Not a Bad Deal

Parashat Devarim 5769 / July 24, 2009

Not a Bad Deal

When we feel ashamed of the misdeeds of our fellow Jews, we should remember that our Torah offers a path back to righteousness.

“Oy vey!” That’s the thought that crossed my mind as I got into the car on Thursday morning. Moments earlier, I was trying to help Melanie with the kids and trying to get myself ready for work. And over all the commotion and noise I caught the words of a news headline coming from the radio: “rabbis arrested in corruption sting.”

Oy Vey! I have to admit that my first thought as I was running out the door was, “oh please, I hope they aren’t Conservative rabbis!” We have enough trouble these days as it is.” When I got to the shul, I finally had a chance to get on line and read the articles about what was going on. Most of you have by now heard: A bunch of mayors and state lawmakers in New Jersey and New York were rounded up in an FBI corruption sting; and, on the same day, a handful of Orthodox rabbis from the Syrian Jewish communities in Deal and Brooklyn were also arrested. The rabbis were not involved in the bribery of which the politicians are being accused. What links these two groups is one very sleazy criminal who happens to be Jewish. Solomon Dwek is a crooked land developer who turned FBI informant after being caught committing fraud. It was Dwek who lead authorities to the politicians who were taking bribes and to the yeshivas and synagogues who were laundering large sums of money related to a host of criminal activities.

My point, though, is not to talk about the alleged criminal activity, but rather about our own feelings as a Jewish community when we hear about this stuff. Whether it’s a bunch of rabbis in New Jersey or Bernie Madoff or any number of other Jewish crooks, when we find out that Jews – especially Jews who purport to be religious – commit crimes, we experience a lot of ambivalence. Some people react with shame or embarrassment or even fear – as my grandfather used to say, “gevalt! what will the goyim say?” And indeed, scandals that involve Jews lend fuel to anti-Semitism and reinforce stereotypes from which we struggle to distance ourselves. But frankly, I don’t worry too much about what anti-Semites think. They’re determined to hate us no matter what we do. And I don’t really worry about regular folks either – I think most non-Jews recognize that there are criminals in every ethnic and religious group and that the acts of a few individuals don’t necessarily reflect the entire community. I’m not overly concerned with “what the goyim will say.” I’m actually more worried about what Jews will say.

There are a lot of disaffected Jews out there. If you’re sitting in this room right now you are part of a small and shrinking minority of Jews in America. Fewer than a third of all American Jews have any formal affiliation with the Jewish community. Only about 20% of Jews belong to a synagogue; and even among shul members, the level of alienation and disaffection is very high. There are a lot of theories about why Jews don’t feel more connected and don’t make time in their lives for Judaism. But, I think one principle reason many of these Jews don’t participate is that they don’t feel Judaism has relevance to their lives. They’ve been alienated by expressions of Judaism that don’t speak to them. Religion for them has become dull, irrelevant, and even hypocritical. And when they see ostensibly “religious” Jews behaving badly, it reinforces their perception that Jewish religious life is bankrupt.

But, the only way I can answer all those disaffected Jews is to point to the very Torah they spurn. The Torah is full of Jews who behave badly. The Torah is full of Jews who profess allegiance to God in one moment and then turn around and worship idols the next moment. The Torah is full of Jews who rob and cheat and kill. And the Torah is also full of all sorts of strong feelings about Jews who behave badly. The Torah, after all, is a book about the human condition – in all its complexity and messiness. The Torah is the story of the human race – we are complex creatures. We are part animal and part divine. We were formed from the dust, but God also imbued us with a transcendent Spirit. We are tempted by our appetites and we also have minds and hearts that yearn for love and justice. And at its core, the Torah is about a God who, out of infinite love for us, want us to be better people and gives us the Torah for just that reason.

This Shabbat we begin the book of Devarim (Deuteronomy). Devarim is comprised of Moses’ final speeches to the Israelites as they prepare to enter the Land of Israel. As you know, Moses himself was not allowed to cross over the Jordan (because of his own misdeeds), so his sermons in Sefer Devarim are really his ethical will to the people he lead for 4 decades. Seeing that these are Moses’ final words, you might expect a warm and fuzzy memoire of his time with the Israelites. But Deuteronomy is anything but sentimental. In fact, Moses spends most of his last words on earth rebuking us for how we behaved in the wilderness[1] and warning us about how we should behave in the future. And what I find most interesting and most relevant to what is going on in the news is that Moses in his rebukes is so keenly aware of the complexities of real people’s lives. He wants us to strive for a better and more just society while recognizing that achieving those ideals can be really difficult. For instance, one of the first things that he instructs us about in the opening chapter of Devarim is the need for courts of law and ethical judges. Deut. 1:16-17states: “listen to the claims between your brethren and judge righteously between a man and a fellow [Israelite] or a foreigner. Do not show favoritism in judgment; small and great alike you shall hear. Do not tremble before any man, for Judgment is God’s.” This is a beautiful statement of ideal justice. But perfect societies don’t need to articulate their ideals… the fact that the Torah goes out of its way to instruct us in the administration of justice is a tacit recognition of the fragility of human ethics. The Torah understands that public officials and religious leaders are easily corrupted. God knows that we are prone to nepotism, graft, and vice.

It is an uncanny coincidence that in our Haftarah, the Prophet Isaiah links the impending fall of Jerusalem with the hypocrisy and greed of the people. And he singles out the leaders for particularly sharp censure:

"Your rulers are rogues

And cronies of thieves,

Every one of them loves bribes

And seeks out gifts;

They do not judge the case of the orphan, And the widow's cause never reaches them." (1:23)

But the corruption of our leaders is not proof that religion is bankrupt… quite the opposite. It proves how – more than ever – we need law and religion to guide us. And, as much as God understands our fallibility, He also has great hope for us. “Fear not and do not be dismayed” (Dt. 1:21), says God in our Torah portion. In these days leading up to Tisha b’Av – the day on which we remember the destruction of our Holy Temple – we read the words of Jeremiah and Isaiah warning us that our crimes and corruptions will spell our doom. And even in those seemingly gloomy predictions, there is always hope. There is always the possibility for repentance and return. “Come now, let us reach an understanding, says the Lord” in today’s Haftarah. “Be your sins like crimson, they can turn snow-white; Be they red as dyed wool, They can become like fleece. If then you agree and give heed, You will eat the good things of the earth...” (Is. 1:18-19) “I will restore your magistrates as of old, and your ministers as in the beginning. After that you shall be called City of Righteousness, Faithful City.” (Is. 1:26).

So when we see Jews behaving badly, let us not despair too much. Let us hold on to the hope for renewal and righteousness that our Torah holds out to us. And may the Torah’s words of loving rebuke draw us nearer to God.

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[1] See Rashi to Dt. 1:1

Why Should I Care? - Parashat Matot-Masei 5769

The discussion between Moses and the tribes of Reuven and Gad demonstrates some basic Jewish principles of social justice.

Why Should I Care? - Mattot Masei 5769

Last week I gave a sermon that stirred up quite a lot of conversation. You’ll remember that I urged you to engage in respectful conversation with your friends about issues that matter to you most. My point was that in a time when we have so many fundamental issues in front of us, we can’t afford to shy away from passionate conversations for fear of being impolite. Well, quite a lot of you reacted to that sermon. And I was actually really pleased because whether you agreed or disagreed with me, my sermon accomplished its goal of spurring conversation.

The responses all dealt with the difficulty of engaging in those passionate conversations. What they were essentially saying is: “Rabbi, I agree with you in principle because there are things I really care about and I want to share those concerns with others, but expressing those thoughts to others is really difficult because sometimes the conversation turns unpleasant; or because the person I’m trying to talk with knows too much or too little about the topic; or because the other person just sees the same facts differently than I do.” To those reactions I say: “I hear you!” I understand the difficulty of having those conversations. And as I said last week, I think there are a lot of good reasons why, in certain circumstances, it’s better to refrain.

That’s ok. I understand that there’s a real world that is messy. And perhaps I’m an idealist. I see that as part of my job. I’ve always been an idealist and I found a profession that affords me the opportunity to talk about ideals. I like to think of myself as what Mel Brooks called a “stand up philosopher.”[1]

I understand why people avoid arguments. But what I was really after was more fundamental than politics. I’m interested in the underlying ethical questions that inform our points of view. Last week I was deliberately non-specific about what those fundamental issues might be. So this week I’m going to throw out a question for you to think about and perhaps talk about. The question I have on my mind this week is “why should I care?” Why should I care about the wellbeing of other people? Why should I care if others have homes? Why should I care if others receive a basic education? Why should I care if others have jobs? …A livelihood? …Freedom? …decent health? Why should I be concerned about others, and what is the philosophical justification for that concern? I’d like to take a stab at that question by reflecting on this week’s Torah portion.

Parashat Mattot comes at the end of the book of Bamidbar. After 40 years of wandering and the passing of the slave generation, the people are preparing to cross the Jordan River and take possession of the land that God promised them. Once conquered, the land is to apportioned fairly to each tribe. Just as these preparations are underway, the tribes of Reuven and Gad approach Moses with a request and what ensues is a heated debate over some very fundamental issues.

At the beginning of chapter 32, the tribes of Reuven and Gad – who, we are told have a lot of cattle – asked Moshe for permission to settle outside Eretz Yisrael in the fertile grazing land east of the Jordan. Before they can even finish their sentence, Moses comes back at them with a harsh rebuke. The conversation that ensues is what educators call a teachable moment. The leaders of Reuven and Gad listen carefully and learn something important in the interaction. What I’d like to do is break down the conversation and perhaps glean some insights that can help us answer the question.

Moses’ first response (32:6) is “shall your brothers go out to battle while you stay here?” Moses immediately reminds Reuven and Gad that they are part of a larger family. There are not just individual clans or even tribes, but part of a people. Why should we care about others? Because in some sense we are part of a broad extended family, and as such we bear responsibility for others.

Moses’ next argument is very interesting. He essentially tells the tribesmen of Reuven and Gad that if they do not cross over the river with the rest of Israel, they will cause calamity to fall upon the people the way it did with the 12 spies. Just as the bad report of the spies caused despair to break out among the people, if Gad and Reuven refuse to go, morale will break down and everyone will refuse to go. So why should we care about others? Moses is saying to Reuven and Gad, you should care because your lack of unity with others breaks down the morale of society… in other words, you’ll bring us all down and you yourselves will not be immune from the collapse. Perhaps this is a utilitarian argument: we should care about others because our lives our interwoven (whether we see it or not). Moses is saying to them: your fate is bound up with theirs. Your success or failure is bound up with theirs. There are certain challenges in life that we share in common and can only be met when we work together to solve them… when some of us opt out, the entire undertaking falls apart.

Well, Reuven and Gad seem to backpedal a bit (or perhaps, as the commentators understand, they didn’t get a chance to finish their sentence) and they add (paraphrasing v. 16-17): “We just want to build corrals for our livestock and cities for our children; but, of course, we’ll help conquer the Land… in fact we’ll take up the front lines.” The response of the leaders of Reuven and Gad is equally informative for our question. They seem to be saying, “look, our prosperity doesn’t have to be at the cost of everyone else’s… we recognize that we have it pretty good; and, as such, we’re willing to make a bigger sacrifice… we’re willing to see to it that others get their share before we return to our land… and, in fact, by not taking our portion in the Land of Israel, there will be more for everyone else!” In other words, why should we care for others? Because by doing so we can actually make the situation better for us all. And those of us who have more, perhaps have a greater responsibility in making it happen.

Moses seems pretty satisfied with the tribes’ response, but he makes one subtle correction. Reuven and Gad had asked for land “to make corrals for our livestock and cities for our children.” In his response, Moses agrees to the deal but reverses the order. He says (v. 24), “build cities for your children and corrals for your flocks.” Rashi and others say that this reversal is subtle rebuke. Moses is saying to them that despite their willingness to fight for their people, their priorities are still out of order: Reuven and Gad care more for their cattle, says Rashi, than for their children. There is a moral hierarchy – people come first! Human beings are more important than property! Human beings – created in the image of God – who are reflections of God’s Spirit on this Earth – have immeasurable worth. Therefore every human being is entitled to dignity. It is a right that cannot be taken away! And the corollary to that is that human suffering (to the extent that it can be alleviated) is morally intolerable.

And related to this is my last point: When Moses responds to Reuven and Gad’s offer to join the rest of Israel, Moses makes an important addition. He says to them {paraphrasing}: “you’ll do this for your bretheren… but also for God.” In the space of 4 verses (20-23), Moses mentions God’s name 6 times. The traditional commentators all pick up on this. Moses is essentially saying to them, your loyalty to your fellow Israelites is good, but it isn’t enough. As the old Hebrew National ads used to say, “We answer to a Higher Authority.” Judaism recognizes that we cannot rely on human sympathy and altruism to sustain a just society. There is a singular source of universal morality that we religious people call God. Furthermore, a belief in God puts our lives into perspective. It serves as a reminder of where we came from and where we’re going. It puts into perspective what it means to live on a planet that was not of our own making. It puts into perspective our relationship to God’s other creatures. We are all born behind what the Philosopher John Rawls called a “veil of ignorance” – we don’t get to choose where we start out in life, so we should have a little humility and compassion for others when it turns out we were born on the 5-yard line.

Why should we care about others? Looking through the eyes of Parashat Mattot, we should care about others because we are part of an extended human family; because our fate is bound up with the fate of others; because by improving the lives of others we can improve our own situation; because every human being is deserving of dignity; and, because we are children of a moral God.

Now, I’m under no illusion that achieving these ideals is easy. As I mentioned last week, I want to believe that most of us would like to reach these ideals and that where we differ is with regard to how we get there. But as one of you recently told me: “ideals are like stars to a sailor – you will never touch them, but if you allow them to be your guide, you’ll find your destiny.”[2]

Shabbat Shalom.

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[1] From History of the World: Part 1 (1981) – watch the clip

Unemployment Clerk (Bea Arthur): Occupation?

Comicus (Mel Brooks): Stand up philosopher.

Clerk: What?

Comicus: Stand up philosopher. I coalesce the vapor of human experience into a viable and logical comprehension.

Clerk: Oh, a bull**** artist!

[2] The original quote is from Carl Schurz (1829-1906): “Ideals are like stars: you will not succeed in touching them with your hands, but like the seafaring man on the ocean desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them, you reach your destiny. Schurz served as a General in the Union Army during the Civil War, US Senator, and Secretary of the Interior. He is also known for saying: “My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.”

What's Your Passion? - Pinhas 5769

With so much going on, we cannot afford avoiding passionate conversation for fear of being impolite. We can conduct ourselves with mutual respect and compassion if we focus on those fundamental principles and ideals that we share.

What do you care about? What do you really care about? What keeps you up at night? What issues – personal or public – drive you to action? What are the objects of your ultimate concern? What situations in your life or in your world make you passionately angry or sad? What do you want to change? What gives you joy or pride? What do you cherish so much that you are willing to fight to protect? What do you value and what do you believe in? What lies at the root of your passions? What are the fundamental principles that you hold? What do you stand for?

This week’s Torah opens with the story of a man who clearly knew what he stood for and what he believed. At the end of last week’s parsha, we learned that the Israelite men were drawn to the Moabite women and their god. They were committing idolatry and lewd acts in public with the Moabite women. One man, in particular, was so brazen as to commit these sins right in front of Moses and the Priests. One of Aaron’s grandsons, Pinhas, was so incensed and so moved with passion for God that he took a spear and impaled the Israelite man and his Midian companion right on the spot, driving his spear through both of them at once. This week’s Torah portion opens with the continuation of that story. God declares that it was Pinhas’s zeal alone that saved the entire people from destruction. So pleased is God with Pinhas that he rewards him with what the text refers to as a “brit shalom”, a Covenant of Peace or Friendship – God appoints Pinhas to replace his father as High Priest and promises the priesthood to Pinhas’ offspring.

Pinhas is described as having acted with “kin’ah” – this Hebrew words is repeated emphatically through this episode. Kin’ah means jealousy, or passion, or zeal. Pinhas is passionate in his defense of God’s laws and his abhorrence of immorality.

No doubt our tradition has a lot to say about Pinhas and his passion. A lot of ink has been spilled trying to explain this story. The traditional Jewish commentaries usually fall in one of two camps. Those that seek to justify Pinhas speak about the purity of his intentions, or the extraordinary circumstances that justified his violence. Others express ambivalence about Pinhas’s passion and seek to find that ambivalence in the text itself. They point to the scribal oddities in this passage – If you were to look in the Torah scroll you would see that at the beginning of this parsha the name Pinhas is written with a tiny yud. Some of the commentaries say that the diminished yud represents the diminution of Godliness in Pinhas. There’s also the broken vav in the phrase brit shalom. It is the only instance in the Torah were a letter is written with a break. As you know, if any other letter of the Torah is found to be broken, the entire scroll is unusable. So the commentaries say that this Covenant of Peace is a fundamentally flawed one. Others say that God bestowed this blessing of peace on Pinhas because he so badly needed it as an antidote to his fiery passions.

It is true that sometimes we need to temper our passions for the sake of peace. It is certainly evident in our world that passions get out of hand – that people use religious fervor to justify violence. And there is good reason to put limits on those tendencies. But the fact remains that Pinhas was passionate and God rewards him for his passion. Perhaps he went too far. Perhaps it was an extraordinary circumstance that we should be very cautious to emulate, but Pinhas was passionate and willing to stand up for what he believed.

I’m not trying to suggest that we all leave here today and take to the ramparts or become vigilantes, but I would venture to guess that most of us don’t talk often about our passions. I don’t know why. But it is conventional wisdom in American society that it isn’t polite to talk about religion or politics. This idea is so common that in my research I couldn’t even find the origins of this concept or an original quote. Yet I found countless websites and advice columns that warned strongly against speaking of politics or religion… We are cautioned not to speak of these matters in what they used to call “polite company.” I saw articles advising not to speak about politics or religions at your place of work, on dates, at dinner parties, etc.

I think there is some wisdom to these warnings. We certainly don’t want fist fights to break out around the water cooler every day and sometimes you just want to have a nice meal without choking on your bile… but frankly, religion and politics is pretty much what I like to talk about. If it weren’t for religion and politics, I wouldn’t have much to say. I also think that sometimes the things that we care about and feel passionate about are too quickly labeled as “politics.” It seems to me that the label of “political” is too often used to shut down debate and close off conversation. But there’s a difference between partisan politics and having an opinion about a topic or issue that many people care about. There’s a difference between political dogma and a philosophical debate.

I had a very nice conversation with some congregants earlier this week. One of them asked me about how I navigate politics in my rabbinic work. My answer is that I try my best to avoid partisanship, but my philosophy on life and the world, my beliefs and passions, inform everything I do and say as a rabbi. Partisanship is about which team you root for and “who’s right and who’s wrong” and it leads to the kind of vilification that results in the passion that Pinhas expressed. But there’s nothing improper about talking about our passions, our principals, and our ideals. The truth, I believe, is that people of many different political orientations and affiliations share many of the same passions and beliefs. I want to believe… I have to believe... that in some very basic way we care about the same things and desire some of the same outcomes. I want to believe most of us care about human dignity. I have to believe that most people want to live in a world with less conflict, less violence, less suffering, less pollution. I want to believe that most of us want a world with cleaner water and air, less poverty and more prosperity for a greater number of people. I think most us would say we value the good that comes from loving and functional families, we value hard work and honesty; we believe in fairness and justice. We value good health and education; we abhor wanton violence and crime. I want to believe and have to believe that there is a lot we share… that we more-or-less have the same destination in mind and that what divides us are philosophical and practical differences about how we get there.

I might be rambling. I might be putting my foot squarely in my mouth right now. I might even regret giving this sermon as early as kiddush, but the point I want to make is really rather simple, so I want to be absolutely explicit about what I’m trying to say: I think we need to stop being afraid of talking to one another. That’s it… the thesis of my sermon can be summarized in one word – “Conversation.” We can’t afford to be afraid of sincere and passionate conversation. The stakes are too high at this moment. There is too much going on and too many questions to answer for us to avoid talking to one another because it isn’t considered “polite.” I’m not suggesting that we go about it with the zealotry of Pinhas. I believe we can conduct ourselves with mutual respect and compassion if we focus on those fundamental principles and ideals that we share. And I want to believe and have to believe that through vigorous respectful discourse we can start solving some of these problems. I want to believe and have to believe that more debate, more engagement, is good for our democracy and good for our world.

The Protestant theologian Paul Tillich defined religion as a state of "being grasped by an ultimate concern." His contemporary, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “Religion is an answer to man’s ultimate questions. The moment we become oblivious to ultimate questions, religion becomes irrelevant.” So, with Tillich and Heschel in mind, I want us to become more religious. The question I pose to you is: what are your ultimate concerns?… what are the ultimate questions in your life? And then I want you to start talking about them with other people. I sincerely believe that if we speak respectfully and passionately, we too can forge a Brit Shalom – a Covenant of Peace.

Shabbat Shalom.