation to my people and want to ensure that we follow Her ways.

I am not going to become a rabbi because of a newfound reverence for God. I do not know how I could ever be certain of Her existence. I’m not even sure it is relevant to me.

I am going to become a rabbi because I have discovered for myself that I was born into a radical tradition of progressive thinking intellectuals who initiated a self-correcting system that could uphold and sustain human dignity. And I want to promote that system among my people and as a light onto the nations.

As I understand it, the Talmud teaches us that the title “Rav,” rabbi, was established to indemnify teachers of this radical tradition, so they could share this progressive philosophy with their people free from the encumbrances that would limit their reach and depth of penetration in society. Talk about freedom of speech, my people created the freedom to teach, and they did it with style. Discourse was encouraged, disagreement welcome, and anyone was welcome to the table that would sit with everyone at the table. How cool is that?

The rabbis of the Talmud were victorious over challenges from their fundamentalist brothers. They faced their Roman oppressors as peacemakers, for the most part, in a style Gandhi would have respected, and they left us a tradition that we can be proud of and need to study and share. This is why I want to join this tradition and become a rabbi, and this is why I am willing to travel far from the home I love, the professional sports I crave, the culture I grew up in and the friends and family I love so much.

This is why the Jubilee watching kid and the middle aged body that houses him are moving to Israel. I just hope I do a good job learning my new trade and I hope I can manage without my Cubs and Bears and other human distractions that make being an American so lively.

I won't be needing Langston Hughes's phone number

2009-08-19T05:09:00.002-05:00

I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination, but I wrote this short poem to capsulize my family's experience over the last 7 months. I hope reads well.

i won't be needing Langston Hughes's phone number
or an email address to find out
What happens to a dream deferred
Mine is not drying up like a raisin in the sun
Nor is is festering like a sore
Although i hope it plays out to be like a syrupy sweet,
one that won't give me cavities
or add to my weight

My dream is not deferred
it just took nearly 7 months, the last 40 days without a job
but we kept our eye on the prize
and now we are off to the promised land
full of cliches,
and dreams of peace and learning and family
and appreciation for the strength and support
that got us here.

One man's catastrophe...

2009-07-26T23:16:00.002-05:00

I have always thought that it must be very hard to be an indigenous American in the United States on Columbus Day or even Thanksgiving. It must be hard to celebrate the fall of one’s culture and the turn of events that forcibly changed the direction of one’s nation. For this reason, I found it quite objectionable this week when I read that in Israel the new Education Minister, Gideon Saar of Likud, has decided to use his position to force Palestinians living in Israel to rewrite their own history in a way that is palatable to the Jewish majority but not their own narrative.

According to the Associate Press, found in the Baltimore Sun “The Israeli government will remove references to what Palestinians call the ‘catastrophe’ of Israel's creation from textbooks for Arab schoolchildren.”

In Israel, for those who don’t know, there are three publicly financed school systems; Jewish-secular, Orthodox Jewish and Arab. If this reminds you of America before Brown versus Board of Education, I am not surprised. Yet, on the other hand, I think the intention of this system is not segregation but respect for the plurality of ways of living in Israel. I am a Zionist and I am proud of this attempt, but separate has not been equal, and Israel should do more to level the educational playing field when it comes to funding.

The fact that Israel included the reference to a catastrophe, al naqba, for the Palestinians experience of Jewish independence in the state is quite remarkable, but it is also very recent and short lived. As Minister of Education under the centrist Kadima government, Princeton trained political philosopher and Labor party Minister of Education, Yuli Tamir inserted the naqba reference in 2007. With the fall of Kadima and the rise of the Likud led, right wing government of Benjamin Netanyahu, the progressive leadership of Ms. Tamir has also died. Long live progressive education.

The Associated Press reported Education Minister Gideon Saar as saying, "No other country in the world, in its official curriculum, would treat the fact of its founding as a catastrophe." While Israeli Arab lawmaker Hana Sweid responded, "It's a major attack on the identity of the Palestinian Arab citizens of the state of Israel, on their memories and their adherence to their identity,"

In the first pages of Jonathan Kozol’s On Being a Teacher, you can read the following quote from Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook.

Ideally, what should be said to every child, repeatedly, throughout his or her school life is something like this:

You are in the process of being indoctrinated. We have not yet evolved a system of education that is not a system of indoctrination. We are sorry, but it is the best that we can do. What you are being taught here is an amalgam of current prejudice and the choices of a particular culture. The slightest look at history will show how impermanent these must be. You are being taught by people who have been able to accommodate themselves to a regime of thought laid down by their predecessors. It is a self-perpetrating system… Those that stay must remember, always and all the time, that they are being moulded and patterned to fit into the narrow and particular needs of this particular society.

As I read these words, I wonder what the, “narrow and particular needs” of Israeli society could be that would cause them to want to change another people’s narrative. I am reminded of the vicious words of the late Prime Minister Golda Meir when she proclaimed, “There are no Palestinian people.” And I am reminded of our pain as we recall the vicious lies and propaganda spread against us by over the years by our detractors.

What is so wrong with two narratives coexisting side by side? Does their naqba lessen the joy I feel for my Jewish independence? Should it?

I am proud to be a Jew and proud of the State of Israel, and still I can look at myself in the mirror and see my faults and blemishes without rushing out to buy another mirror or put blinders on my eyes. Our independence had an effect on the world, just as it had an effect on us. That is basic physics. All the curricula in the world cannot change the past. As Israeli philosopher Avishai Margalit likes to say, we cannot revivify the past, all we are able to do is retell it.

Personally, as an Israeli and as a Jew, I was much more proud when my country and my Jewish homeland let all its citizens tell their narrative as they saw it.

Of brokered kidneys, money laundering and the Halacha

2009-07-26T08:04:00.002-05:00

Is it me, or is it getting quite embarrassing being a Jew and reading the headlines in our nations newspapers. The Madoff scandal was bad for our public image, but he was a lone individual, every people has a bad egg. But last week, next to the headline, 44 Charged by U.S. in New Jersey Corruption Sweep, there was a picture of black suited rabbis wrapped in hang cuffs, not tefillin, and this list; "the rabbis arrested included Saul J. Kassin, 87, a leader of the Syrian Jewish community in Brooklyn and New Jersey; Mordchai Fish and Lavel Schwartz, both rabbis in Brooklyn; and Eliahu Ben Haim and Edmund Nahum, who lead congregations in Deal.” Oy!
When the last two governors of my great state of Illinois were arrested for corruption, I was embarrassed, but I had only voted for one of them, and neither was a member of my tribe. Now we have five community leaders, rabbis who teach and interpret Torah, arrested by the feds, how could this be? Or maybe we should ask why it doesn’t happen more often?
When I read about the rabbis in New Jersey and Brooklyn, my mind went directly to something Yeshayahu Leibowitz, the Israel scientist, Talmud scholar and peace activist explained about his orthodox beliefs, something that has bothered me for a while and may explain why some observant Jews can see themselves as so pious and yet behave so unethically.
For Leibowitz, whom I happen to see as a very ethical person, there are no such things as Jewish values. Observance is not a matter of right and wrong, it is about doing what God asks of Jews. While in our morning prayers we proclaim that God listens to our prayers, Leibowitz believes that worship is merely the fulfillment of a commandment. It is the service of the God who asks us to pray thrice daily. The same is true for other commandments that would seem otherwise neutral and value free such as keeping kosher or not mixing linen and wool. This is what God wants, so we do it. There is no value judgment. Not mixing milk and meat is just as important as visiting the sick because both are commanded by God. For me this explains why some rabbis can justify for themselves their money laundering and brokering of human organs. It affords them the ability to build their communities and continue to observe mitzvot. For me, this is observance of the letter of the law without respect or concern for the spirit of the law. I wonder what kind of God they imagine they are loyal to. In my system of beliefs, Judaism is designed to make us holy. What these rabbis in New Jersey did was not even mundane. It was a desecration.
This is not to say that those commandments that are not clearly ethical are null and void. That Reform approach to the Halacha, our Jewish way, also seems antithetical to the spirit of Judaism. Halacha is not a shmorgasbord of commands to be picked through like items in a rummage sale. It is a system of our practices that should be studied and reinterpreted in each generation, for the same reason that we pray to, “the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, The God of Jacob…” and hopefully the matriarchs as well, because in each of our forebears generations there was a unique understanding of the law and it’s inception. Starting out the Shmonah Esar, our silent prayers, with a reminder of this changing understanding keeps us in that beautiful and vital tradition. Jewish tradition that is fundamentally good, not fundamentalist. The letter of the law is subjugated to the spirit of the law and its adherents. Just ask Rabbi akiva.
While I am ashamed of these rabbis in New Jersey, and dread the public scrutiny of our beliefs, there is a part of me that wants to make lemonade from these lemons. Now we have a chance to confront the fundamentalism in our own backyard and ask what it really means to be observant. Now we are nudged to ask why we observe the way we do and what are the intentions of our laws. And now we are confronted with a conflict between laws and ethics, and good thinking comes out of these conflicts. So let’s not totally hang our heads low and feel the well deserved shame of our co-religionists. Let’s take this as an opportunity and reexamine where we stand and why we stand there so that each and every one of us can own the tradition as we understand it in our time.

Another lens on the indivisibility of Jerusalem

2009-07-23T09:05:00.001-05:00

In today’s HaAretz, an Israeli newspaper I read daily, I was informed that “The United States views East Jerusalem as no different than an illegal West Bank outpost with regard to its demand for a freeze on settlement construction.”
In response to the American policy, HaAretz reported that Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu stated that, "United Jerusalem is the capital of the Jewish people in the State of Israel, and our sovereignty over the city is not subject to appeal,… Our policy is that Jerusalem residents can purchase apartments anywhere in the city. This has been the policy of all Israeli governments. There is no ban on Arabs buying apartments in the west of the city, and there is no ban on Jews building or buying in the city's east. This is the policy of an open city."
I feel obligated to parse apart and unpack whatever I read in the news in order to come to a clear understanding of what messages I am receiving and what meaning I make from them. This is what I do before acting in the world.
Some would say that meaning is not made, rather facts are delivered. Often people use the word facts and truths interchangeably. I am of the opinion that facts are perspectives on things that happen; truths are the subjects of our meaning making.
As a Jew and scholar, I use a form of Jewish critical literacy to unpack the meaning of messages I read. It is called Pardes, the Hebrew word for a grove and the acronym that prescribes that we read the literal meaning of text first (pshat), followed by an inquiry into the hinted meaning which is clearly the product of an author with motivations (remez). The next letter, dalet, represents the interpretive meaning (drash) which is the domain of the interpreter with all the personal baggage brought to interpretation. And last in the very linear progression is samach, representing the word sod, which translates in modern Hebrew as secret, but I have learned that the sages who developed this system of inquiry understood sod to mean kehillah, community, thus I understand the sod to be the conjoint meaning the community creates for the message. In my application of Pardes, as I understand the rabbis intention, we are obligated to go through this serious regimen in order to create meaning and act in the world. Reading the news is our job, and there are specific guidelines to doing it properly.
In the article I am trying to make meaning of, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu told his cabinet on Sunday that "Israel will not agree to edicts of this kind in East Jerusalem." An edict, according to the Merriam – Webster on-line dictionary is “a proclamation having the force of law.” The choice of these words sets the stage for a relationship between the presumed edict maker and the subjects of the edict – America is laying down the law and Israel will not agree. The audience of this message is the Jewish people, at large, and the Jewish Israelis in particular, with some room for ancillary recipients and less engaged media consumers. As a Jew, edicts remind me of the period of Seleucid rule in the biblical Land of Israel described in the books of the Maccabees. These edicts were created to end Jewish practice and were vigorously opposed by some members of the Jewish community living in the land at the time. To really understand the use of the word edict to a Jewish – Israeli audience, which itself is diverse, one must study how the Maccabees are represented in the Books of Maccabees and how the sages later recall and canonize the celebration of Hanukah. Without digging to deep, Mr. Netanyahu is trying to evoke parallels between the hated Seleucid monarch, Antiochus, and the US president.
All of this is just an example of what I mean by a critically literate, Jewish reading of any text. To this goal, Jews study in groups called chevruta. The root of this word, chet, bet, reish, is reminiscent of the modern Hebrew word with the same letter combination, chaver, meaning friend, but I see a much greater correlation to the primary meaning of these three letters combined in this order – chibor, which means joint or seam. In a healthy study partnership, respect for the seam that creates the relationship is essential. In other words, we cannot have the relationship without the seam, so we must find a way to make meaning together. What Prime Minister Netanyahu does very well is present complicated ideas in simple terms that pull our seam to his understanding and will for the chevruta. As a member of the large Jewish chevruta, woven together by a rich and binding seam, our internal dialog which vies for dominating the making of meaning for the nation, I would like to present an alternative understanding of the Prime Minister’s other comments about Jerusalem. To do this, I will start with a joke.
At the time of the creation of the United States - Canadian border, the people laying out the border found a home in the middle of their path. They asked the family living in the home whether they want the border to be laid around their home to the north or south, which would determine the family’s national identity. The family asked to think it over for a week during which they received bribes from both sides. The Americans sent baseball tickets, an apple pie, and a Chevy. The Canadians sent maple syrup, Canadian bacon and a mounty on a horse. At the end of the week they returned and asked for a decision. The family decided to become Americans, which upset the Canadians and elated the Americans. The Canadians, wanting to learn from their mistakes, asked for an explanation and the family responded with a simple sentence. “We hate those Canadian winters.”
Okay, it may not be funny, but it does illustrate the human hand in many things that we accept as inevitable. For instance, “Undivided Jerusalem.” What does this term mean? As far as I understand, King David and his son Solomon did not rule over West Jerusalem, let alone most of East Jerusalem. The Jerusalem that resonates in our hearts is a mere 2 square kilometers and is located along the armistice line of 1949. It is a fraction of the modern Jerusalem that Mr. Netanyahu can’t fathom dividing. But why has this modern, human designation of land become so sacrosanct? Why is Israeli sovereignty over Jerusalem “not subject to appeal?” Who can appeal it anyway? And who determines the rights of any people to live anywhere, let alone a territory that was conquered in a war?
For millennia, Jerusalem has been changing hands through military conquest. Nebuchadnezzar conquered it from the Ancient Israelites centuries before the Seleucids and Romans did. Crusaders and Muslims, the Ottomans and the British, all took control by military might. But when Israel became a state, it was vested with its rights through the United Nations, the body that is supposed to represent the will of nations. And at the same time, some would like to suggest that the reclamation of the Land of Israel is the will of God, something that is neither provable nor universally accepted.
As I see it, the bottom line is that this boils down to a matter of authority. Once authority came at the price of military conquest, and today if comes via international consensus. “But,” many would argue, “the Jewish people can’t wait for a consensus. Look what happened in the Holocaust.” And I would not disagree. Still, what is so sacrosanct about an undivided Jerusalem?
Is it in our best interest to rule over 200,000 Palestinians with metropolitan but not national identity and rights? East Jerusalem Palestinians are Jerusalem citizens but not afforded Israeli passports. Is it better for the Jewish people and their state to have a security wall run through the borders of its undivided capital? Currently, the wall that was erected to secure Israelis and “make good neighbors,” runs through the “indivisible capitol. What would be so wrong about gerrymandering the human drawn borders and “dividing” the capitol into two cities, one for Jewish Israelis and the other for our Palestinian neighbors who want to rule themselves in a majority status in their own sovereign state, just as we want for ourselves?
The bottom line is that those who make claims about an undivided Jerusalem are really just leaning on rhetoric that connotes the ancient past but does not reflect it. Jerusalem was never as big as the Israeli government has drawn it on its maps. It has no necessary need for including our Palestinian neighbors at the exclusion of their civil rights as Israeli citizens, and there is no need to make us become a nation that denies basic rights to its residents. In essence, when you peel away all the false illusions to the ancient metropolis, what you are left with is a big fat emperor without any clothes. The arguments don’t hold their own, and what they do support is the behaviors of a state of Jews guided by ideals that are hardly Jewish. As far as I’m concerned, that’s hardly worth the efforts of my brand of Zionism.

Summer fun with Jojo the Scarecrow

2009-07-10T13:09:00.002-05:00

My friends Bryan Libban, Joel Frankel and I created Jojo the Scarecrow and a whole bunch of media around his world with venture funding in the 1990's. We were almost bought by Mattel until they had a major multimedia mishap with the purchase of The Learning Company. If you want to read the Jojo the Scarecrow screenplay, click here and then send me your feedback.

Now we just want to share our labor of love. If you want to buy the album in English or Spanish, Joel is selling it on CD Baby. The Spanish version includes Juan Dies of Sones de Mexico. Try out my favorite track - Pigs Love a Puddle of Mud.

40 Years of my father's self portraits

2009-07-02T09:37:00.003-05:00

My Second epiphany as an Israeli by choice

2009-06-23T13:00:00.002-05:00

I have been rereading my dissertation and I came across this little passage which I really liked and want to share.

My second epiphany as an Israeli by choice came in the summer before my senior year of high school. It related to a section of the Declaration of Independence that has to do with neighbourliness.

WE EXTEND our hand to all neighbouring states and their peoples in an offer of peace and good neighbourliness, and appeal to them to establish bonds of cooperation and mutual help with the sovereign Jewish people settled in its own land. The State of Israel is prepared to do its share in a common effort for the advancement of the entire Middle East.

The first time I came to Israel was in 1967, after the Six Day War, in which Israel captured the Gaza Strip and Sinai Dessert from Egypt, the West Bank from Jordan and the Golan Heights from Syria. My mother became a Zionist when she first came to Israel after her father helped build an ORT vocational school there in 1957, and she fell in love with a lifeguard on the beach near her hotel. My dad was transformed by the movie version of Leon Uris’s Exodus with Paul Newman. I was two and remember nothing of this trip, but 1967 was a turning point in Israeli history in terms of the declared aspiration, “to do its share in a common effort for the advancement of the entire Middle East” (Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 2006).
I returned to Israel in 1975, after eight years of occupation. By this time, King Hussein had driven the Palestinian Liberation Organization out of Jordan to Lebanon. I was indifferent to the politics, but unhappy that the homeland of the Jews didn’t have a Major League Baseball team. If you told me that summer that I was going to spend 10 years in Israel without my Cubs and Bears, I would never have believed you.
In 1980, when I arrived in Tel-Aviv to start my sophomore year at the Kfar HaYarok, we were 13 years into the occupation. Our soldiers were still people who were born as non-occupiers. We traveled in relative safety and comfort on both sides of the Green line that demarcates the border between Israel and the West Bank, and King Hussein had not yet relinquished control over his occupied territories in the West Bank.
After my first year of high school, my 12th grade friends who taught me Hebrew and how to milk cows were drafted into the Israeli army. As students from an agricultural school, they were allowed to go to a special branch of the army that allowed boys and girls to serve together, and part of the service was either on a kibbutz or establishing a new settlement, often in the West Bank.
In 1982, in the second year of these friends’ service, I went home for the summer. My ticket had a planned stop-over in London where I hoped to play tourist for a few days. When I arrived at my hotel, I stopped in front of a teletype machine that had just printed a news alert about Israeli jets bombing Lebanon. By the time I left London and arrived in Chicago, our troops were in Beirut. I remember that my first phone call from home was to my friend Moshe’s parents to see how he was doing. Luckily, he was fine, but several of our friends had been shot or got injured by shrapnel.
At the end of the summer, I was back in Israel. The war was still raging, but the first weekend after I arrived my friends were on leave and I spent my time showering them with gifts and candies I brought from the States. In the pre-globalization era, cultures didn’t mix like they do today and simple things like macaroni and cheese or peanut butter were not available in Israel. That weekend I had my second major Zionist epiphany.
“Everything they taught us in school was a lie,” I remember my friends telling me. “They told us we have an army to defend ourselves. They said we were going to clear forty kilometers north of the border to protect the northern settlements. We went all the way to Beirut, and they hadn’t even shot one missile at us from Southern Lebanon in the last year.” (Steiner, 2006a)
The list went on and on. They reminded me about Joseph Trumpeldor, the pre-state soldier who defended Tel-Chai in the upper Galilee on March 1, 1920, and, we were taught, was reported to have said on his deathbed, “Never mind. It’s good to die for one’s country.” (Trumpeldor, 2006, para 2)
He reminded me that Defense Minister Ariel Sharon lied to Prime Minister Menachem Begin to get him to approve of the war and that Sharon lied to the troops and the nation. He said that he was fighting in Israel’s Vietnam.
“Memory is a motherfucker.” (Ayers, 2003, p.7)
How did I choose to add this citizenship to my identity when the foundations of that identity were not completely honest? Reflecting on this question and trying to understand my own decisions brings me to an inquiry into the notion of citizenship and culture.

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Thank you President Obama

2009-06-06T23:10:00.001-05:00

In a June 2nd piece in the Israeli daily HaAretz, I read that “the outgoing commander of the Israel Police in the West Bank praised the settlers and took umbrage with their detractors, particularly residents of Tel Aviv ‘whose willingness to contribute to the state is one big zero.’"

Police Major General Shlomi Katbi, in a tirade against the Israeli left on Army Radio said, "those who sit in Tel Aviv, park their jeeps on the sidewalk on Sheinkin Street, drink espresso with one foot resting on the other, and allow themselves to level criticism and to tell stories."

I found the last part of Katbi’s tirade the most fascinating, we leftists, “allow [our]selves to level criticism and to tell stories." Whoa! When did these basic human behaviors become such transgressions? I can understand the discomfort with drinking espresso with one foot resting on the other, but leveling criticism and telling stories, isn’t that a bit much?

Occasionally, when I talk about critical literacy with my wife, she complains that the connotations of “critical” are negative and that I need to find a better word. She may be right, but when I think of criticality, I think of the effort to look deeply at something and try to make it better by finding the faults. Of course, you could say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but this is exactly what I have when I employ critical literacy to my reading of the world. It is my charge as a Jew who does Tikkun Olam.

And what is so bad about telling stories? When the authors of the Bible put pen to paper, they made God the biggest story teller of them all. Are we to understand that God is as bad as the Sheinkin Street, espresso drinking critics?

Why don’t we just get down to plain facts and speak simple truths? When the right has a problem with the left, they find something wrong with us to shout about because they can’t argue with what we believe. If a Jew says he is opposed to the settlements, he becomes a self hater, an anti-Zionist, etc. A bunch of epithets are slung at him, usually, because it beats arguing the point, but this does not get us anywhere.

As Jews, we have been given a heritage rich in debate. When Reish Lakish died, Rebbe Yohannan was sad because the rabbis gave him a yes man and all he wanted was his chevruta, his study partner, Reish Lakish, because “[He] would challenge me with 24 questions.” Today, instead of having an internal debate among our people, we have a mudslinging fest because its easier to find disparaging epithets than it is to answer the hard questions. But now, in the shadow of President Obama’s speech in Cairo, we are going to have to answer the tough questions, or the world will dictate the answers for us, and they won’t wait for our evasive answers.

Thank you President Obama, your speech is the work of a true friend, and I, for one, can’t wait to see your actions follow suit.

The World as it Could Be

2009-05-05T14:36:00.000-05:00

“One who seeks absolute certainty will not find comfort in a spiritual tradition whose response to the disagreements between the schools of Hillel and Shamai was that both schools of thought were the words of the living God.” This is Judaism according to David Hartman, the founder of the seminary where I will be studying to be a rabbi. I share this quote because it describes what I love about Judaism. It is pluralistic, encourages debate and discourages certainty.
In a 2001 sermon during Passover, my teacher, Rabbi David Wolpe, drove home the point about certainty when he questioned the benefit of historicism in reading the Haggadah. In essence, Rabbi Wolpe expressed what archeologists have been claiming for years, that the Passover story is not an historical epic. “It's a well-known fact that millions of Jews have doubts about the literal veracity of Bible stories,” said Rabbi Wolpe. “[W]e are afraid that science will shake our faith…that is why I spoke out.”
This year at my seder, I asked Rabbi Wolpe’s now famous fifth question, “Would anything change if we all accepted that the Exodus story were a myth?” The reaction I received was what I had expected from my very secular family. It didn’t matter to them because most of the people sitting around the table had given up their stake in our myth. They are Jews “in spite of Hitler,” or because we have a beautiful tradition with familiar rituals. As a system that guides their lives, Judaism means very little to them because they don’t believe in the God of the Bible.
In contrast to my family, I have embraced our tradition and have made it my occupation as well as my national identity. I am a citizen of the Jewish homeland and I plan to be ordained in Israel, “the birthplace of the Jewish people. [Wh]ere their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. [Wh]ere they first attained to statehood, created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books.” This is how Israel is described in her Declaration of Independence.
As a Jewish educator, I try to understand what is it that makes it easy for me to embrace our system regardless of the historicity of our story. I’m not afraid that science will shake our faith. Rather, I am afraid that science has become our faith. For this reason I consciously choose to define myself as agnostic. I choose doubt over religious and scientific certainty. As my Rabbi, Allan Kensky, says, “When I want scientific explanations, I turn to science. When I want religious explanations I turn to Judaism.”
As a Jewish educator, I grapple with these issues because my job description includes, among other things, dealing with attrition among our ranks. I ask how I can help Jewish families embrace their Judaism, and I think Rabbi Wolpe’s “hurricane,” as his sermon has been described, does part of the trick. We need to be honest in our discussions about faith. But the other half of the work comes from the tradition of Rabbi Akiva. We need to change the way we think about the world. Both science and faith try to describe the world as it is. Rabbi Akiva explained the world as it could be.
On the thirty-third day of the counting of the Omer, the 18th day of the Hebrew month of Iyar, May 12th on the secular calendar, we celebrate the end of the terrible plague that decimated Rabbi Akiva’s academy, killing over 24,000 students. Our legend relates that the plague was a response to the behavior of the students who mistreated each other. This is rather shocking when one considers that the core of Rabbi Akiva’s teaching was that the commandment “Love your neighbor as yourself" is "a fundamental principle of the Torah."
This year, as we celebrate La”g ba-Omer, let’s look to Rabbi Akiva to imagine the world as it could be, not the way it is, so that we may embrace our Judaism, not “in spite of Hitler,” not just because it is ours, but because it provides us with something greater than science and faith. It provides us with the tools to imagine the world as it could be instead of settling for the status quo.

An Open Letter to Senator Durbin regarding waterboarding

2009-04-22T09:06:00.002-05:00

Dear Senator Durbin,

Yesterday we memorialized the victims of the Nazis. As a Jewish educator, I struggled with the purpose of memorializing since my job is to facilitate the process.
Some have taught that it is a commandment “to remember,” while other’s say that memory for its own sake is a waste of time and other resources. These people believe that memory must lead to hope and change.
I voted for the Democratic Party and President Obama, with his platform for change, but I want to be sure that change is synonymous with progress. Hitler was a change from the Weimar Republic, but he was anything but an improvement.
I share these thoughts with you in the context of what most occupied my thinking yesterday. What occupies my mind, and was magnified in the shadow of the memory of the Holocaust, is the torture perpetrated by American officials, paid with my tax dollars, in the water boarding stories which fill our nations newspapers and broadcasts.
Those who remember strictly because of the loss during the Holocaust, and those who remember because memory can be a catalyst for progressive action, would both agree that we ought never become like those who victimized us.
On this Holocaust Memorial Day, many people rightfully thought of, and were called to action about, the genocide in Darfur. As my teacher, Rabbi David Wolpe taught, the greatest tragedy of the 20th century was not the Nazi Holocaust, it was the Cambodian holocaust which followed because the world was clearly aware of the atrocities human beings are capable of, and they still did not intervene.
This Yom HaShoah, the greater evil is the water boarding because we Americans perpetrated it, collectively, and not enough of us individuals took part in stopping it. Now that it is over, there remains a small window for justice.
In the Talmud, we learn that the world and strict justice could not co-exist. We had to relent if we wanted a world. We needed to give up strict justice. The same applies now. We desire justice, but it is complicated. Did the individual perpetrators follow our laws? Did the law makers act ethically? Did we put our own security needs over the human rights of the victims?
I understand that there is a difference between laws and ethics, and that it is not only about enforcement. As my legislator, I hope and trust that you will legislate to the highest moral standards.
In the aftermath of the torture American officials perpetrated against their victims, I hope you will legislate with the most common phrase associated with the Holocaust; “Never again!” Senator Durbin, you have the power to legislate in such a way as to memorialize our temporary fall from human civility and to assure that we do not let ourselves stray again. This should be your charge as you work through the process of investigation and consequence in this misguided epoch in our American history. Please turn this memory into politics and laws that assure American and human decency. Your righteous leadership can make “never again” work for all of humanity.

Most sincerely,

David Steiner

Talking to walls

2009-04-19T22:12:00.002-05:00

I am becoming more and more convinced that we, Israelis and Palestinians, need to develop skills and capacities to end the conflict between our nations. I wrote about this extensively in my dissertation, and I experienced it, once again, last night in the synagogue where I work when we held an educational program to hear Palestinian voices about the conflict.
What I heard last night, I have heard a thousand times. Palestinian grievances are real and legitimate. On the other hand, as I have heard over and over, the assessment of “the other” was way off target. I am the other. I should know.
When I say I am the other, I realize that this is not exactly true. I am not a Palestinian, nor a Muslim, nor a Christian. I am just one of 13 million Jews and one of both six million American Jews and six million Israelis, although I understand that that means I am being counted twice. But I do hold dual citizenship and have a hyphenated “Jewish” attached to each nationality. As one of 13 million, my opinion is not necessarily the definitive opinion of my people, but I think that in this case I am not in the minority.
The assessment I heard is that we are obsessed with occupying the Palestinians. This claim accompanied many descriptions of the tragedy occupation can mean for both sides. The Palestinians are constantly humiliated, their basic human rights denied and they live without sovereignty in their homeland. For Israelis, the occupation means sending our young people to the army for three of the most transformative years of their lives, dedicating a lion’s share of our GDP to defense and not having resources for dealing with other significant social and religious issues in our state. It also means living as oppressors. In order to occupy the West Bank without giving human and political rights to the Palestinians in the territory, we become oppressors.
I am certain that there are numerous inaccurate assessments of the Palestinians on our part. I think it would be most fair to have them qualify those instead of me saying what their nation is on their behalf, but it would also be perfectly fair for me to articulate for them what they get wrong when they assess us, even if there really is no concrete, reified perspective that represents all Jews or Israelis.
So what do they get wrong about us and how does it affect the discourse between our nations? In a nutshell, they believe that we want to be occupiers, and I believe that this is far from the truth for the majority of the Jewish people.
And now, I will make a risky generalization. I think this assumption about the Jews/Israelis wanting an occupation is a majority opinion among Palestinians. For instance, yesterday I read an article in HaAretz by Kobi Ben-Simhon (http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1078849.html) , about Dr. Zvi Sela, a former senior police officer and a psychological consultant, who at one point in his career, “held two-hour weekly meetings over a three-year period with Sheikh Ahmed Yassin when the Hamas founder was incarcerated in Israel.” In the article Sela says, “I always told him, 'Stop blowing up buses, stop murdering women and children.' [Yassin] replied: 'Tzvika, listen, we [Palestinians] had good teachers: You [Israelis] established a state thanks to your military power. The dead I take from you are for the sake of establishing a state, but you are killing women and children for the sake of the occupation. You already have a state. You are dirty and hypocritical. I have no interest in destroying you - all I want is a state."
In essence, people all over the Palestinian spectrum, from the murderous Sheik Yassin, founder of Hamas, to the very nice Palestinian presenters last night, believe that we want to occupy the West Bank, and I say this is far from the truth, and I think I speak for the majority.
It is quite possible that many of us wish there were no “Others” living in the Land of Israel. Even the very liberal Yossi Sarid, former leader of the Meretz party, in inappropriate explicative, said in a moment of lapsed etiquette, that in his wet dream he wakes up in Israel to find that there are no Palestinians. But then there are less liberal, more mainstream people like my brother in law who say that they value the Palestinians living within Israel because of the enormous intellectual and cultural cache they bring to the state. So, clearly, we Jews are not monolithic about whether we want the Palestinians around or not.
Then there are the religious issues. Was the land promised by God to our forebears and is this a deed on the property? But this argument is only held by a minority of people on both sides. My rabbi says that it would be very consistent to say that we believe that the land was promised to us and to still believe that there are heavenly realities coexisting alongside earthly realities. In other words, God may have promised it to us, but there are also facts on the ground.
And then there is the issue of demographics which I take partial blame for promulgating as a member of Peace Now which has made this argument for 30 some years. The demographic argument says that Israel has to choose two of three options; democracy, Jewish character and greater Israel - meaning Israel from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea. At the inception of this argument, we in Peace Now tried to say that we cannot be a democratic state with a Jewish majority and occupy the territories because we would have to choose between democracy and a Jewish majority. In today’s reality, this argument sounds racist to anyone who is not Jewish, but this is part of understanding my otherness. We Jews are guided by a collective ethos that claims, “All Israel is responsible for each other.” If we want a democratic state, we must give away land and its Palestinian inhabitants in order to remain a Jewish democracy. I don’t love this argument because it separates democracy from Judaism. In the Talmud, the rabbis argued that democracy was willed for us by God. It is a Jewish value.
All of this leads me to stand very firmly on my premise that we Jews are not interested in occupying the territories at the expense of our Jewishness. Of course, this leads to another problem. Some could conclude that democracy is simply procedural and that we could have democracy among Jews if we transfer the Palestinians from our land. This is a sick, inhumane, not-Jewish argument. If protecting Judaism meant seriously violating the basic human rights of another people, then I would not be in favor of protecting Judaism. We are not talking about fighting Nazis here. We are talking about two people who have claims to a common homeland. But Nazis are very relevant.
While we do not want to occupy the Palestinians, the Nazis have taught us a lot about the world that makes it hard for us to just give over land to our neighbors. What Palestinians, and probably most of the world, do not understand is that we live with the Holocaust on our skins. This is not academic or theoretical. The speaker last night gave lip service to our pain and fears. Many Palestinians do, though not enough. But having the genocide of so many of our people, in the manner that we experienced it, is not something we can escape. We are very motivated by our worst fears. Some have called the Israeli nuclear program the Samson option, a reference to the biblical Samson bringing down the temple with his own destruction. This is not so far from the truth. The Holocaust has made survival a core principle for Jews. At times, I believe it has become more important than our fundamental beliefs as a nation and religion. If there is one thing that unifies all Jews, it is the anti-Semite. For him, we are all the same and need to be exterminated. This is not the simpler past where Jews were the people who failed to understand that Jesus or Mohammad received the most recent revelation from God. The Nazi Holocaust proved to us that anti-Semitism is alive and well and not just concerned with our beliefs. They hate us because of our blood. And they are capable of killing millions of us without the world putting up much of a fuss.
So, my big epiphany is not so grand or new at all. Let others speak for themselves and listen and respond appropriately. This is the skill. These are the capacities we need to develop in order to find reconciliation. What I hear you, Palestinians, saying is that you want autonomy in part of our common land. Although, there are some/many of you who openly declare your will to autonomy in all the land.
What we want is a place where we can assure our future independent of the world because we don’t trust that anyone will do this for us. Not all of us want to live in that place. Some want it just to exist in case we need it. But all of us want to know that it exists in security.
When both of our sides develop the skills to listen to each other and the capacities to think constructively about achieving our goals, then the reconciliation will begin. In my humble assessment, currently we are just talking to walls.

Passover 5769

2009-04-14T18:35:00.002-05:00

Four sons
Four questions
Answers that aren’t satisfying
Dayeinu?
Four dead friends
A God who can't stop cancer
Who let my friend die from a muggers bullet
Who left me with four big holes in my heart
And tear ducts that aren’t given a chance to shut
Dayeinu?
My teacher says that “the Haggadah is the product of a people hungry for God’s active intervention in history, yet compelled to focus this hunger not on their own experiences but on the vivid memory of past biblical events.”
Dayeinu?
I just want my friends back

An Open Letter to President Obama about Education

2009-03-23T15:13:00.004-05:00

Dear President Obama,

I am the Director of Education in a Reform Synagogue in Highland Park, Illinois. This is the congregation where our dear friend and rabbi, Arnold Wolfe, worked nearly 50 years ago. I am also a rabbinical student. I read your March 10th speech about education with great sadness and I want to share the reasons for my disappointment.

Early on you say, “In a 21st-century world where jobs can be shipped wherever there's an Internet connection, where a child born in Dallas is now competing with a child in New Delhi, where your best job qualification is not what you do, but what you know -- education is no longer just a pathway to opportunity and success, it's a prerequisite for success.”

In this quote, you limit the objectives of education to “success,” but the hidden understanding of this word is financial success. In other words, the goal of education is financial self-enrichment and it is achieved through competition. In Judaism, we work to learn about God and ethics, which is the deeper meaning behind our saying, “Without bread (flour) there is no Torah.” A successful Jew is one who finds balance between work and study in order to serve God and be Her partner in Tikkun, perfecting the world. We also do this work in study partnerships called Chevruta so we can benefit from our classmates progress, not compete against them.

Additionally, I have a secular response to the problem you create by making the objective of education a financial reward. For a couple years, I volunteered in the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center. The students I worked with were mostly concerned with the same rewards you offer as a result of education. They wanted to make money. Education, for most of them, was a slow form of delayed gratification with numerous extraneous challenges. They had to learn to read, to write, to come to class and to do homework afterwards. They had to wait 12 years through school, not have money for college and possibly discover the glass ceiling created by the color of their skin. Most of my students were impatient, didn’t get the encouragement to reach the goals you wave before them, and decided to take short cuts. They sold drugs, committed petty crimes and basically went after your rewards in their own convoluted ways.

My point in sharing this is to discourage you from waving the financial success banner. Talk about great scholars who contributed to science, philosophy or law. Make education the road to a more ethical and culturally vibrant society, and I am with you. But if it’s all about money and competitiveness, I can offer you much fast paths, as my juvenile delinquent students taught me.

Mr. President, my disappointment from your speech subsided when I read, “The relative decline of American education is untenable for our economy, it's unsustainable for our democracy.” You are absolutely correct when you say that we need to improve American education to sustain this great democracy, but what education are you speaking about?

You say, “It's time to prepare every child, everywhere in America, to out-compete any worker, anywhere in the world. It's time to give all Americans a complete and competitive education from the cradle up through a career.” I say that a career isn’t enough.

The leaders of Enron and AIG studied in the best colleges our country has to offer. They were trained by our best mathematicians and economists. What has that helped the American people?

A principle of a public school who had survived the atrocities of the Holocaust once wrote this letter to each member of his faculty.

Dear Teacher:
I am a survivor of a concentration camp. My eyes saw what no man should witness:
Gas Chambers built by learned engineers.
Children poisoned by educated physicians.
Infants killed by trained nurses.
Women and babies shot and burned by high school and college graduates.
So I am suspicious of education.
My request is: Help your students become human. Your efforts must never produce learned monsters, skilled psychopaths, educated Eichmans.
Reading, writing and arithmetic are important only if they serve to make our children more human.

I implore you to consider these important words as you speak about America’s education system. So far I have heard something far different. For you, “This isn't just about keeping an eye on our children, it's about educating them. Studies show that children in early childhood education programs are more likely to score higher in reading and math, more likely to graduate from high school and attend college, more likely to hold a job, and more likely to earn more in that job.” Earning is not all there is to education.

Let me close with a brief story from the Talmud. Rabbi Meir was said to be the greatest rabbi of his generation, yet when he came to study with Rabbi Akiva he couldn’t understand what he was learning. Rabbi Akiva, maybe the greatest rabbi of all time, could make a case that what is pure is impure and what is impure is pure. In other words, he could see all sides of an argument. In order to be able to study with Rabbi Akiva, Rabbi Meir went to study with Rabbi Yishmael where he completed all his remedial lessons. Only after this was he able to come back to Rabbi Akiva and study seriously – with wisdom and moral reasoning, what we refer to as Svara.

When Rashi, our great illuminator of sacred text explains the words “with wisdom and moral reasoning,” he says that Rabbi Meir could now stand on the core of a text and reason why something could be pure or impure, forbidden or prohibited, and on what authority that reasoning stands. He could find the things within the words and when something new would arise he could find a way to apply it within the moral authority.”

For me, this is the key to education, and as long as the American people are focused on reading and writing skills, measurement and accountability, we will miss “the thing within the words” and the moral authority that guides great nations.

I’m on your side President Obama, and I have great faith in your svara and ability to get things done. Please take my comments into consideration as you go forward.

Sincerely,

David Steiner