Deviled Eggs and Transition

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In memory of my mother, Nelle Frisch and in honor of Representative Sean Casten.

I want to tell you a story about deviled eggs. It begins to answer a question that Congressman Sean Casten asked of an interfaith panel last night, the night before the inauguration. How did we get here? How is it possible that the Congress was attacked, some would say stormed, by people who used Christian symbols to make their point. The panel was comprised of three Wheaton College professors, Evangelical Christians, a retired Anglican bishop, a Reform rabbi and an immam. But this is not a joke. 

The esteemed panel was quite literate and articulate and deeply pained. How could these symbols of their faith be so misused? How could Jesus’s name be used in vain? How could the hallowed halls of the US Capitol be desecrated? 

How did we get here? When my mother died (on the night Obama was elected), we wanted to make sure that there were deviled eggs at the shiva. We had them at every Fourth of July parade. They are a staple of midwestern Americana. And they are a symbol of life. It is traditional to eat a hard boiled egg when returning from a Jewish funeral. A hard boiled egg was my father’s last food. We make them for lots of shiva minyans. It just felt right. But we couldn’t reach the woman who usually did them for the 4th of July so we hired my mother’s housekeeper. She refused. She wouldn’t make deviled eggs. But she would make what she would call “Angel Eggs” (same recipe). She did. Then someone else hired her to cater an inauguration party for Obama. They wanted deviled eggs. She refused. She called them Obama eggs because he was the devil.  

Those eggs became a symbol to me. Calling Obama the devil is part of how we got here. But the roots go back much further. When I was a young Hebrew School principal I trained with Facing History and Ourselves, a Holocaust curriculum that works on the idea of being an Upstander not a Bystander, I learned some of the scary history of white supremacy in this country. White supremacy is not new. It is based in a fear that “others” would replace the dominant white, male Christian culture in this country. We have seen that fear in the people who chanted, “Jews will not replace us.” in Charlottesville in 2017.   We have seen that fear in media interviews with people who worry that there will not be jobs for them, that there is no path for the next generation for success. That fear has turned to anger. That anger spilled over.  

With a change in leadership, liminal time, may come more fear and anger. As we discussed last night G-d is a G-d of rachamim, mercy or compassion, and chesed, lovingkindness, G-d is “erech apayim”, slow to anger. And patient. In the story of the Golden Calf, which leads to a recitation of the 13 Attributes of the Divine, the people are scared. Where is their leader? He’s been gone for days, eventually 40 days. They beg Aaron, build us a Golden Calf and he does. In fact, in later Jewish commentators, we are told, “Be like Aaron, loving peace and pursuing it.” (Pirke Avot 1:12) In fact, the full quote: HIllel and Shammai received the oral tradition from them. “Hillel used to used to say: be the disciples of Aaron loving peace and pursing peace.” Hillel and Shammai who argued all the time. Hillel and Shammai who never saw eye to eye in this same verse. Eventually we are told by a bat kol, a divine voice, that both Hillel and Shammai are the words of the living G-d. 

In fact, the roots of that “supremacy” goes all the way back to the earliest days of this country. When Simon and I used to do colonial re-enacting in Chelmsford, not far from where the ‘shot was heard round the world” or where the chests of tea were thrown into the Boston Harbor, we learned that only white, male Christian landowners could vote. We were none of those things.  

We hear frequently that this is a Christian nation, founded on Christian values. If you studied Native American history that pre-dates the United States, you’d be convinced. If you read the Puritan writings, which I have extensively, including the Hebrew marginalia in Governor William Bradford’s own Bible, which I held in my own hands, you might conclude it was. If you read why Roger Williams was kicked out of Massachusetts Bay Colony and then founded Rhode Island, you might think we were not so welcoming. 

The history after the Civil War is not a pretty part of our history. The arguments that southern land owners could have slaves because there were Israelite slaves in the Bible ring hollow. The use of the Confederate battle flag continues to sow hatredSome of that is crumbling. The New Jim Crow and how we handle mass incarceration, and police brutality has led to other real fear and anger. The book Caste does a good job of outlining painful history 

Last night I was supposed to be at a congregational book group, discussing another book, The Jews Should Keep Quiet, outlining a painful history between Rabbi Stephen Wise and President Franklin D. Roosevelt. As the fate of the Jewish community was on the line, over and over again, Wise urged the Jewish community to remain silent, to not rock the boat. Roosevelt would make promises but did little action.  That repeated inaction is directly responsible for the murder of many Jews in Europe. That inaction leads us again to this moment. 

Rereading Letter from a Birmingham Jail for Martin Luther King Day, I am painfully aware of his indictment of the white clergy friends. “I felt that white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be some of our strongest allies. Insteadsome have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of stained glass windows. 

There is that silence again. Yet, like as Mordecai told Esther, “For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14) Perhaps we are all at this very moment for such a time as this. It was that very sentence that I was thinking about when I was in Washington DC with American Jewish World Service to lobby for IVAWA, the International Violence Against Women Act. I looked up and saw the Capitol and knew just how far I had come as an American, as a Jew, a woman and a rabbi, speaking truth to power. It is a unique privileged we have in this country and one we must use in order to reclaim our own voice and to make the halls of Congress sacred again.  

After Charlottesville and then again after the massacre in Pittsburgh at the Tree of Life Synagogue, I was part of organizing events in Elgin. There were many people who spoke. One of the most powerful was Rev. Jeff Mikyska, who spoke as a white Christian male. He expressed his righteous indignation. His anger. He urged us to continue to speak out. To have our actions match our words. To root out racism and anti-semitism wherever they are found. I applaud Representative Casten and the members of last night’s panel for really wrestling this most important topic.  

And yet…the Statue of Liberty still stands in New York Harbor, its base inscribed with a poem written by an American Jewish woman, Emma LazarusI grew up believing I belonged in America. I was part of the American dream, founded on democracy. I was a Girl Scout during the US Bicentennial and a girl from Grand Rapids when President Ford was the sitting president. If the president came to town and the Girl Scout Council needed diversity, it was I.  

And yet…the US Congress and our democracy still stands. It is our sacred duty to guard it. It is our sacred duty to reclaim our sacred symbols. It is our job to speak out…wherever and whenever injustice rises.  When the leadership passed from Moses to Joshua, both G-d and Moses told Joshua, “chazak v’emetzBe strong and of good courage. Be strong and resolute.” This is a good message in our liminal time. I’m in. Hineini. Here I am.  

But first, pass me the deviled eggs.  

Earlier this week, I wrote this: I was asked to write a poem/prayer for the inauguration. Jews have been praying for their country since Jeremiah’s day. Every week we pray for our country. Here is mine tonight:

Every four years
We pray
And we vote.
We vote
And we pray.
Every four years
Before the cherry blossoms emerge
We pause
We reflect
We stand
We hope
We hope that
America can be
A light to the nations
A light on the hill
The city on the hill
A shining city
That John Winthrop preached about
That Kennedy dreamed about
And Reagan spoke about
Not black or white
Rich or poor
Jew or Christian
And not Hindu, Muslim or Buddhist either
Not Liberal or Conservative
Democrat or Republican.
Simply this:
American
Once again a force for good
Throughout our cities
Our nation
And throughout the world
Doing justly
Loving mercy
Walking humbly
Feeding the hungry
Housing the homeless
Curing the sick
Welcoming the downtrodden
Being all that we can be
All that we hoped for
One nation, under G-d
Indivisible
With liberty and justice for all.
All means all.
Beginning again.
Today.
We voted
Now we pray.
Tomorrow, then,
Tomorrow we do.

Kindness or Civil Disobedience: Sh’mot 5781

Hinini, here I am. Fully present. And yet, like Moses I have no words to share with you this morning. Where is Aaron, the peacemaker to speak for me? Pirke Avot teaches that we should be like the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursing peace. And yet, when Aaron’s own sons were killed, he remained silent. I cannot remain silent. May the words of my mouth (as imperfect as they are) and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You.

Many of us watched in horror as events unfolded in Washington on Wednesday. The Capitol, the hallowed grounds of our legislature, our very democracy, was breached. I have stood in that rotunda, awestruck. It is American holy ground, just as we read about Moses standing on holy ground in today’s portion. I cannot imagine being a civil servant, an elected official or even the esteemed Capitol Police and Secret Service. They must have been terrified. For their very lives.

Having lived in Israel, the images were too reminiscent of terror I had seen first hand, and second hand and I wanted to look away. I wanted to dive under the covers and not come up for air. I knew that was not an option. I knew that history was being made, for better or worse, and only history will be able to decide which. So, as painful as it was, I knew I must watch. This was a moment, like the assignation of Kennedy or 9/11 that cannot be ignored. And my cell phone was beginning to light up. Constantly. Text messages, emails, phone calls, everybody was watching. Some were angry. Some were fearful. And just wanted my comfort. Please tell me this is all going to be OK. That’s what leaders do. Offer comfort and reassurance. Sadly, I cannot do that. Some of that is for other leaders to do. However, what I can do is teach Torah. And so that is what we are going to do this morning.

Let’s look at this morning’s portion. It is one of the most important portions in the Torah. It begins by paralleling the beginning of Genesis in some important ways we looked at during Torah Study this week and it begins to birth a nation. I own a book called “The Birth of Nation”, by Arthur Schlesinger about the days before American Independence. I can tell you, as an American Studies major, there are many lenses to tell the story of the founding of the United States, just like there are many lenses through which to study Torah.

One of my professors, Rabbi Dr. Nehemia Polen, likened the Book of Leviticus to a reset button. It is.a recipe of how to draw close to G-d. Any many of the same elements exist in the Book of Exodus as well. He would explain ritual this way. The Torah commands sacrifices, one in the morning and one in the evening as a way to draw close. He likens it to the prescription meds some of us take, one in the morning and one at night. He then would talk about one of the most important moments after 9/11. The Wall Street Journal managed to get out a morning edition. It was their ritual. When all the world was crumbling, it was their back to work. Not a whole lot different than what we saw Congress do on Wednesday night. Back to work. To do the people’s business in those hallowed halls.

We Jews are good at various lenses. The whole Talmud is a collection of different opinions about what the Torah says. The rabbis argue back and forth and that is encouraged. What isn’t encouraged is violence.

At the beginning of the parsha, a new pharaoh arose in Egypt who knew not Joseph. It had been some 400 years. Can we look at this portion through Pharaoh’s eyes? Perhaps. It seems he was afraid that the Israelites would outnumber the Egyptians, that they might unite with the Egyptian enemies to destroy Egypt, that there might not be enough food to go around. Pretty frightening. So he orders that all the baby boys be killed. Also pretty frightening. Imagine being a mother about to give birth! Shifrah and Puah, two midwives, stand up and prevent that from happening. They defied a direct order. Remember their names. Shifrah and Puah. They played what we might consider a bit part but they helped birth a nation. Shifrah and Puah.

These midwives are described in the Torah as yorah Elohim – women who fear god. The Torah tells us that people who fear God are those who uphold and take seriously ethical, moral behavior. According to the great Biblical scholar Dr. Nachum Sarna, “Their defiance of tyranny constitutes history’s first recorded act of civil disobedience in defense of a moral imperative.”

Henry David Thoreau argued passionately for civil disobedience in his essay by the same name. He felt that there were times that government did more harm than good, and that included democracies. His short essay is often published together with Dr. Martin Luther King’s essay, Letter from a Birmingham Jail. However, while civil disobedience may be called for, in both King’s case and Thoreau’s case, it involved non-violent protests. Things like not paying your taxes.

Rabbi Ari Hart, in one of the most masterful sermons I read this week, (and this week I read and heard lots and lots of sermons!) compares the actions of Shifrah and Puah to the actions of the senate aides who did not turn aside. They saw the ballot boxes holding the electoral college returns. They scooped up them up and calmly ushered them and themselves out the Senate chambers. I am not sure I would have had that much foresight or courage. Four congressional staff members saw the ballot boxes, and the keys to our democracy.

Later in the portion, Moses, himself looks aside:

“Some time after that, when Moses had grown up, he went out to his kinsfolk and witnessed their labors. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his kinsmen. He turned this way and that and, seeing no one about, he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand.”

Why does he choose to act then? When he knows no one is watching—or when he knows he is the only one present who can act? How we look at this story is about how we perceive truth.

There was another time I wanted to turn aside. When I was president of the Greater Lowell Leadership Alliance, I had to make a statement to the press about the movie, The Passion of the Christ, a very bloody, awful Mel Gibson movie with some anti-semetic tropes. My friend, the Rev Larry Zimmerman and I went together on tickets provided by the Catholic Archdiocese of Boston. Afterwards, we sat in silence in his van for a long time. For like a half an hour. Imagine me quiet for a half an hour! Finally he broke the silence. “I understand the Holocaust. It was a mob mentality. Once the mob started it was impossible to stop. Sadly.” The people that watched Jesus and the thieves being taken to his death, not only looked aside, they joined in on egging it on. It was impossible to stop. The lies that the leaders had portrayed over and over again had contributed to what had happened. The Holocaust, as Rev Zimmerman had suggested, had similar roots. Lies, propaganda, fear all contributed to what became Kristalnacht and then even worse. I had a different take. It was the best argument against capital punishment I had ever seen. (But that is a sermon for another time!)

Still later, Moses sees a burning bush, a bush that is unconsumed. And he realizes that this is a special moment, a holy moment. This time, he turns aside to look. He doesn’t ignore it. The midrash tells us that other people walked by the bush and didn’t act. He takes off his shoes. He knows he is standing on holy ground. On Wednesday night, between congressional votes, a congressman was on his hands and knees cleaning the floor of the rotunda. Why? Because it is holy ground.

The midrash teaches: “Why did the Holy One see fit to speak to Moses from within a thorn-bush? If it had been a carob tree or a sycamore tree, would you not have asked the same question. However, to send you away you without any answer is not possible, [so] why from within a thorn-bush? To teach you that there is no empty place devoid of the Shechinah, not even a [lowly] thorn-bush.”

Moses is a reluctant leader. He doesn’t want to do this, go back to Egypt and speak truth to power. He needs reassurance that he is not alone. So, G-d provides him with Aaron to be his mouthpiece and assures him that G-d himself will go with him. G-d provides Moses with G-d’s own name. “Eyeh asher eyeh”—very difficult to translate, something like “I will be what I will be.” G-d is all encompassing and forward thinking. G-d is everything.

Moses is a humble leader. Like the lowly bush, we are told over and over again, he is humble.

The parsha demands an answer. G-d calls to Moses, “Moses, Moses” and he answers “Hineini, I am here.” What does it mean to answer Hineini, to be fully present. To be able to see the burning bush. To feel with such passion that you feel called to do something. Midrash actually draws a linguistic connection between the “flame (lavah) of fire” of the burning bush and a heart (lev) of fire. Being called to do something is to have passion about it. To know that you cannot turn aside. It is something you must do. You must have heart.

Frederick Buechner teaches that “Vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” The world needs much these days. What then, are you called on to do? Where does your deep gladness meet the world’s greatest needs? That then is how you answer Hineini with your lives. That’s where you will find meaning. Whether you are Shiprah and Puah or four congregational staffers or “just” you. Each of us has a unique role to fill. Each of us is called to do something.

Moses answers Hineini. I am here. He is humble. He is reluctant. He doesn’t go it alone. And he doesn’t do it with violence. Don’t turn aside. Look into the fire. Find the fire. We will continue to look at Moses’s leadership over the next few weeks as the story continues to unfold. Because after all at the end of Deuteronomy, just before Moses dies, we are told that never again did there arise a leader like Moses. But each of us is a little like Moses. If we would be silent long enough to listen.

Cleanse our hearts: A Poem Prayer
In the middle of the night
Between votes
A lone congressman
Was on his hand and knees
Cleaning the rotunda.

What can we clean?

The words of my mouth
And the meditations of my heart.

Yet, my words fail.
When Dinah was attacked,
Jacob was silent.
When Aaron’s sons were killed
Aaron remained silent.
 
I cannot remain silent.
 
What must we clean?
Our prayers say
Cleanse our hearts
That we may serve You
In truth.

Help us to return to You.
Help us to remember
That
All are created in Your image
That
We must love our neighbors
As ourselves,
That
Violence is never the answer.

Help us to answer Your call
Just like to Moses
Hineini
Here am I

Fully present
Present
As I find again
Holy, sacred ground
Hallowed halls.
Help us to clean our hearts.