This weekend the congregation I serve, Congregation Kneseth Israel, celebrates its 120th anniversary. It was founded in 1892. It is hard to even type a date that old, and when we recently applied for credit for a building project, the website wouldn’t even accept that date. We had to use when the building was incorporated (1948!).

Clearly this is a milestone. From my perspective, it is not just that we survived for 120 years, a rarity in congregational life, but that we are thriving. I love history. I was an American Studies major at Tufts. One of my favorite courses was New England Religious Experience team taught by an English professor and a history professor. I loved holding Governor William Bradford’s Geneva (Britches) Bible in my very own hands. He wrote his marginalia in Hebrew. Looking at what he wrote gives us clues into his philosophy and the founding of Plimouth Plantation and our great nation.

I have enjoyed listening to our seniors tell stories of what the congregation was like when they were younger. I have enjoyed watching our students’ faces light up in recognition and respect as they taped these pillars of the community.

My job is different. My job is to take those stories and make them come alive so that those who come after them, and after me can find meaning and beauty in Judaism. My job is to plant seeds of growth and renewal so that the next generation can thrive. So that we can proudly say that we survived another 120 years. Can you even imagine what the Jewish community will look like in another 120 years. I got a glimpse recently when I attended the Chicago Board of Rabbis meeting and listened to Rabbi Kerry Olitzky. But that is another blog post at another time.

This past week I also celebrated a birthday. It was not a milestone year. But it was significant. It had been a year since I had first heard about this congregation in Elgin and filled out my application. I had it completed on my birthday. In that year I picked up my family and moved across the country, to a land that I sort of knew from my youth but not really. There are days it feels like my world has been turned upside down. Then there are the days where it feels so comfortable like I was always meant to be here doing exactly what I am doing.

I will be honest. I struggle with my birthday. Historically, some of them have been hard. Like the year my mother was in the hospital, the year the shuttle exploded with the Israeli astronaut onboard and the year my mother called to tell me that Yuval had been killed. Those were bad years. They overshadow the other ones.

This year I paused to reflect. I realized that Rev. David Ferner was right. He loves Psalm 139 which talks about G-d knowing us in the womb. We are loved before we are born. Just because. Not because we have done anything. We are just loved and it is enough.

This week as part of our service we were graced with the Second Baptist Choir. They came to sing. They came to kick off Black History Month. They came to enrich our worship experience and yes…we rocked the house. But somewhere in the middle of the service, in the very middle of the Amidah, the standing prayer, the central portion of our service, I had a religious experience, a spiritual moment. I looked down from what I was chanting and I saw the English. “Your love sustains the living.” That was exactly what I needed to hear. That was my birthday gift.

So my message to those of you who are celebrating milestone anniversaries and big birthdays. Yes, we survived. Yes, we can thrive. But more than that. We are loved. And that is enough. That is what we must teach the next generation.

“Prayer is our humble answer to the inconceivable surprise of living.” Abraham Joshua Heschel
This weekend we mark two things, the birthday of Martin Luther King jr and the yahrzeit of Abraham Joshua Heschel. Forever linked in a famous photo, these two men linked arm and arm to make the world a better place. They shared a common vision born out of their different yet similar backgrounds. Heschel, a European Jew who escaped Poland prior to the Holocaust and became one of the most prominent rabbis of the 20th century, knew oppression first hand. These two men from different geographies, color, creed, theological background were joined in a spiritual kinship whose legacy addresses our own times.
This weekend we also read the story of Moses going to Pharaoh to plead to let the Israelites go. We read about the plague of darkness and the plague of the killing of the first born. This is a story, common to both traditions. What about the story of the Israelites in Egypt becoming free was so powerful for the African Americans? What is the common history that we share? What was the role that Jews played in the Civil Rights Movement? Does it still matter today?
Last week we talked about what hardened Pharaoh’s heart. Is it possible as the story suggests that God hardened Pharaoh’s heart? What about free will? What about repentance and t’shuvah? Doesn’t everyone have a chance to return to God, to righteous living? I am still not entirely comfortable with the answer that God gave Pharaoh five chances and Pharaoh hardened his own heart. If you keep choosing evil, then at some point you cannot choose good. What about the innocent Egyptians? They could not escape the plagues. Except for darkness. They could have chosen to light a candle and did not.
King and Heschel were friends. Heschel spoke in Selma, at the March on Washington. King was the keynote speaker at Rabbinical Assembly at the Concord Hotel. At Corretta Scott King’s request, Heschel then became the rabbi at King’s funeral. Their friendship ran deep. They shared a dream and deep commitment to making the world a better place for all.
When I lived in Evanston in the sixties and seventies I was a child. But my Shabbat mornings were filled with going to peace rallies, working on political campaigns and debating the issues of the day. My mother was fond of saying that “We lived in Evanston, the only place where busing worked.” I had black friends, friends from India, and my very best friend, Mika Baba, was from Japan. She spoke not a word of English. Somehow we all got along. My mother’s college, Western College for Women, now a part of Miami of Ohio, housed and helped train the Freedom Riders in the summer of 1963. There is an amplitheater at the college dedicated to that fateful summer.
When I was first working as a Jewish professional I worked at Temple Emanuel of the Merrimack Valley where Rabbi Everett Gendler was the rabbi. We knew he had been instrumental in the civil rights movement. The kids in the school thought he got his pronounced hole in his head from a rock thrown at him. He marched with King and Heschel. He was responsible for inviting King to speak to the rabbinical assembly. Recently Dr. Howard Rashba produced a documentary about Rabbi Gendler’s role. It is an important first hand account and for me a walk down memory lane. Howie intersperses Everett and Mary’s own words with photos and film clips of the time and the music that was so important in its day and continues to resonate today. Other friends of ours from TEMV were there at the March on Washington, notably Alyn and Nancy Rovin.
But what about King and Heschel? Susannah Heschel, Heschel’s daughter, a scholar in her own right and the person behind the story of the orange on the seder plate, talked about the relationship between King and Heschel in their own words. Heschel wrote to King shortly after the March in Selma, saying, “The day we marched together out of Selma was a day of sanctification. That day I hope will never be past to me – that day will continue to be this day…. May I add that I have rarely in my life been privileged to hear a sermon as glorious as the one you delivered at the service in Selma prior to the march.”
Susannah continued, “For Heschel, the march had spiritual significance. He wrote, “For many of us the march from Selma to Montgomery was about protest and prayer. Legs are not lips and walking is not kneeling. And yet our legs uttered songs. Even without words, our march was worship. I felt my legs were praying.”
This has become a famous quote, “I felt my legs were praying.” How do our legs pray? By doing the work of G-d, by being like G-d. We are commanded to feed the hungry, take care of the widow, the orphan and the stranger, not stand by idly while a neighbor bleeds. I believe that is what we were doing when I marched through Evanston, and Heschel, Gendler, Eisendrath and others joined with King. Heschel said, and we read it before the Amidah,
“Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” (Gates of Prayer, p. 152) For me, this becomes one of the central reasons to pray. On the other hand, we are mandated to water those fields, fix those broken bridges and rebuild our cities.
Heschel saw his participation as fitting squarely in the prophetic tradition of our people. Upon his return, Heschel described his experience in a diary entry: “I felt again what I have been thinking about for years – that Jewish religious institutions have again missed a great opportunity, namely, to interpret a civil-rights movement in terms of Judaism. The vast majority of Jews participating actively in it are totally unaware of what the movement means in terms of the prophetic traditions.” I would quibble with his about his last sentence. The Civil Rights Act was written and hammered out on the conference table of the Religious Action Center, Reform Judaism’s social justice advocacy group in Washington. Rabbi Maurice Eisendrath, president of the UAHC is the one photographed standing next to King holding a Torah. Nonetheless it is important to understand our obligation to work for social justice in these very terms—the clarion call to tikkun olam, repairing the world, is right out of our tradition.

For King and Heschel, there was no need to debate this. They saw the world through theological and political eyes. Susannah explained, “For each there was an emphatic stress on the dependence of the political on the spiritual, God on human society, the moral life on economic well-being. Indeed, there are numerous passages in their writings that might have been composed by either one. Consider, for example, Heschel’s words:

“The opposite of good is not evil, the opposite of good is indifference,” a conviction that he translated into a political commitment: “In a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.”

King writes, “To accept passively an unjust system is to cooperate with that system.” Not to act communicates “to the oppressor that his (sic) actions are morally right.” Social activism was required by religious faith, both Heschel and King argued, particularly when society had developed immoral institutional structures: “Your highest loyalty is to God and not to the mores, or folkways, the state or the nation, or any [hu]man-made institution.”
Both Heschel and King… spoke of God in similar terms, as deeply involved in the affairs of human history. Heschel developed a theology of what he termed “divine pathos” bearing the religious implication “that God can be intimately affected” and the political implication that “God is never neutral, never beyond good and evil.”
King remembered a time when both Heschel and King were here in Chicago, “I remember very well when we were in Chicago for the Conference on Religion and Race…to a great extent his speech inspired clergymen of all faiths to do something they had not done before.” At that conference Heschel had reminded the assembly that the first Conference on Religion and Race took place in Egypt where the main participants were Pharaoh and Moses. Moses’ words were: “Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, let My people go” and the Pharaoh retorted “Who is the Lord that I should heed this voice and let Israel go.” That summit meeting in Egypt has not come to an end. Pharaoh is still not ready to capitulate. The Exodus began, but we are still stranded in the desert. It was easier for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea than for men and women of different color to enter our institutions, our colleges, our universities, our neighborhoods.
Pirke Avot teaches us many things. Hillel said, In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” Both Heschel and King exemplified this.
It also teaches us that “Ours is not to finish the task, neither are we free to ignore it.” While the Civil Rights Movement was a pivotal moment in American History and Jews, including Heschel, Eisendrath and Everett Gendler played a leading role, the work is not yet finished. King understood that too. In the speech he made the night before he died he said, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life,” King says, pausing amid sporadic shouts from the crowd. “Longevity has its place,” he continues. “But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And he’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you,” he pauses, amid more shouts. “But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”
We have an obligation to continue to work for the day where Jew and Gentile can walk hand in hand. We have an obligation to continue King’s dream. “I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down, men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land … I still believe that we shall overcome.”
-Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Noble Prize Acceptance Speech, Dec. 10, 1965
That was King’s vision and it remains mine. So this weekend I will find ways to be involved. I may work on a Habitat for Humanity house or bring food and warm clothes to a shelter or serve a meal to the developmentally disabled. I will celebrate the second inauguration of President Barack Obama. I will hope for a day when the world is at peace and gun violence is no more. Where everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid. What will you do? How will your legs pray? Where will you light a candle against the darkness?

My congregation’s book group read an interesting book this month. The Color of Water by James McBride is his tribute to his “light-skinned mother” and her raising of 12 black children. It is touching, sometimes funny, and thought provoking. Ruth McBride Jordan got pregnant, escaped her abusive birth family, married a black man, started a church in her living room. She raised all of her children with the belief that God is the Color of Water. She raised her children to believe in the power of an education and the power of Jesus’s love. She, however, was the daughter of an Orthodox rabbi. She escaped pogroms in Poland. She moved to New York, New Jersey and eventually Suffolk Virginia where anti-semitism and racism were alive and well. Her father, the rabbi was cruel and sexually exploitive. Her mother was fragile and handicapped. Her aunts in New York were no real help and her sister thought Ruth had abandoned her.
While I cannot condone the kind of life her father created for her, nor would I want her to go back to them, the book made me sad. I wish someone in the Jewish community could have seen the pain Ruth (nee Ruchel Dwara Zlyska) had been in. I wish someone could have made Judaism come alive for her; that she could have found the beauty that I see in it, that I can find. I wish she could have known that Judaism offers a God of love (See Exodus 34:6-7). I am glad that she was a strong woman with a strength of character and a will to survive. I am glad that she was such a good mother to her 12 children helping them to excel and to reach high expectations, no matter what the obstacles were. I am glad she found comfort in the black community. The Jewish community failed her. That failure makes me sad.

In last week’s parsha, Shmot, the first section of Exodus, there is a phrase that stuck out. Jethro, Moses’s father-in-law says to Moses, “Lech l’shalom. Go in peace.”
This is a remarkable phrase for several reasons. A trip to Egypt would not necessarily be easy. Jethro knew that Moses might not return. And yet, he gave Moses his blessing. “Go in peace.”
Last week I attending a mincha-havdalah service led by a friend of mine, Rabbi Marc Rudolph. He reminded me that I had once set off a discussion at the Academy about this very phrase. A long time ago, Rabbi Everett Gendler taught me that one should sign correspondence with L’shalom, not B’shalom as many people do. When the head of the Academy, Rabbi Jeff Hoffman signed something “B’Shalom” I questioned it. No one seemed to know. I went back to Rabbi Gendler and asked if he remembered our previous discussion and what the difference between the phrases is. He answered that “B’shalom” is what you say when someone has died, like “rest in peace.” The nuanced difference here is that “L’shalom” is “Towards peace” or “To peace”. It expresses the hope that we will eventually find peace. I liked that difference and prepared to discuss it with my congregation Friday night. Then our president sent out an email signed “B’shalom” and I wondered how I was going to talk about this topic. I knew that in Shalom Aleichem we sing, “Bo’achem l’shalom” then, “Barchuni l’shalom”, and finally “Tzeitchem l’shalom.” Come in peace, bless us with peace, exit in peace. In Ufros Aleinu we say “Hashkivenu l’shalom.” Over and over again this is how the liturgy uses the phrase.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to weave this together. Then I led the davenning. The answer was right there. In Psalm 29 the last line is “Adonai will bless His people with peace.” “Adonai y’varech et amo vashalom.” That last word is really “b’shalom”. This entire phrase is repeated in the Torah service on Shabbat morning. And then in Lecha Dodi, we welcome the Shabbat bride and we sing, Boi v’shalom” Come in peace. It is not either/or. It is both/and. God will bless us WITH peace. Same phrase. Both phrases are liturgical and both phrases are correct. Sign your letters and emails either way. It is not wrong. I will probably still sign mine “L’shalom” because I still like the idea of working towards peace. I know I am not there yet personally. In the meantime, may we be blessed with peace. Speedily and in our day. B’shalom, L’shalom, Shalom. Amen.

This morning I got up early, as is my New Year’s morning custom, in time to watch the sky change from dark blue/black with a hint of orange on the horizon and the morning star shining brightly to the rose colored fingers of dawn to bright early morning sunlight. I remember driving to rabbinical school in New York at dawn and watching to be able to distinguish between blue and white and then the finer distinction between blue and green. At what point may one recite the morning Sh’ma? This is the question the Talmud begins with.

New Year’s Sunrise 2013, Elgin, IL

I watched that same progression this morning and standing outside with my new puppy Caleb I sang Modah Ani Lefanecha. I thank You for allowing me to wake up again this morning. Then I sang Ilu Filu. I especially like the translation written by Anita Diamant and recorded on the Mayyim Hayyim CD, Immersed:

If my mouth was filled with song
Like the ocean tide is strong
If my tongue could but give praise
Like the roaring of the waves

Chorus:
It would never, ever be enough
There could never, ever be enough
We will never ever say enough
To thank you, amen.
(last time – We thank you – amen)

Verse 2:
If my ears were tuned to hear 
The Heavenly music of the spheres
If my heart could rise and reach
Like the crashing on the beach   (Chorus)

Bridge:
So let us praise and let us shout
Breathing in and singing out
Hear the joyful noise of voices
Joined in song

For the gifts that came before us
And for all those yet to come
We thank you,
Amen.  (return to Verse 1)

And that is exactly the point. I stand here at the beginning of the new secular year, a year filled with possibilities and gifts. But it is true every morning. I am reminded of the Girl Scout grace, “G-d has created a new day. Silver and Green and Gold. Live that the sunset may find us, worthy G-d’s gifts to hold.”

A few years back, Sarah, Simon and I were hiking with our friend Charley. It hadn’t been a year since I had been in a serious car accident and it wasn’t clear that I could hike even that small New Hampshire mountain. Charley had been critical to my getting to the top of a mountain once before, not allowing me to give up. The view was too beautiful to miss. Charley, and Simon and Sarah wouldn’t let me give up this time either. As we neared the end of the hike, after seeing the breathtaking view, I said something like we should have brought champagne. Sarah said that since I was still alive and reasonably unscathed from the accident, I could open a bottle of champagne every day for the rest of my life if I so wanted.

I had learned an important lesson about champagne. When Simon and I first got engaged we told dear friends of ours. Nancy had been digging in the garden. She simply stood up and said, “Alyn, open the champagne.” And he did. From this I learned you should always have a bottle of champagne in the fridge. As I tell all my wedding couples, to celebrate the big moments, like a wedding or New Years, or the little moments day by day by day.

Sunrise on New Year’s Morning reminds me that the new year is filled with possibilities and hope. Every day offers the gift of a new beginning. Each day, a day filled with possibilities. Modah Ani Lefanecha, I thank You, that I am here still to experience that understanding. So now that the moon is shining through the window completing the first day of the new year, I pause in deep gratitude. Hinini. Here am I. Able to love and be loved. Able to offer thanks and praise. Worthy G-d’s gifts to hold.

Shabbat Vaychi

Friday night I spoke about blessings. We looked at the traditional Shabbat evening blessings for women, Eishet Chayil, a Woman of Valor, which we use as a personal check list in our house. One for men, a more recent addition which shows how liturgy changes over time. And the one for our children. The origin of that blessing comes from this week’s parsha, “May you be like Maneseh and Ephraim.” What does it mean that G-d blesses us? What does it mean for us to bless our children? What blessings do we wish for each other, for our community? For our children? How do we bless our children when they are adults or no longer live at home? What do we do if we, G-d forbid, lost a child? And who were Maneseh and Ephraim anyway? That was a good discussion.

They were the grandsons of Jacob, the sons of Joseph. Raised in Egypt, they looked and dressed like Egyptians. Cue Walk like an Egyptian here. So much so that Jacob didn’t even recognize them. However, having been separated from Joseph he was delighted to live to see both Joseph and his grandsons. And he blessed both his children and grandsons. That is precisely why we bless our sons in their names. May you be like Maneseh and Ephraim, able to carry on the line of Jacob. One of our congregants shared a midrash I ddin’t know, that this parsha is also the roots of the Sh’ma. Listen, old man Jacob, Israel, our father taught us that the Lord our G-d is One. This midrash enriched the kavanah of our recitation of the Sh’ma. We, fairly assimilated Jews in the Diaspora, witnessed, just like Manaseh and Ephraim that G-d is One.

Back to blessings. I love the moment in our house when we share these ancient words. They still resonate, even though Sarah is grown. It is a moment of much needed peace. In this modern world, sometimes this happens just before I light the candles and we sing the blessings together on the phone. Sometimes I add my own words to the ancient formula, as my mother used to do, calling it her Shabbat shpiel. I don’t have any sons. But I wonder why we bless our daughters with “May you be like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah”, our matriarchs, and our sons to be like the next generation. Why not a more parallel construction?
And while the ancient words come from this parsha, sometimes I wish Jacob had controlled his mouth better. Still playing favorites, Jacob blesses Benjamin telling him he as like a ravenous wolf. Huh? How is that a blessing? But it is exactly where our triennial reading began on Shabbat. . One congregant suggested that it is really Jacob being prophetic. Benjamin will be like a ravenous wolf. There was much discussion and I confess I am still not sure.
Rabbi Judith Edelstein wonders a similar thing in this week’s Academy for Jewish Religion D’var Torah. She says that Jacob’s words to his sons have always bothered her. She thinks they are mean-spirited. And she wonders whether we are to view his blessings as a paradigm to emulate or as a blueprint of how NOT to behave. And then the important question—how do we talk to our own adult children? Is honesty always the best policy or should we restrain ourselves, despite our insights and desire to advise or maybe control? Or our words for their benefit or ours? She remembers her own mother cursing her with the name mekhasheifeh, witch in Yiddish because of her long, unruly hair and then on her death bed saying “Your hair looks beautiful, my darling.” The last words her mother ever spoke. She said, “To this day, nearly 20 years later, I remember both: being called a mekhasheifeh, but finally told that my hair looked beautiful.”
Our words have the power to hurt or to heal. We need to be careful with our words, especially those to our children, all of our children.
But this portion is more. This portion is very end of Genesis. After we finish we will say together Chazak, Chazak v’nitchazak. Be strong, be strong and be strengthened. We have been strengthened by our study of these stories of Genesis and our people’s ancient past. We learned about the beauty of creation, how we are all created b’tzelim elohim, how G-d was frustrated with creation and its imperfections and told Noah to build an ark. A what? An ark. Say what? As Bill Cosby asked. We learned that G-d promised to never destroy the world again by flood and how we are partners with G-d in creation. We learned about Abraham and how he had a vision of the one G-d. How G-d called Abram to leave his country, the house of his father, birthplace, to go to the land that G-d would show him, how G-d would make him a great nation and bless him and those that bless him and make Abraham’s name great. We learned about the challenges that he faced and then each of his children. We learned that these are covenantal relationships, with God and with each others. In every generation God promises something and the children promise to be faithful in return.

Today’s story deals with the death of Jacob and Joseph. This narrative closes one chapter but points to the future. I received a “holiday card” in the mail with a smiling family and a daughter dressed in her academic gown. Forward it says. This portion points the way. Forward! It looks towards the next chapter which we will begin next week.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, in commenting on this portion, notes that Genesis, like the Tanach as a whole, “is a story without an ending which looks forward to an open future rather than reaching closure” (Covenant & Conversation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible, Genesis: The Book of Beginnings, New Milford, CT: Maggid Books and The Orthodox Union, 2009, p. 350). While this parsha ties up lots of loose ends, we are not at the end of the story, but the beginning of the next story, the birth of Israel as a people. There is a tension in Genesis, in fact in Judaism between the past and the future, between what was and what is yet to be. The covenant that God makes points us toward the future but that future also will include us being strangers in a strange land which we will later be implored to remember. 36 times it will tell us to treat the stranger well because we were slaves in Egypt. In what will foreshadow the upcoming Egypt experience, Abraham went down to Egypt. There he almost sells his wife Sarah into what could be called slavery.
This week we pause for another reason caught in the tension between what was and what will be. We celebrate secular New Year’s, called Sylvester in Hebrew, named for the pope who died on this day in the 4th century and what it was called in Germany and Poland in the Middle Ages. In Israel they barely celebrate at all. I am not going to argue whether we as American Jews should celebrate or not. I am not going to compare Rosh Hashanah and Sylvester. But I am going to suggest the idea of pausing, seeking forgiveness from family as Jacob did for burying Rachel on the road, exchanging blessings comes right from this week’s parsha.
Genesis twice takes us back to Haran, the land that Abraham came from. First to find a wife for Isaac and later when Jacob fled from Esau. But each time they return to the land of Israel. To the future. As Rabbi Sacks says, “Haran is the past to which we might return from time to time but where we can never remain.” Someone posted yesterday on my facebook, you can’t start the next chapter of your life if you are still rereading the last one. Except as Jews that is exactly what we do.
Each year we read this cycle again. But it is not really a circle. Each time we read these words we learn a little more, about our ancestors or about ourselves. Even the last word of this morning’s text, Mitzrayim, Egypt, points the way forward to Egypt, towards next week.
Rabbi Sacks points out that Judaism views time markedly differently from other cultures. We don’t see time as cyclical, characterized by endless repetition. We also do not see time—as it was viewed by many during the Enlightenment—as marked by inevitable progress.
Instead, Rabbi Sacks writes, Judaism believes in “covenantal time, the story of the human journey in response to the divine call, with all its backslidings and false turns, its regressions and failures, yet never doomed to tragic fate, always with the possibility of repentance and return, always sustained by the vision with which the story began, of the Promised Land…” (p. 353).
So what do we make of this confluence. The end of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus. The end of 2012 and the beginning of 2013. To quote John Lennon’s Christmas song, “So this is Christmas and what have you done. Another year over and a new one just begun.” Where do you want to be in a year? Where do you want this community to be? What new year’s resolutions do you want to make? How does a new year’s resolution, so often broken by mid-January compare with the introspection that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur demand?
Resolutions don’t work so well for me. I know what it is I need to work on. More Hebrew, losing more weight, getting more exercise. Like most of you my good intentions may fall by the wayside. Rather, on New Year’s Eve Day I will pause and look forward. What do I want to accomplish? What goals will I set? What can I look forward to each month? My list will include seeing sunrise on New Year’s Day morning, a trip to Orlando, helping my daughter find her way, either in Chicago or New York, celebrating our 25th anniversary, my installation as rabbi at Congregation Kneseth Israel, the continuation of firsts…each holiday, getting Illinois license plates in our new home, making new friends and keeping up with so many old ones, a trip back to northern Michigan this summer since we are so much closer! 2013 promises to be a good year.
For me, for all the Kleins you are a blessing, each one of you, a real blessing and we wish for each of you, health, happiness, prosperity, peace, joy, love. We look forward to celebrating with you, to studying with you, to sharing community with you. We will mourn with you—as the children of Israel did in this parsha for Jacob and Joseph. But please G-d not too many of those! As Debbie Friedman put it so well in her Tefilat Haderech, “May you be blessed as you go on your way. May you be guided in peace. May you be blessed with health and joy. May this be your blessing, Amen. May you be sheltered by the wings of peace. May you be kept in safety and in love. May grace and compassion find their way to every soul, May this be your blessing. Amen. May this be our blessing!
Then we read the Torah and the haftarah. And like the parsha was the roots of the Sh’ma, the roots of the V’ahavta can be seen in the haftarah. Our children our are blessings if we teach them diligently. We are supposed to have a party, a siyyum hasefer when we finish studying something. At Kiddush wee enjoyed a kosher champagne to mark Sylvester and Genesis beer to mark the end of Genesis. Forward! Kadima! Chazak, chazak v’nitchazak.

Caleb’s First Night at Home. Playing is Hard Work.

I am the new proud owner of a shelter dog. Caleb Klein is a 10 week old white lab-golden mix. He is named Caleb because it comes from the Hebrew word for dog, kelev (note the same root, k-l-b). It also means faithful and bold. Caleb in the Bible was one of the spies, who together with Joshua came back and reported that the land of Israel was a good land, a land flowing with milk and honey. My husband figured out the name. It is perfect.

I never thought I wanted a dog. However, my daughter has nagged for at least four years. Recently my cousins adopted two white labs, Tank and Fletch, in northern Michigan and I fell hopelessly in love, first with their facebook pictures and then the dogs themselves. Maybe this could be possible. We went to look at Tank and Fletch’s brother. We didn’t adopt him. This dog, Caleb, is sweet, quiet (even though a puppy), playful and adorable. I have fallen hopelessly in love.

This morning I was the first one up. Anxious to see how my puppy (OK, Sarah’s puppy) had done his first night in his new home. No messes in his crate. I took him outside. He did what he needed to. It was silent out. No wind. A crisp air. We watched the the morning star and the dawn together. It was magical.

He is endlessly fascinating (and distracting). I am already learning. I know. I know. These kinds of things have been written before. Watching life through his eyes, every minute is a shehechianu moment. First car ride. First walk in the snow. First experience with the crate. First blueberries and strawberries. (Really? Who feeds a dog blueberries? He loved them!)

1. If he makes a mistake it is OK–he is a puppy. Now can I translate to my humans who also sometimes make mistakes? So far his mistakes are easy to clean up.
2. He trusts me. He looks up at me with those big brown eyes and I melt. Can I learn to trust others the same way?
3. He is starting to understand basic commands. Good boy he gets. Not good does not work. It confuses him. No bite or no nip is better. Being direct is good.
4. He loves to play and have fun. Maybe I can learn to play too. Then he sleeps, safe and secure on my lap. Maybe I can learn to love like Caleb.

Who knew I could be a dog-lover? Who knew every time I would try to type dog I would type god and have to correct?
May each of you find someone to love, a dog, a person, G-d, who loves you back just for being you. May you faithful and bold. May you find a land flowing with milk and honey.

Today was my favorite Shabbat of the year. Because it is the longest. Because it is the darkest. Because on this day we can really rest. We don’t have anything else we have to do and we can enjoy its beauty. Just because we can. Havdalah which separates Shabbat from the rest of the week, holiness from profane, from light and darkness will be especially sweet against the dark night sky. The moon is small, but growing, the days start becoming longer, but today is the shortest day of the year. The stars, planets and even the meteors have been lighting the night sky, providing an antidote from our neighbors’ beautiful, warm and welcoming Christmas lights. G-d’s own natural display of light, providing a wow factor, awe and wonder. But the Havdalah prayer “separates”, one more thing, Jews from the rest of the world. Sometimes these words makes me uncomfortable.

We are not alone in marking this time of the year. Whether it is the winter soltise or Chanukah or Dewali or Kwanza, there is something for everyone one. You might not be aware of this but….Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat. Hopefully not this rabbi but one more cookie could do it. Perhaps this is not a usual topic by a Jewish rabbi. Perhaps you don’t think it is appropriate for a synagogue to even discuss. Perhaps you don’t even care. Perhaps you are wondering how does this tie in with the parsha?

Today’s parsha is important. Maybe they all are. Joseph welcomes his brothers back to Egypt with his father Jacob who he hasn’t seen in a number of years, since he had been thrown in the pit and sold into slavery. Since he had imprisoned on false charges. Since he had risen to power, viceroy of Egypt. He must find some way to reconcile with his brothers. He goes out to greet them, the very people that tried to kill him. Jacob sends Judah ahead, the very brother who threw Joseph in the pit. How difficult would that be to do? How do we do this in our own lives? Should we? Are there times when we just can’t? People in the congregation answered that we should try to reconcile, we should look for forgiveness and we should keep trying. More on that topic some other time.

More than that, he welcomes his brothers and father from the land of Cana’an where there is no food, where Egypt, under Joseph’s vision and leadership had stockpiled food. He is a minority in this culture. His family is a minority. How do they make this work?

It seems to me they make this work by practicing the Jewish mystical tradition, not yet defined of tzimtzum. It is said when G-d began to create the world, G-d had to take a breath in order to make space for the world to exist. Like G-d, they take a breath in, they make space for what is going on around them. They say that they are going to be servants, farmers. They are non-judgmental and non-threatening.

In the text however, if you look closely on page 284 of Etz Hayyim, there is a machlochet, a disagreement between Joseph and his brothers. Joseph tells them that if Pharaoh asks they are to say they are breeders of livestock. When Pharaoh really does ask, they answer “We, your servants, are shepherds.” Why the difference?

Etz Hayyim has an answer that I couldn’t find anywhere else. Will someone read it? Essentially it says that Joseph because he lives in the Diaspora is not comfortable with his status as a Jew and tries to hide it. On the other hand the brothers who live in the land of Israel are comfortable with who they are. Why? As one woman said, “I think Joseph has issues.”

I am not sure that I am comfortable with its reading that Joseph, even though he was the viceroy was uncomfortable in the dominant culture so he lied. A few weeks ago we had a similar conversation. In the middle of the Gaza crisis, I asked if you feel that people are always out to get the Jews. About half the room that morning felt yes. In another two weeks we will read the line, “A pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph” and the Israelites will really become slaves, not just servants. In periods of time we have seen this ebb and flow, the destruction of the Temples, followed by a period of tremendous growth of Judaism, the Golden Age of Spain, followed by the Inquisition, the flourishing and assimilation of Jews in Germany, followed by the Holocaust. So maybe you are right. I can understand where Joseph’s fear comes from. However Joseph’s brothers who are feeling more comfortable don’t lie. They don’t hide. They tell it like it is.

According to Etz Hayyim’s summary of halacha, we are allowed to adjust our behavior “for the sake of the ways of peace, mipnei darchei shalom.”

Every year at this time I watch the anxiety of my students and their families grow as they deal with “The December Dilemma.” How do you handle this in your own families? What is it that causes your anxiety to rise?

I was pleased that in the group that gathered this morning, people did not seem to express the usual fears I hear. Instead I heard about sharing the holidays with neighbors, singing carols in school without feeling ashamed, enjoying the lights and music, celebrating with friends and family. Seemed everyone had a positive story to tell. No one saw a conflict. So why the anxiety?

However, many students say they feel left out. Their friends talk about what Santa will bring them. Teachers in public school have students add up the presents in Santa’s sack or write compare and contrast essays about Christmas today and Christmas in a historical time and place. This may make them feel uncomfortable. Some students might even lie so that they better fit in. I read just such a story last night, The Christmas Menorahs about Billings, MT. Isaac Schnitzman admitted to his parents that he didn’t tell his friends that his presents were Chanukah presents, he said they were Christmas presents. As it turned out, he had reason to fear. The next year a rock was thrown through his window because it had a menorah in it. The town came together to fight hate and like the Danes wore yellow Jewish stars during World War II to show their solidarity with Jews, every house in Billings, MT put a menorah in the window.

On the other hand, some Jewish students say they are made to feel guilty or uncomfortable if they celebrate Christmas with their extended families, some of whom may not be Jewish. With an intermarriage rate of over 50%, even in this congregation at least among the school population, many of us have non-Jews in our extended families. Making children feel guilty seems to be an unfair burden to put on our youth and may actually alienate them from the very tradition we hope they will embrace.

Jews are not alone being frustrated by Christmas. Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims living in this dominant Christian culture find it frustrating too the amount of attention spent on Christmas. In the book the Faith Club written by three suburban New York moms after 911, there is a poignant story where the Muslim child asks his mother if Santa comes to Muslim houses. Sound familiar? A class of mine last year talked about how this has become a secular American holiday. And how they celebrate Christmas in Japan. Anyone know? By going out for Kentucky Fried Chicken—how American can you get?

Many serious Christians are frustrated by Christmas too. It has grown too big, too commercial, too secular. It starts too early now—even before Halloween. Christmas sales start before Thanksgiving and some retailers were even open this year on Thanksgiving itself.

Chanukah, which we just finished celebrating, is about fighting assimilation. The Maccabees did not want to become like the Assyrians who were in power. They wanted to worship God their own way in the Holy Temple. Oh the ironies. This year I saw a Manischevitz gingerbread house in Chanukah blue with a menorah in the window. Even more puzzling was the Chabad event on the north shore where children could visit with Judah Maccabee? Really? Will this help our kids feel less left out?

We don’t need to be like our neighbors, but there is no reason that we cannot enjoy Christmas with them and still remain strongly Jewish. The question is not about trees but how we relate to the dominant culture, exactly what Joseph, his father Jacob and his brothers are wrestling with this week. Helping our friends and neighbors or even our families celebrate their holidays does not diminish the rootedness of ours. Ideally, we should be able relate to Christmas without fear.

I am told that this anxiety we Jews feel, has risen since the Holocaust. Many Jews, my husband’s and my family included, happily celebrated Christmas for generations, not because we were Christian but because it was fun. My ancestors in the 1840s carried beautiful hand-blown ornaments with them from Germany—you know where they invented the Christmas tree. They were already secular Jews there and participating in that dominant culture. For my husband’s mother, her rationale of why we celebrated Christmas was that Christmas was a holiday of peace and Chanukah a holiday of war. For my mother it made more sense to commercialize the goyim’s holiday. For some immigrants it was a sign that they had made it in America. We were not alone, apparently even Theodore Herzl had a tree. In Russia, Stalin decreed that trees were not religious and every family had one for New Year’s—even Jews. But after the Holocaust, attitudes, by necessity, changed. After all, some of the anti-semitism that lead to the Holocaust, as painful as it can be for Christians to acknowledge, was trumpeted by the Church at Christian religious holidays. Sitting through a traditional Lessons and Carols service, with its beautiful music and candlelight, can be painful for Jews, unless the rector has thought through each of the Christian scriptural readings and how they position Jews in them.

When I have addressed the December Dilemma directly with students, surprisingly mostly they are OK. It is the parents who worry. Some students do feel left out. Most are glad that we give them a safe space to discuss these complicated feelings. And there are a range of feelings. Some are sad that Santa won’t come to their house. Some like the lights—and wonder why if Chanukah is the Festival of Lights their house is dark. One kid was confused about why the Indians in his class, who are not Christian, want to celebrate Christmas. Some said they are not missing anything. After all, they observe the American Jewish custom of going to the movies and out for Chinese food, and everyone laughed. Some acknowledge celebrating Christmas with extended family, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins or even the non-Jewish parent. All agreed that the week off of school is welcome, even if it really is Christmas break.

My message to you, is that I have your back, and while it is late this year, if you or your children feel uncomfortable you should feel free to call me or have the teachers call me. Christmas does not need to come with this amount of angst. There is much that is beautiful at this season—the commercialism not withstanding—the music, the lights, the spirit of generosity that are unparalleled the rest of the year.

We can enjoy it too! There are ways to participate without making it our holiday. Go help a neighbor decorate their tree. Adopt a family that might not have a merry Christmas. Volunteer at a soup kitchen or a shelter, so others can enjoy the holiday with their family. Sing carols at a nursing home. Actually say “Merry Christmas” instead of Happy Holidays to your friends. Even go with them to midnight mass, if they offer—it will not make you “less Jewish”. One rabbi told me that he didn’t know what the problem was, he always celebrated Christmas with his neighbors, and there was always something for him and his siblings under their tree, and, then, they would come to his house to celebrate Chanukah.

While I don’t have a tree in my house (except for a tabletop rosemary tree which we use for cooking Shabbat chicken and smelling divine and in memory of my mother), my family gathers every year for Christmas in northern Michigan. We don’t pretend it is something else. Everyone there knows I am a rabbi, and the local Santa (this is northern Michigan and the real North Pole) has me bless his sleigh. It doesn’t make me—or my family– any less Jewish.

Perhaps before we can do this we need to secure in our Judaism. Maybe that is what Joseph was lacking having been thrown in a pit, sold into slavery, and imprisoned. Even though he had risen to viceroy, he was not comfortable with who he was. But the halacha as we just learned is to make peace. Something my mother-in-law would have approved of. Something this world clearly so desperately needs.

There are so many ways to celebrate our Judaism year round, that Christmas should not be threatening to our identity. We hear the shofar, eat apples and honey, build a sukkah, dance with the Torah, plant trees and parsley, make noise with graggers, taste the bitter with the sweet at Pesach, bake challah for Shabbat. We can pray to God in shul, in community, or on our own. We can be inspired by a quiet winter walk in the new snow with the moonlight, by a warm ocean beach, on top of a mountain, or by words of Torah. We can pass down these rituals with joy, and we can teach our children how to comfort, how to care, and how to mourn. Judaism is a very rich tradition with plenty to give us meaning, fulfillment and to make us proud. We can be like Joseph, uniquely Jewish in a non-Jewish world.

So however you celebrate the winter solstice—may it be a time of family and friends, warmth and generosity, peace and light, good food (Chinese or otherwise), a beautiful star, and a snowflake or two. Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night. Shabbat Shalom.

You may know the story from Shabbat 21a, part of the Talmud. Hillel and Shammai are having an argument about how to light the Chanukah lights. Shammai taught that on the first night eight candles are lit and then we should light one less each subsequent night. HIllel argued that we should start with one light and increase the lights each night as it is said, “in matters of holiness, we must increase and not diminish.” Others have said that that it is our joy increases each night.

This morning I have no words. My cousin, a pediatrician with young children of her own in Glastonbury CT wrote to me yesterday afternoon and said, “I know you are busy trying to write something that will make sense of this.” I can’t. I can tell you I saw a Woody Allen movie while I was on Kibbutz Revivim in 1977. It had a line in it, “What do Jews do when they get in trouble? They sing.” I could stand here and tell you about gun control or about access to mental health. Today I grieve. Newtown Connecticut is a town I know well. It has a lovely little sushi restaurant and a very nice Starbucks. It was a good place to break my drive from New York to Boston. My college roommate lives in Newtown. I officiated at her wedding in Newtown. I was there the day her baby was born. Her baby is now a kindergartner, a sweet autistic boy knows kids from his pre-school class were killed. How do you explain that. You can’t. There are people who say, “It couldn’t happen here.” Wherever here is. It did.

Last night I was in our building early. Early enough to light the Chanukah candles before Shabbat. I put the candles in the menorah. I set the menorah on the stand with flowers someone had sent as a gift. I thought about Newtown. I lit the candles, from newest to oldest. I thought about HIllel. How do we increase our holiness, how do we increase our joy on days like this? I sang the blessings. It felt like an act of defiance. I sat in the first row, staring at the candles and I cried. Then I remembered other peoples’ words.

Today’s haftarah includes a description of the menorah in the HolyTemple. And the words of Zechariah, “Not by might, not by power but by spirit alone shall we all live in peace.” Last night we sang these words in English with music Debbie Friedman wrote. Our own young children helped to lead the hand motions. The children sang. The children dreamed And my tears fell. But the song is hopeful. Another song will rise.

Last night was our first Kabbalat Shabbat with instrumental music. Like Hillel and Shammai there is much debate about whether it is permissible of not, whether it is halacha or not. Now is not the time for debate. But I add this, posted to Facebook by a friend who is a cantor in the name of Leonard Bernstein: ‎”This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.”

Yehuda Amichai, one of Israel’s best poets and no stranger to violence says this about the vision of Isaiah: “Don’t stop after beating the swords into plowshares, don’t stop!
Go on beating and make musical instruments out of them.
Whoever wants to make war again will have to turn them into plowshares first.”

Bob Dylan wondered and Peter, Paul and Mary sang in another time and place, asking what seem to me to be the right questions,
“How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky ?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry ?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died ?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.”

Peter Yarrow later went on to write “Light One Candle” for Chanukah. We sang this last night too. The last stanza has sustained me in my own grief from time to time. I have used it for Chanukah, for Havdalahs, for weddings. It too asks questions:

“What is the memory that’s valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died?
We cry out “they’ve not died in vain,”
We have come this far, always believing
That justice will somehow prevail;
This is the burden, This is the promise,
This is why we will not fail!”

What is the memory that we will have of yesterday’s events? What is our commitment to those children so they do not die in vain? How do we keep their memories alive? How do we make sure that justice will prevail?

Debbie Friedman wrote another song, for use on Shavuot, for Confirmations:

Childhood was for fantasies, for nursery rhymes and toys.
The world was much too busy to understand small girls and boys.
As I grew up, I came to learn that life was not a game,

That heroes were just people that we called another name.

And the old shall dream dreams, and the youth shall see visions,

And our hopes shall rise up to the sky.

We must live for today; we must build for tomorrow.

Give us time, give us strength, give us life.
Now I’m grown, the years have passed, I’ve come to understand:

There are choices to be made and my life’s at my command.

I cannot have a future ’til I embrace the past.

I promise to pursue the challenge, time is going fast.
Today’s the day I take my stand, the future’s mine to hold.

Commitments that I make today are dreams from days of old.

I have to make the way for generations come and go.

I’ll have to teach them what I’ve learned so they will come to know.

Our innocence was shattered yesterday. Again. But our children have visions and our old have dreams. I heard an interview with the president of the Jewish congregation in Newtown. His 9 year old spoke at services. The kid’s message was as his father said, sweet and simple. “If we can get through this as nine year olds. You adults can.” A youth’s vision. Our children need us to be adults. Hug your kids—however old they are a little closer. Turn off the constant media coverage. Talk to them about it in terms they can understand.

Joseph was a dreamer. He was an interpreter of dreams. In today’s Torah portion, as Rabbi Ben Newman pointed out, “Joseph’s tears begin a process of change and reconciliation with his brothers.” It is too early to talk about forgiveness and reconciliation. It is too early to talk about faith. It is too early to ask “Where was God.” But for me God was with those children, crying. God weeps with all of us still crying. God did not ordain this. This was not God’s will. Our tears still fall. We pray that the tears that connect us in grief ultimately help our society to move toward balance and wholeness, towards peace. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel instructed “in a free society, some are guilty and all are responsible” and “indifference to evil is worse than evil itself.”

Like Joseph, I have a dream too. It seems simple. That children, all children will be able to board a bus for school in the morning and know that they will be safe. It seems simple but for some reason it is far from easy. May the Holy One give us the courage to build for our children, and our children’s children, safer homes, safer schools, and a better world.

So tonight we will light eight nights. The candles will burn brightly against the darkness. We will rededicate our lives to holiness and building a world of peace. We will sing. We might dance. Our holiness and our joy will increase—even if it seems impossible. We will continue to ask the hard questions. We will continue to cry. We will continue to dream of a day when children can go to school and none shall make them afraid.

Make a Joyful Noise: The Halacha of Music

Tonight at Congregation Kneseth Israel in Elgin, IL, where I proudly serve as rabbi, we are celebrating the Kabbalat Shabbat of Chanukah with instrumental music and lots of singing. For some this may seem a violation of halacha, Jewish law. Let me explain how this decision was made and why I am excited about tonight.

When I first came to Congregation Kneseth Israel, there was already an ongoing discussion of how to make services more meaningful. Some people wanted a return to instrumental music which had happened under previous rabbinic leadership. Last year there was a Chanukah celebration with a piano player which was deemed acceptable as long as the piano player was not Jewish. Even longer ago there was a children’s choir with piano accompaniment and even a “Friday Night Live” type band. I said that I would be happy to look at all the issues, study the texts with them and guide them but that they would have to understand the reasons behind the decision not just think it aided the aesthetic of the service. The ritual committee formed a sub-committee, who then presented to the ritual committee, who then presented to the board. I did a workshop as part of our growing adult study offerings on the halacha of instrumental music. So tonight we will sing, we will play instruments and we may even dance. What follows is a summary of what I learned during the process.

Biblical Sources:
I began the class by looking at some Biblical sources. Musical instruments were valued in Torah, early on.
Genesis 4:20-23
Exodus 15:1-12, Exodus 15:20: Moses and Miriam at the Red Sea. It always amazes me that in the chaos of leaving Egypt the women remembered to take their timbrels. They knew that they would have something to celebrate.

The Psalms are filled with references to praising God in the Holy Temple with a variety of musical instruments. We looked at these references and then found some more, right in our own Siddur Sim Shalom. Perhaps the most striking one is the Psalm that is the Song for Shabbat. On Shabbat we praised God with instrumentation.
Psalm 33, Page 93 of Siddur Sim Shalaom
Psalm 92—A Song for Shabbat, pages 23, 72
Psalm 100—Make a joyful noise unto the Lord
Psalm 147, page 98
Psalm 149, page 100
Psalm 150, page 100

Talmudic Sources:
So what happened? There are three reasons most frequently sited for the prohibition on instrumental music on Shabbat.

1. We are mourning the destruction of the Temple, and therefore we should not be playing instruments in the synagogue on Shabbat and Holy Days until the Temple in Jerusalem is rebuilt.

2. If an instrument breaks, we might try to repair it, and that would constitute working on Shabbat. Some have said that the issue is carrying the instrument to the shul.

3. Producing sound on Shabbat is prohibited.

I divided the group into smaller groups and gave them copies of Talmud texts to wrestle with. They were supposed to figure out what the issue was, summarize the arguments and present back to the group what the issues are and what the possible solutions might be.

Sources we looked at included Megillah 32a which teaches us that we need to sing the Torah we study, that our ears have to hear what our mouth is saying. Chagigah 15b teaches us that Rabbi Elisha Ben Avuyah lost his faith because he never stopped singing Greek music. From this we learned that music can draw us close to God or push us further away. One Orthodox source on this text suggested that it is the Beattles that have been the downfall of modern society. Another wondered if we can use prerecorded music to uplift our worship. But I jump ahead.

In Sotah 48a, Chazal issued a prohibition of song in wine houses after the Sanhedrin ceased to function. as saying, “The ear that listens to music should be torn off; when there is song in a house, there is destruction on its threshold.” The Jerusalem Talmud (9:12) explains the reason for this decree: “At first, when the Sanhedrin was functioning, it was able to impose discipline and prevent the introduction of inappropriate content in song. When the Sanhedrin ceased to function, it could no longer impose discipline, and people would introduce corrupt lyrics into music.”
 The Gemara (Sotah 48a) continues this theme and declares that the song of the chip workers and the farmers was permitted, but the song of the weavers was forbidden. Rashi explains that the permitted songs were not frivolous; they helped the workers and animals perform their tasks. The weavers’ songs were forbidden because they served no constructive purpose; it was an entirely frivolous activity. Note that this is about working, not about Shabbat and not about in the Holy Temple but in the wine houses.

The Gemara on Gittin 7a presents a seemingly more drastic prohibition. It is here that the
Gemara records that Chazal simply forbade listening to all music subsequent to the destruction of the Temple. Shabbat, Holy Days, working, not working. All music.

For some, this was a very interesting discussion. Some had never held a page of Talmud or understood the difference between Talmud and Torah. Each group identified the issues and possible solutions—they became their own betai din as they wrestled with the text.

The Codes:
Our tradition doesn’t end with the Talmud. A page of Talmud is surrounded with commentary, subsequent arguments and debates, recording all the opinions.

Rashi and his grandsons whose words are preserved on the Talmud page although theyare from the 12th century, wrestled with to what extent the rabbis prohibit the enjoyment of music after the destruction of the Temple. Rashi (commenting on Gittin 7a) indicates that the prohibition is limited to singing in a tavern. The Tosafot support Rashi’s contention by citing the aforementioned Mishnah in Sotah. Tosafot argue that this source leads us to conclude that the prohibition applies only to playing music in a drinking house. Tosafot also add two important points. First, they state that it is inappropriate to listen to music excessively. Tosafot cite as proof an anecdote that appears in the Jerusalem Talmud (Megillah 3:2), in which Mar Ukba (a Talmudic authority) chastised the Exilarch (Reish Galuta) for listening to music when going to sleep and waking up – i.e., that was excessive.


Second, and important for our purposes, they state that music that is played in the context of a mitzvah, such as at a wedding celebration, is entirely permissible.

The Rambam’s View

Although Rashi and Tosafot were fairly lenient on this issue and permit music to be listened to on a moderate basis outside of taverns, the Rambam adopts a much stricter approach. He writes (Hilchot Taaniot 5:14) that instrumental music is entirely forbidden (except in the context of religious music), and vocal music without instrumental accompaniment is permitted only if the singing takes place in a context in which wine is not being consumed. The origin of this exception dates back at least to the Geonic era, as Rav Hai Gaon espouses this approach. This debate will continue in the Shulchan Aruch, the 19th and 20th century responsa and even recent t’shuvot.

Shulchan Aruch and Its Commentaries: 
Rav Yosef Karo (Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim 560:3) rules in accordance with the Rambam’s view, but the Rema cites the opinion of Rashi and Tosafot. The Magen Avraham (560:9) cites the Bach, who rules even more strictly than the Mechaber does. Whereas Rav Yosef Karo rules in accordance with the Rambam’s view presented in the Mishneh Torah, the Magen Avraham and Bach believe that the Rambam’s view presented in his responsum is normative. They rule that music is always forbidden unless it is of religious content and nature.

Nineteenth Century Codes:
This issue continues to remain a matter of controversy between the great nineteenth century authorities. While the Chayei Adam (137:3) and Mishnah Berurah (560:13) cite the ruling of the Magen Avraham and Bach as normative, the Aruch Hashulchan (560:17) seems to adopt a more lenient approach. He does not cite the opinion of the Magen Avraham and the Bach, but he does cite the opinion of the Rema. Whereas the Magen Avraham and Bach are critical of women who sang while doing their work, the Aruch Hashulchan does not criticize them. The Aruch Hashulchan appears to regard the lenient approach of Rashi and Tosafot as acceptable.

Contemporary Authorities:

This dispute continues to be debated by contemporary authorities. On an Orthodox Ask the Rabbi site, I found this discussion: “Rav Moshe Feinstein (Teshuvot Igrot Moshe 1:160) adopts a fairly strict ruling in this matter. Although he writes that it is not required to follow the most stringent opinion of the Bach and the Magen Avraham, he regards the strict opinion of Rav Yosef Karo to be normative. On the other hand, Rav Eliezer Waldenburg (Tzitz Eliezer 15:62) endorses the common practice to follow the ruling of the Rema (the view of Rashi and Tosafot) that music in moderation is permitted outside a tavern. Rav Yehudah Amital (Rosh Yeshivat Har Etzion) agrees with this approach. In addition, Rav Moshe (Teshuvot Igrot Moshe O.C. 3:87) writes that one should not object to one who follows the ruling of the Rama regarding music.”

He continued: “An interesting argument appears in Rav Yaakov Breisch’s responsum on this issue (Teshuvot Chelkat Yaakov 1:62). He suggests that this decree applies only to live music and not to recorded music.
I wondered aloud in the class whether that meant since we already allow recording videos on a timer whether we could figure out how to use an ipod. One younger parent said immediately, “No that’s not Jewish”. I reminded her that I just read an Orthodox position.

I continued by explaining that this ruling has been applied in practice by some individuals to the periods of time in which it is our custom to refrain from listening to music, such as the Sefirah period, the Three Weeks, and twelve-month mourning period for a parent.

The group agreed that this topic is complex. We continued looking at some Orthodox position coming out of Israel. Rav Moshe Feinstein (in his aforementioned responsum and Teshuvot Igrot Moshe Yoreh Deah 2:137:2) clearly indicates that he does not permit instrumental music. Rav Ovadia Yosef (Teshuvot Yechave Da’at 6:34) explicitly states that he does not permit listening to music. However, Rav Shmuel David (a contemporary Israeli Halachic authority) writes in Techumin (13:187) that it is very possible that classical music is not included in reported in the name of Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik that music of the sublime (classical music) was not included in the Rabbinic decree. The decree, in the Rav’s opinion, applies only to music of revelry.the rabbinic decree against listening to music subsequent to the destruction of the Temple. He bases this suggestion on the Maharshal (Yam Shel Shlomo 1:17) who writes that listening to music “to hear pleasant sounds or hear something fresh” is permitted.

In terms of fixing an instrument on Shabbat, this was based on a first century ruling that we were not even allowed to clap or slap our thighs. (Mishnah Beitzah 5:2) But as some argued, “because of the natural desire to celebrate, and to do so with music, the observance of the blanket prohibition eventually waned. Clapping during moments of active singing or deep emotion was a natural response, and hard to monitor. In the 12th century, the Tosafot commentators of the Rhineland wrote, “For us, who are not experts in making musical instruments, it is not appro-priate to make this decree in our days,” (B. Beitzah 30a) thereby removing the protective decree, at least for clapping.” An Orthodox t’shuvat continued, “ One obvious response to this argument is: We are allowed to use many things that might break on Shabbat. An Orthodox responsa asked this: “Why allow Jews to sleep on a bed — what if it breaks on Shabbat? Why can we use refrigerator — what if it breaks on Shabbat? Or the air conditioning and heating systems that all Orthodox shuls use? What if those systems break on Shabbat?” He continues…
“Interestingly, in this instance, Chabad rejects this logic about repairing instruments and changes rabbinic law. On its excellent Web site, AskMosesa.com, the question of whether one is allowed to clap on Shabbat is asked. Here is part of Chabad’s answer:
“The Mishnah expressly says that it is forbidden to clap on Shabbat or Yom Tov because it might bring someone to make a musical instrument, which is a forbidden act. However, it is common practice by all Chasidim to clap hands when singing on Shabbat or Yom Tov.” The explanation given for this custom is: “This prohibition applied in Talmudic times, when many people were proficient in making musical instruments. Today, however, there are very few people who know how to assemble an instrument, so there is no reason to prohibit clapping.” So even Chabad is wrestling with this and “changing Jewish law.”

This Orthodox responsa is fascinating and worthy of citing in full:
“To the best of my knowledge, this is noted once in the Talmud, in ruling on whether a certain game was allowed to be played on Shabbat. Later rabbinic rulings on making sounds, including music played by a non-Jew (at a Shabbat wedding meal) are mixed. For example, a leading halachist, the Ravyah (Rabbi Eliezer ben Yoel 
Halevi, circa 1140-1220), ruled that it is permissible to ask a non-Jew to play a musical instrument at a wedding meal that takes place on Shabbat. And this ruling is later codified by the Rama in the Code of Jewish Law (Orach Chaim 338:2).
I recognize that there are Jews, including non-Orthodox, who oppose musical instruments in shul on other, non-halachic, grounds. For example, Conservative Rabbi Sharon Brous, cited last week in The Jewish Journal, “believes that instruments inhibit spontaneity and create the feel of performance.”
In responding to that argument, I would note that anyone attending a religious Jewish wedding knows how uniquely powerful musical instruments are when playing Jewish music, and they never seem to inhibit spontaneity. As for “the feel of performance,” I am more moved at a powerful instrumental performance than I have ever been when singing alone or with others. But I acknowledge that is subjective.
Perhaps the best argument for musical instruments in Jewish prayer may be found on the Web site of Ohr Somayach, a leading Orthodox outreach organization:
“Musical instruments play a very important role in Torah. They were used by the Prophets to put them in the correct frame of mind to receive prophecy, they are used to enhance and beautify prayers, and they can even be used to inspire people to greater diligence in their Torah studies.”
I am not advocating that Orthodox Jews take matters into their own hands and start using musical instruments on Shabbat. Part of being Orthodox means working within the system of Orthodoxy. What I am advocating is that courageous Orthodox rabbis take the time to reexamine some of these positions and work to change them through consensus. They have done it before and they can do it today.Regarding prayer with instruments, God knew what He was doing. The power of instrumental music is incomparable. Its absence on the holiest days of the Jewish calendar, in this believing Jew’s view, has not helped most Jews pray.”

Conservative T’shuvot:
Even before there was Reform Judaism or Conservative Judaism, there was “American minhag.” February 11, 1868 in Savanah Georgia a mixed choir and organ were introduced. In Montgomery, AL similar “reforms” were introduced in 1862 and 1873. In the Conservative movement, the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards began permitting the use of the organ in synagogues in 1959, a response to the creation of the State of Israel and the decision that it was no longer necessary to mourn the Temple’s destruction. In addition, there would be no questions of carrying on Shabbat or fixing the organ on Shabbat. In 1970, the minutes of the CJLS expanded the organ ruling to include the use of guitars. The use of musical instruments have continued to expand among some synagogues in the movement. Recently the Conservative Movement introduced a new 50 page t’shuva on this topic and Elliott Dorf writing a summary in Sh’ma Magazine says, “Although most Conservative synagogues still forbid musical instruments on Shabbat, some synagogues affiliated with the movement have introduced instrumental music, feeling that the music fosters communal singing, offers beauty, spiritually uplifts, and draws participants. Some argue that the introduction of musical instruments may put a damper on introspection and communal singing. But these dangers are also present with cantorial music and choirs, which are commonly accepted.”

The summary of those 50 pages is: “The key concerns in our teshuvah are whether instruments may be played on Shabbat and, if so, how to protect the sanctity of the holy day. We conclude that music making, itself, is not forbidden; only making an instrument or fixing it is prohibited. In that regard, the sources forbid replacing a musical string on Shabbat but may permit tuning. We encourage synagogues to provide for instruments or storage for instruments in order to avoid the need for musicians to carry their instruments from a private to a public domain. And we ask that stage set-up and electrical equipment be put into place be- fore Shabbat. Our goal is to provide a balance between enabling music and honoring Shabbat. As pointed out by Rabbi Bahya ben Asher in the 15th century, the Hebrew words for “prayer” and “song” have the same numerical equivalent (515) or gematria. Words of prayer are emotionally amplified, personalized, and made more full-bodied through song. For those in our movement who wish to use musical instruments to encourage singing and as a tool to engage the heartstrings of worshippers, we offer guidance and reinforce some restrictions. If, as Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel has taught, Shabbat is a palace in time, then there is a need for an architecture of restraint in which to craft holy space. Such an architectural plan is sub- ject to review and reconfiguration, while keep- ing in mind the ultimate goals of setting aside holy time and permitting the removal of un- necessary barriers. We honor differences in our movement, while retaining a commitment to Shabbat as a time set apart from the remainder of the week for spiritual uplift.”

Because of the role of the rabbi as mara d’atra, the master of the place and the decisor of halacha in the individual synagogue I was able to find other online responsa that outline normative Conservative halacha, one by Rabbi Diana Villa and one by Rabbi Monica Suskind Goldberg.

So now that my congregants understood the complexity of the topic, the arguments, how it has changed over time and the fact that all the streams of Judaism are still wrestling with this topic, they were ready to figure out what works for this congregation.

If the arguments are
1. We are mourning the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, then they argued with the Committee on Jewish Law and Standard, that since the founding of the State of Israel we are not mourning at quite the same levels. They also echoing an Orthodox source saying that mourning is suspended on Shabbat. Psalm 92 lists instruments that were used specifically on Shabbat. It does not make sense to take away this form of getting closer to God.
2. . Carrying and Fixing. The solution would be to make sure the instruments are at the shul prior and to have a back-up instrument so that it can be played if a string breaks. Similarly, any microphones or sound system adjustments should be made prior to Shabbat.

3. Producing a sound on Shabbat is forbidden. Since we are not experts in making instruments, we are not bound by an old halacha forbidding even clapping. Clapping (and by extension percussion) is OK.

Finally, there is a Talmudic adage. Look and see what the people are doing. This is something they were doing for decades. It is really a return to instrumental music, based on more knowledge and I hope with more joy.

So come join us. Sing, clap, dance. Make a joyful noise.

Sources:
http://koltorah.org/ravj/13-32%20Jewish%20Perspectives%20on%20Music.htm

http://www.nergavriel.org/uploads/תורה%20הקדושה/הלכה%20ברורה/HB0037%20-%20Music%20in%20Halacha.pdf

http://www.jewishjournal.com/dennis_prager/article/musical_instruments_on_shabbat_20100629
http://www.jweekly.com/article/full/20380/rock-services-bring-new-spirit-controversy-to-conservative-synagogues/

http://www.schechter.edu/AskTheRabbi.aspx?ID=214

http://www.schechter.edu/AskTheRabbi.aspx?ID=501

http://www.bjpa.org/Publications/details.cfm?PublicationID=11714