World Jewry, Zionism and the State of Israel

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The relationship between world Jewry, the Zionist movement and the State of Israel has never been simple and it has a long history. In 1897, Ahad Ha-Am (aka, Asher Ginzberg) published an essay in Ha-Shiloah, the Hebrew monthly he edited from Odessa, entitled, “The Jewish State and the Jewish Problem”. In the essay, Ginzberg argued that, as important as it is to have people settle in the Yishuv (the term used for pre-State Israel) it would be a mistake for Zionists to write off the millions of Jews who lived in the Diaspora and who would never make aliyah. He argued that the creation of a Jewish homeland must never become, strictly, a political endeavor. Rather it was a spiritual endeavor. As such, the land of Israel (and the national entity that he and other Zionists hoped would emerge) must find ways to tap into the great spiritual heritage of the Jewish people, scattered throughout the world, so that the new national entity would become a unifying force for world Jewry.

This article was published in The Jewish Peoplehood Papers, No. 34, Spring 2025. It also appeared in eJewishPhilanthropy on March 25, 2025.

How far we have strayed from this vision! Today, Israel is more a source of division in the Jewish world than it is a source of unity. Sociologists have been tracking the growth of a phenomenon labeled “distancing” for some time now, a term used to describe Jews who no longer see Israel as a central component to their Jewish identity. More recently, we have seen Jews create non-Zionist and anti-Zionist groups like Jewish Voice for Peace and many Jews have become active in Students for Justice in Palestine, the organization that has been largely responsible for sponsoring anti-Israel protests on college campuses, including harassment of Jewish students. Many Jewish parents, who grew up identifying with the State of Israel, now have millennial children who see Israel as an occupying, colonialist power that is engaging in a genocide against the Palestinian people. On matters related to Israel today, we are a people divided.

For much of Israel’s history, there has been a struggle between spiritual Zionism and political Zionism. Because Israel has had to defend itself against hostile Arab neighbors for so much of its history, the advocates of political Zionism have continued to have the upper hand in that struggle. Diaspora Jews are valued primarily for the way they can influence the U.S. and other western nations to offer economic, military and political support for Israel. The message Diaspora, pro-Israel groups get from Israeli political leaders is essentially: Leave the policy decisions to us and lobby your respective governments to remain steadfast allies of Israel.

The international climate today is one that sees democratic values under assault in the face of autocratic, nationalist political leaders. Israel has its own version of that in PM Benjamin Netanyahu, who has formed a governing coalition with religious and anti-democratic political parties. The organized Jewish community will continue to support the state of Israel as it reacts to the atrocities of 10/7 and the Iranian-sponsored military and political assault on Israel’s existence and legitimacy in the international arena. But, just below the surface, many Jews are increasingly alienated by an Israeli government that ignores appeals to the humanitarian needs of Palestinian civilians in Gaza and which prioritizes the prosecution of a war over a political deal that might release Israeli hostages from Hamas.  

Judaism and the Jewish people have a long and rich history of championing the values of justice and peace/tzedekv’shalom and helping to make those values manifest in the world. There are many in Israel who have raised the banner of tzedek v’shalom since the founding of the State. And yet today, those voices seem to be drowned out by those who believe that Israel’s future can only be guaranteed by military might and a form of nationalism that privileges Jews over non-Jewish citizens of Israel. Ahad Ha’am was not the only early Zionist who feared that a state without Jewish values at its core would betray 3000 years of Jewish history.

Unfortunately, the State of Israel has never been able to operationalize an aspirational idea that has been around for more than 100 years—allowing the values of Judaism and the voices of diaspora Jewry to inform the way the State of Israel is governed and led. Frankly, given the fact that Israel has yet to even write and endorse a constitution for the country after 77 years, makes it seem next to impossible to conceive of a way to allow Jews, who are not citizens of the country, to have some say in the affairs of the State of Israel. And yet, a small experiment in which I was involved may point a way forward.

When Ephraim Katzir was the President of Israel (1973-78) he wanted to elevate the discourse about Zionism and the future of Israel above partisan politics. He knew that Zionism was deeply rooted in the history of the Jewish people and was born in the rich intellectual ferment of European Jewry. He started to convene some of the greatest minds and spirits of Israeli society at Beit Hanassi, his Presidential Residence in Jerusalem, on a regular basis. He called it The President’s Study Circle on World Jewry. There, Israelis with no political office or governing authority, discussed and debated the future of Israel and the Jewish people.

The success of these seminars at Beit Hanassi enabled Katzir to convince the World Zionist Organization to provide staffing and some funding to seed a project called the Continuing Seminars on Zionist Thought in major Jewish communities all around the world. By the mid-1980’s, seminars engaging leading Jewish intellectuals existed in New York, Boston, Toronto, London, Paris, Cape Town and Caracas. Each Seminar met regularly, with members writing papers and, other members, acting as respondents. I was invited to organize an ongoing Seminar in Philadelphia in 1983, which met for several years. There even was an international conference held in Caracas, Venezuela in 1989, convening representatives of all the Continuing Seminars, which I was privileged to attend. It was truly awe-inspiring to sit with Jews from all over the world, committing their time and intellectual capital to the question that Ahad Ha-am addressed in his 1897 essay. I remember thinking: How lucky we are to have the State of Israel and how fortunate it is that it could inspire a conversation that spanned both geography (e.g. the seminars on different continents) and history (e.g. centuries of Jewish longing for a homeland). 

The Jewish people is not lacking in brain power. Nor does it lack for the resources to create think tanks, international conferences, and publish books and periodicals. What is lacking is an invitation by the Israeli government to make the Jewish people true partners in the State of Israel. Not just funders, and not just lobbyists of their governments, but true partners. As we see from the worldwide surge in anti-Semitism this past year, the fate of Jews in the world is intimately tied to decisions made by Israeli political leaders in Jerusalem. If Israel is to become a true center of the Jewish people, it must empower and partner with the Jewish people in a very tangible way.  

Listening for Angels

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Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about angels. That may sound surprising coming from a Reconstructionist rabbi. After all, I have said many times from this bima that I do not believe in a supernatural God as described in the Bible—a God who can suspend the laws of nature, who is all-knowing, all powerful and ever-present. It took me some time to claim a God belief that did not depend on a literalist depiction from the Bible and I owe a huge intellectual/spiritual debt to my teachers, Mordecai Kaplan, Harold Kushner, Zalman Schachter-Shalomi and Arthur Green, among others, for helping me figure that out. 

This was delivered at Kol Nidre services, 5785, at Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation in Bethesda, MD,The sermon was published by Times of Israel on October 16, 2024.

Compared with figuring out what “God” means, angels are a lot simpler to understand.  Angels do not get starring roles in the Biblical narrative. They are, at best, supporting actors in the Torah. But, when angels appear in the narrative, it is always for a reason. The Hebrew word, malach, derives from the Hebrew word, lech, “to walk” so a malach, an angel, is a messenger, sent by God for a prescribed purpose. The etymology from Greek is similar because angelos also means, “messenger”.

The first appearance of an angel in the Torah is in Genesis, ch. 16. Upon discovering that she could not have children, Sarah gives one of her maid-servants, Hagar, to Abraham as a concubine. But once Hagar is pregnant, Sarah is crazed by jealousy. Abraham does not defend Hagar and allows Sarah to treat her harshly. Hagar runs away into the desert, where she is unlikely to survive. In a parallel version of this story, recounted in ch. 21, Hagar has already given birth and, when she runs out of water, she places her son under a bush to die. It is then that an angel appears to her, shows her to a well and predicts that her son will be the father of a great nation. The angel urges Hagar to return to Abraham’s house.

Three powerful lessons are delivered with this one angelic “mercy mission”. The son will be called Ishmael, meaning, God paid heed to Hagar’s suffering. Hagar then creates a name for this God—El Roi, literally, “a God who sees me”. This Egyptian woman of low status—a handmaiden to Sarah—is elevated by the angel’s visit and says, “I am worthy of being seen”. And finally, the angel seems to understand a lesson that Israelis and Arabs are still struggling to achieve—Abraham’s offspring, one, the line of Isaac, and one, the line of Ishmael, need to figure out how to live, side by side, in peace!

A second example. In Genesis ch. 22, it is an angel who stops Abraham from sacrificing his son, Isaac, on the altar on Mt. Moriah. Up to that point, Abraham is prepared to engage in a practice, not uncommon in the ancient Near East, of sacrificing one’s “first fruits” in order to insure future bounty. The angel helps Abraham realize that a loving and merciful God cannot possibly want a father to slaughter his first-born son. It is not surprising that these two Biblical narratives are chosen by the rabbis as the Torah readings for Rosh haShana. Each story contains a powerful message of sins of commission and sins of omission. Each, also provide examples of repentance.

A third appearance of angels is in Genesis ch. 28, as Jacob journeys to re-encounter his brother, Esau, years after Jacob tricked him out of his birthright. In a dream, in his journey to that fateful encounter, Jacob sees angels ascending and descending a ladder to heaven. The angels do not speak in the dream but the rabbis have a field day interpreting the meaning of the angels. One commentary suggests that Jacob comes to understand that the path to holy/ethical living is attained, not in one fell swoop, but one rung at a time. Jacob has some work to do if he will be worthy of God’s promise to make him the father of great nation. That, most certainly, will include reconciling with his brother, Esau.

What do these Biblical stories mean for us? I imagine a large number of you here this evening might question if angels play any role in your life at all. Then again, I quite intentionally titled this sermon, not: “Do Angels Exist?” but rather, “Listening for Angels”. Here is why.

When Jacob awakens from his dream he says: “achen yesh adonay bamakom ha-zeh, v’anochi lo yadati”. One translation renders this as: “Surely, God is in this place and I did not even know it!” Jacob has had a “eureka” moment that reveals to him some truth about what he is destined to do with his life and how he might realize that destiny. It took a dream to make him fully conscious of his path forward and, when he awakens from that dream, he acknowledges a power in the universe—“God” in his language—that is giving him a life-changing message. Abraham had a similar experience. And, so will Moses.

But if we don’t believe that God can actually speak to a human being, what the Bible seems to be describing here is Jacob’s “dawning of consciousness”.  Nowhere in the Bible do we have a passage that so validates a non-supernatural approach to angels and to God. One moment, Jacob is at a campsite on the road from Beersheva to Haran. The next moment, Jacob says, “OMG!-Something happened here last night. The universe (or God) is speaking to me and I suddenly have greater clarity about my life’s purpose.” 

My friends: We are Jacob. In a few chapters, after a night of wrestling with another angel, Jacob is re-named, Israel. We are also, Israel. Angels are bringing us messages all the time. The problem is: Most of the time, we don’t take notice.

Let’s recall the verse uttered by Jacob: Yesh adonay bamakom ha-zeh, v’anochi lo yadati. Here is another way that we might translate that verse: “There is an important “angel message” coming to me at this very moment, in this very place, and I almost did not take note of it.” The early 20th century Irish writer, William Butler Yates, had a beautiful way of conveying the same truth. He wrote: “The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting on our senses to become sharper.” (repeat)

What do our angel messengers look like? They take many forms. It could be a teacher who shares some deep insight into a problem you have been pondering for a long time. It could be a doctor who points out that you need to eat healthier and exercise more. It could be a therapist who helps you see how you are engaging in dysfunctional patterns of behavior that are a source of your unhappiness. It could be one of your children who is trying to tell you, however inelegantly, that you need to let them make their own life decisions, even when you think they are making a mistake. It could be a coach, mentor or friend who sees potential in you that you do not see in yourself but might open up for you new horizons for accomplishment and self-fulfillment. It could be a loved one or a member of your family, from whom you are estranged, but who very much wants to find a way to restore the bonds of affection that once existed between the two of you.

Each of us can do a better job of heeding angels when they come our way. But sometimes we are just not ready for the message. When I was in rabbinical school at the RRC in the late 1970’s, our class had a chance to take a course with Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, the founder of the Jewish Renewal movement. Reb Zalman was a Lubavitcher Hasid who immigrated to the U.S. from Vienna during WWII. After the war, he and Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach were deployed by the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Schneerson, to do outreach to Jewish students on college campuses across the country. They were quite the team! But, by the early 1960’s, Reb Zalman’s engagement with hippie youth culture and mystic traditions of other religions, took him out of the Lubavitch orbit as he charted his own path towards a relevant Jewish mysticism for North American Jews.

We were excited to study with Reb Zalman at RRC. He was a much sought after Jewish teacher and he was, most definitely, an “original”. His ability to integrate European Jewish Orthodox practice with New Age relevance was unmatched. Reb Zalman moved to Philadelphia to teach at Temple University and founded P’nai Or, which would become the seed of the Jewish Renewal movement. The RRC recruited Reb Zalman to teach one course to rabbinical students. Our class was chosen.

And yet, when I reflected on what I learned from Reb Zalman during that semester’s course, I was embarrassed to admit to myself, that it was very little. It was my fault. Reb Zalman’s Torah did not match up with my personal spiritual and intellectual frameworks and I lacked the maturity to leave my assumptions behind and open myself up to new and novel perspectives. So, I lost out on an important opportunity to learn from a world-class, spiritual master.

Fast Forward some 35 years later: I was invited to keynote the annual Ohala conference that convenes Jewish renewal rabbis in Boulder, CO. Reb Zalman, at that time, held the World Wisdom Chair at the Naropa Institue in Boulder. The annual gathering of Jewish Renewal rabbis took place in Boulder because Reb Zalman continued to be the movement’s Rebbe. My assignment at that 2014 conference was somewhat daunting. I was asked to speak about Jewish Renewal after Reb Zalman even though Reb Zalman was still, very much alive. Reb Zalman passed away six months later. But for my talk, Reb Zalman sat, front and center, all decked out, as he did on special occasions, in his shtramel and kapota, the large fur hat and black overcoat worn by Lubavitcher chasidim.  It was pretty intimidating for me.

Years after I was ordained, I read Reb Zalman’s books with a level of appreciation I could not muster when I was in his class. I know that it changed my prayer life and revolutionized the way I led services. I was fortunate to have some private time with Reb Zalman before my talk. I felt the need to apologize to Reb Zalman for being so unable to appreciate his Torah when I was in his class. Reb Zalman was more than gracious, simply observing that, as we evolve as human beings, we become open to new forms of knowledge and wisdom.

I thought of Jacob’s words from Genesis 28: Yesh adonay bamakom ha-zeh, v’anochi lo yadati- I had a teacher who was sent as an angel for me, and I did not even know it at the time.

Why do I share this story? Because, I suspect, everyone in this room has received an “angel message” in her or his life, that you missed, just as I did. It may have come from someone close to you or from someone, totally unexpected. Take a moment to think of one such message and its source. Your homework for these holy days, is to remember that message and revisit it. If appropriate, you might even think about approaching that angel, and thanking them for their message. Consider it your “teshuva-act/repentance-act” for this year.

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I want to offer one other way of understanding the title of this sermon, “Listening for Angels”. I am indebted to another one of my teachers for this, Rabbi Larry Kushner, not be confused with Rabbi Harold Kushner, who wrote the classic, When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Larry Kushner was the first American rabbi who made Jewish mysticism accessible to a wide audience starting in the 1970’s.

Larry wrote an entire book about the one sentence I quoted from Jacob after his dream. The book was titled, God was in this Place. In the book, Rabbi Kushner offers seven unique ways of understanding the verse, “God was in this place and I failed to take notice”, each interpretation informed by a different rabbinic commentary on the verse.

Kushner’s seventh interpretation was inspired by the work of Moshe de Leon, a 13th century Spanish rabbi, who is credited with writing the Zohar. de Leon suggested that the word anochi, which means “I”, might well be another name for God. This changes the entire meaning of the verse. It is no longer: “God was here and I didn’t even know it” but rather, “God was here and I now understand that part of that God is in me.”

In Larry Kushner’s framing of the teaching from the Zohar, God is our sense of self, our innermost essence. Understanding our inner essence, our soul, what we are meant to do with the life we have been given, is what it means to “know God”. Kushner writes: “The essence of spirituality is a return to the self.” For Kushner, the “self” is a deep understanding of who we are and how we might find meaning in our lives. Kushner ends the passage this way: “We are agents, instruments of God’s presence. We are not at odds with the Self of the Universe; we are part of it.” 

What a remarkable idea! Kushner is suggesting that we, ourselves, are angels, capable of bringing aspirational messages into the world as well as to ourselves!

There is a Chasidic story that tells of a poor Jewish peasant who has a recurring dream about a great treasure buried at the foot of a bridge that leads into the city of Lublin. He tells his wife of his dream and she chastises him for his foolishness and tells him to tend to his chickens. But the dream comes back to him, night after night. Finally, he begs his wife to let him journey the 50 miles to Lublin to find his treasure. She relents.

The peasant walks for three days until he comes to the bridge of his dreams. But there is an armed guard at the bridge. He waits several hours and realizes he must engage with the guard. He comes out from behind his hiding spot, offers the guard some of the sweets his wife gave him for the journey and he proceeds to tell the guard about his dream. He ends by asking the guard to give him permission to dig up the ground around the bridge to find his treasure, promising to share the proceeds with him. The guard laughs and tells him that he cannot let him do that. Besides, he says, you are a foolish man for wasting your time on a long journey just because you had a dream. The guard continued: “I have had a recurring dream about a great treasure buried under the stove of a Jewish chicken farmer in the Polish countryside. Do you think I could afford to take time off from my job to chase that dream?”

The Jewish peasant immediately understands. It was an “angel message” from an unexpected source!He races back to his wife and home and proceeds to dig up the earth around the stove in his house. Sure enough, he finds the treasure.

The story is used to teach that often, that which we long for, that which we will travel across continents to find, or spend thousands of dollars to acquire, may well be right in our own backyard. A valuable “angel message” for all of us.

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One of the themes I have come back to again and again in recent years is the observation that the technological changes that have revolutionized our world may have robbed us of the ability to find inner peace, personal fulfillment and live a life of deep spirituality. It is hard not to be affected by the anxiety, anger and polarization that surrounds us.

I believe though, that the wisdom and practices of Judaism and the kind of spiritual community that we have created here at Adat Shalom, provide an antidote to the toxicity of our world. A large part of that antidote, which I hope you can begin to take into your mind and hearts this Yom Kippur, are the subtle messages of angels that come to you every day. Judaism calls it kol dmama daka, “a small, quiet voice” –a line that actually appears in the Unetaneh Tokef prayer on Rosh haShana. Kol dmama daka refers to voices from on high that speak to us, not in thunder, lightning and sea-splitting miracles, but in the “small, quiet voice” that we hear with our heart, and not only with our ears. The voices of angels that tell us to be kinder to each other; to live life with joy and purpose; and to count the numerous blessings that we, too often, take for granted.

Angels are whispering this message to us in so many different ways. Perhaps the shofar blasts that we heard last week were to remind us of the words of William Butler Yates “The world is full of magical things, patiently waiting on our senses to become sharper.”

May it be so in the coming year for each of us!

Tyranny, Democracy and the Jewish Mandate

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When Yale historian, Timothy Snyder, published On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century soon after Donald Trump assumed the U.S. Presidency in 2017, there were some who thought that this was yet another example of the political left overreacting to the election of a Republican president. Snyder’s less than subtle parallels between the rise of fascism in Europe in the 1930’s and the rise of Donald Trump and his MAGA rallies made for chilling reading.

This article appeared in Evolve: Groundbreaking Jewish Conversations on September 2, 2024

What took place during the four years of Trump’s presidency, more than vindicated Snyder’s analysis. As we face the possibility of a second Trump presidency, should he win the election in 2024, it is important to re-read On Tyranny and consider how we might inoculate America from a full assault on the pillars of American democracy. In the space of just one week in early July 2024, the Supreme Court eviscerated the ability of federal agencies to monitor and restrain the worst abuses of American corporations (Loper Bright Enterprises v. Raimondo); it gave U.S. Presidents legal immunity from prosecution for any actions that were part of the duties of the Presidential Office (Trump vs. U.S.); and the Trump campaign announced that every civil servant serving in the next Trump Administration would be subject to a loyalty test to the MAGA agenda and would be fired if they did not pass that test.

These developments simply add to the wholesale assault on democracy that threatens America’s future. Trump nominees to federal courts, including three appointments to the Supreme Court, have led to the weakening of laws that limited access to and use of guns; ended the Constitutional guarantee to a woman’s right to an abortion; limited the ability of the Environmental Protection Agency to regulate air and water pollution; and rolled back almost every facet of legislation protecting the rights of people of color to vote in elections, dating back to the 1960’s.

 To say that American Jews have a stake in these developments, not to mention, all that might take place should Trump be re-elected, is a vast understatement. This goes far beyond the alarming rise of anti-Semitism, racism and Islamophobia in the years since Trump won the presidency in 2016. When a head of state gives a “wink and a nod” to White Nationalists, labels refugees as rapists and killers, and suggests that armed insurrectionist who attacked the U.S. Capital with the intention to overturn the 2020 Presidential election results were “patriots”, prejudice and hatred becomes mainstreamed across all levels of society.

The Russian-Jewish writer, Mikhail Iossel, has a vignette in his book, Love Like Water, Love Like Fire, that is worth raising up. Iossel was raised in Communist Russia, emigrating to the U.S. in 1986. In his book, he reflects on a conversation he had with his parents when he was 8 years old. It was then that his parents helped him to understand the implications of being a Jew living in a totalitarian state that saw Jews as “enemies”.

“One could say we are the necessary evil. Yes, that’s it. Necessary evil,” said his parents. “The opposite of evil, but perceived by many, if not most, as evil.” “…Necessary evil—that means goodness, only a victimized, like, martyred one.” “…We are the ultimate, if involuntary, martyrs for the cause of good.” “…Such is the totally amazing nature of our extremely secret mission.”

Iossels dark humor seems apt at this moment for American Jews. America’s tradition of pluralistic democracy not only guaranteed rights for Jews as individuals, but also validated the desire of Americans to explore and express their religious, racial and national identities as groups. The flourishing of Jewish religious and cultural life in America, far exceeds that which Jews have ever enjoyed in their millennial history.

I was raised in that milieu and, from the time I made my first visit to Russia to support the efforts of Soviet Jews to either practice their faith or emigrate to the west, I never took it for granted. Many American Jews may have felt that the respect for and tolerance of Jews, was a “given” in the United States. Yet, deep in our genetic coding, is the memory of living under persecution. For me, that memory is not even genetic. My father left his birthplace of Berlin in 1938, two weeks before Kristallnacht. He was 16 years old and came to live with his aunt and uncle in Brooklyn. He would never see his mother, baby sister or other members of his family again. They perished in the Shoah. 

History has trained Jews to be the “canary in the coal mine”, the first group to identify the emergence of tyrants and autocrats who would undermine the values of freedom, liberty and democracy to advance their own, personal agendas. In 2024, that needs to become the highest priority of Jews and the Jewish community. Everything else that we cherish and value, depends on it.   

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Sid Schwarz is the director of the Clergy Leadership Incubator (CLI), a two-year fellowship for rabbis on visionary leadership and institutional transformation. He is the founding rabbi of Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation (Bethesda, MD), where he continues to teach and lead services. He is the author of three books, including Judaism and Justice: The Jewish Passion to Repair the World.

Doubling Down on Jewish Innovation

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Kenissa: Communities of Meaning Network emerged from the publication of Jewish Megatrends: Charting the Course of the American Jewish Future in 2013. The lead essay in the book argued that, while legacy Jewish organizations are on the decline and, it seems, American Jewish life is deteriorating, there is a countervailing process on the Jewish landscape of emergent communities and organizations that represent the seeds of an American Jewish renaissance.

A version of this article was published by eJewishPhilanthropy on May 14, 2024.

The book elicited much interest and comment from major stakeholders in the American Jewish community. Based on that interest, in 2015 we secured funding from The William Davidson Foundation to create a national initiative that was designed to find, convene, and build capacity with the “creatives” — individuals who were driving the phenomenon described in Jewish Megatrends. These creatives were building new organizations and communities across a range of sectors including: social justice; spiritual practice; independent minyanim; Jewish learning groups; and eco-sustainability.

Kenissa was not designed to be a permanent organization. It was designed to be an initiative with a fixed, seven-year time horizon. Phase 1, which included a continental mapping effort, took place in the first five years. By the end of Phase 1, we had built a network of some 400 creatives who were re-imagining the nature of Jewish life and community for their generation. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of the creatives we found were in their 20s and 30s, as were the people that their initiatives attracted. Phase 2 involved a survey of our creatives so that we could harvest our learnings and share it with the wider community. While Phase 2 took longer than we originally projected, we are now releasing a final report and the results of the national survey we conducted.

The boutique nature of most of the organizations coming into our orbit was evident from the first few national convenings of the Network. Unlike legacy Jewish organizations (e.g. synagogues, JCCs, Jewish Federations) that are multi-dimensional, the start-up economy rewards organizations (as well as businesses, though that was beyond our scope) that identify a very specific niche and target audience.

We wanted to identify the themes that were of greatest interest to next generation Jews. We called them “sectors” and each represented a “portal” through which many Jews were prepared to experience a facet of Jewish life and community. The sectors were:

  • Chochma/Wisdom – engaging with the wisdom and practice of our inherited Jewish heritage;
  • Kedusha/Sacred Purpose – helping people live lives of sacred purpose;
  • Tzedek/Social Justice – inspiring people to work for a more just and peaceful world;
  • Yetzira/Creativity – the human ability to imagine/invent/create ideas, science, art and culture;
  • Kehillah/Covenantal Community – creating intentional, covenantal communities that bind people to one another and to a shared mission;
  • Shomrei Adama/Guardians of the Earth– pursuing a lifestyle that is ecologically responsible and sustainable, including new communal living arrangements.

We learned that the organizations and communities in the Kenissa network opened the door to many Jews who were not attracted by more mainstream Jewish organizations. Our research revealed that when people began to engage with one of these Jewish communities of meaning, it often represented the first exposure that those individuals were having with Jewish life as adults. We also found that engagement in one sector, often led participants to explore other dimensions of Jewish life. We came to represent the phenomenon of emerging Jewish communities of meaning in a Venn diagram.

Here are some of the other key findings from our survey research:

  • Leaders of Kenissa organizations demonstrated a strong commitment to social justice, inclusivity, and community engagement.
  • Approximately 60% of Kenissa responses mentioned the racial justice awakening, racial equity, and the Black Lives Matter movement as factors that deeply affected their organizations. Many respondents mentioned their affinity to multiple identities and how those identities intersected to shape their work as leaders.
  • Many respondents expressed frustrations with the established Jewish community’s lack of support or understanding of their work. These were sentiments that often were expressed during our national convenings as well.
  • Many Kenissa leaders cited Jewish and personal values as the motivation for founding their organizations. The organizations they created were primarily in the sectors of Jewish education/learning, community building and spirituality.

The report and survey research we are releasing this month brings Kenissa to a close. What we projected to be a seven-year project extended to almost nine years due to the disruption caused by the Covid-19 pandemic. Ironically, we issue this report amidst another crisis—the October 7th atrocities by Hamas in Israel and the subsequent Israel-Hamas war in Gaza. Many voices in the Jewish community say that this is a time to circle the wagons, focus primarily on support for Israel and defense against a global rise in antisemitism. Jewish foundations are already re-assessing their priorities, shifting resources to a variety of responses to this crisis.

The Middle East crisis facing the Jewish community and the Jewish people is very real. The Jewish community has impressively rallied to raise huge amounts of dollars and, in a short time, created numerous programmatic responses to the crisis in Israel. Still, it is a mistake to delay efforts to make Jewish life more creative and compelling. The Jewish community’s ability to be resilient in the face of crises depends on its ability to make Jewish life a source of meaning and human flourishing. Jewish identity in a free society is a choice. If next gen Jews experience Jewish life as simply a vehicle to respond to threats to Jewish survival, at home and abroad, many will choose not to engage at all.

From the outset, Kenissa was premised on the belief that younger Jews were re-inventing Jewish life in exciting and compelling ways, even as there were many indicators that legacy Jewish organizations were losing relevance and market share. Kenissa was designed to bring national attention to this phenomenon, identify and convene the creatives that were founding new organizations that spoke to the interests of young Jews, and build bridges between these innovators and the organized Jewish community. We accomplished the first two goals with great success. The third goal continues to be a work-in-progress and we stand ready to serve as a resource to Jewish Federations, Jewish foundations and other interested parties that understand the importance of supporting efforts to re-think, re-shape and transform Jewish life and community.

Israel Post 10/7: Learning Humility

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I always learn the most from Israeli cabbies. The views they share are raw, unvarnished. On most of my organized visits to Israel I hear from all kinds of experts — academics, journalists, heads of NGOs, members of Knesset, etc. — but what stays with me for months after each trip are what I hear from the cabbies. 

A version of this article was published by eJewishPhilanthropy on April 12, 2024.

This was my first visit post-10/7, as a volunteer on a service mission with the organization Adamah. Like many American Jews who care about Israel, I was consuming hundreds of articles, podcasts and news stories about the war against Hamas, the fates of the hostages, the humanitarian crisis affecting civilians in Gaza, the growing hostility in the world toward Jews and Israel, and much more. I am no stranger to the country. I visit almost every year. 

But I found Israel to be, definitely, a changed country. 

The cab driver who drove me from the airport into Tel Aviv told me that he has lost all faith in the Israeli government. “They have failed all of us,” he said. First, there was the shocking intelligence failure that allowed the incursion of more than 1,000 Hamas terrorists over the border to commit mind-numbing atrocities against Israelis, despite several warnings that such an incursion was being planned. Then there was the failure of the vaunted Israeli military to come to the aid of Israelis being massacred or kidnapped for the better part of 24 hours. 

“We need to get rid of them. All of them,” he declared. “We need new political leadership in this country.”

The cab driver who drove me back to the airport after nine days in the country gave me a different take on the matzav(situation). It was the day that the U.S. chose to abstain from the U.N. resolution calling for a cease-fire. “Biden is weak,” the cabbie told me. “Doesn’t he understand that, if Israel doesn’t eliminate Hamas, they are coming for the entire Western world next?… Don’t you remember 9/11?… We need Trump —” 

At that point I interjected. “Trump is crazy,” I said. “He is dangerous and totally lacking any measure of integrity or principle.” 

My cabbie was quick with a response: “That is why we need him. He is just crazy enough to flatten all of Gaza without any hesitation. Let all the Gazans starve to death or be killed in this war. Less for us to worry about.” 

Unvarnished, indeed! 

Between these two random conversations in a cab, there was much to take in. At Hostage Square in downtown Tel Aviv, for instance, you could speak to relatives of hostages still being held in Gaza. You could walk through a simulated Hamas tunnel, imagining what it might be like to be chained in one of them for months on end, with minimal food or water and at risk of beatings or worse at the hands of Hamas captors. Or you could walk up to a yellow piano donated by the parents of Alon Ohel, 22, a gifted pianist kidnapped from the Nova music festival. The sign next to the piano invites visitors to sit at the piano and play a song as a message of hope and strength that Alon will survive his ordeal and return home safely. 

A visit to the actual Nova music festival site is even more heart-rending. Over 400, mostly young people attending the festival were killed by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7, and another 40-plus were taken as hostages. The site has become a much-visited memorial, with photos and memorabilia of each of the victims placed with care by their families and friends. As Israelis and a handful of tourists walk somberly through the site, there are pop-up gatherings of people saying Kaddish, telling stories of loved ones lost, and offering songs and prayers to honor those whose lives were cut so tragically short. 

At a hotel in Zichron Yaakov, around 400 displaced residents from towns on the Lebanese border, some only a stone’s throw from Hezbollah bunkers, are taking refuge. They are among the approximately 180,000 Israelis displaced due to concerns about shelling and/or incursions from terrorists. In conversation with these Israelis, one hears expressions of patriotism, love of country and Zionism that remind me of conversations I had with Israelis decades ago, but rarely since. 

One middle-aged woman named Rachel, from the northern town of Shlomi, brought me to tears with her spontaneous speech to our group: “For centuries, Jews have been persecuted, expelled from their countries and killed. We finally reclaimed our home — the State of Israel. We will no longer run. We will fight for our right to be a free people in our ancestral homeland. Am Yisrael chai, the nation of Israel shall live.” 

When I approached Rachel to thank her for her courage and for her inspiring words, she discovered that I had a daughter who made aliyah and who lives in Tel Aviv. “I will be back in my home soon enough. Have your daughter call me. She will come for Shabbat dinner,” she said. 

Many people asked me why I was coming to Israel in the midst of a war. Rachel provided the best answer. We are family. 

I’ve had many opportunities to speak to my congregation and to others about 10/7, about the Israel-Hamas war, about the future of the State of Israel. Like many, my views have changed several times since 10/7. The events of that day and the subsequent weeks and months will leave long-standing scars on Israelis, Palestinians and all who care about the future of the Middle East. But every time I offer an opinion on what the stakeholders in the current conflict should do, I feel like I am in a game of chess. I am aware that my “move” can be countered by three possible moves that will put me in a worse situation. And even more humbling, there are likely six other moves that will put me in a worse situation that I can’t even begin to anticipate. 

I returned from Israel with a healthy lesson in humility. I will still offer my opinions, hopefully well-reasoned. But I will try to listen more, speak less and hold my opinions more lightly. Jewish professionals are facing a community whose views span the spectrum from “defend Israel against any and every critic” to “Zionism is a colonial enterprise that needs to be dismantled as soon as possible”. I am finding that a posture of listening without judgment is the only way to keep the widest possible range of Jews in the communal tent. Given the dramatic rise in anti-semitic attitudes and actions all around the world, this is a time for solidarity, not a time for pointing fingers and making accusations about who is right and who is wrong. 

The one conviction that I will hold with greater force is this: We say in Hebrew: Kol Yisrael areivim zeh ba-zeh, “All of Israel is responsible, one for the other.” In other words, we are family. We must show up for one another. 

Pour out your Wrath on the Others (who are your enemy)/Shfoch hamatcha al haGoyim

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This year, we need to set a higher bar for the wise child. It is not enough to celebrate this child because s/he dutifully participates in the Seder ritual, unlike her siblings.

I am thinking of the line in the Haggadah that instructs us to pour out our wrath on the “others”, who are our enemy. True, many of our festivals tell tales of how Jews overcame an evil ruler. The fact that Jews prevailed becomes evidence of God’s love for his chosen people, Israel. It is an effective narrative device: good guys overcome bad guys. Sometimes, it even comes close to being historically accurate. But this year, in the face of the atrocities and slaughter that Hamas perpetrated upon Israelis on October 7th, and then the Israeli assault on Gaza, which has cost the lives of over 30,000 Palestinians, more than half of whom, are women and children, I am hoping that the wise children (and adults) at the Seder table might make a courageous break with the Exodus narrative to reject the demonization of the “other”. That narrative becomes a justification to dehumanize that “other” and, once dehumanization happens, innocent people are killed.

This was a contribution to Seder Interrupted: A Post-October 7 Haggadah Supplement. Hard copies can be ordered on Amazon; a free download is available at: https://ajr.edu/forms/haggadah-supplement-download/

As part of our congregation’s attempt to explore all sides of the tragic conflict in Israel/Palestine since October 7th, we hosted a visit from an Israeli NGO called Combatants for Peace. The panel included two Israeli Jews and two Palestinians. Each told their story. One of the Palestinians, Sulaiman Khatib, was arrested at age 14 for stabbing two IDF soldiers and trying to steal their weapons. During his 10 years in an Israeli prison, Sulaiman studied the writings of Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King, Jr. and learned that revolutionary change can happen through non-violence. He also learned enough about Jewish history and the tragedy of the Shoah that he realized that the Jews, who, he was taught, were his enemies, had also suffered greatly and that Israel was the Jewish people’s refuge.  

Chen Alon’s grandfather escaped the death camps of Poland during the Shoah and made his way to Israel. Chen was proud to put on an IDF uniform and protect the State of Israel from her enemies, as did his father during the 1967 Six-Day War. And yet, Chen started to see things as a reservist during the First Intifada that troubled his conscience—arresting a 10-year old Palestinian boy for being a “suspected terrorist”; destroying the home of a Palestinian family because they did not have the right permit to add a balcony to their second floor living area; preventing a car driven by a Palestinian from bringing sick children to the hospital in Bethlehem because they did not have proper papers. Chen came to believe that Israel’s occupation of over 3 million Palestinians in the West Bank was ethically indefensible. He joined a small group of Israelis who refused to serve in the IDF as a matter of conscience.

Both Sulaiman and Chen manifested a form of courage that is suggested by the Mishna in Pirke Avot (4:1) Mi hu gibor? Ha’kovesh et yitzro, “Who is a hero? The one who can subdue his/her evil instincts”. Chen and Sulaiman rejected the narratives of their respective people which portrayed the other side as “the enemy”. They are now part of a small but important constituency of Palestinians and Jews who are committed to the path of mutual respect and a shared society.

May this Pesach inspire many others to become “wise children”, who can see beyond the narratives that condemn us to perpetual conflict and violence. Only that way, can we all both envision and then, bring to fruition, the redemption and liberty for all peoples, which is the intent of this festival.  

Israel: Is “Purification” Possible?

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I just returned from my first, post 10/7 trip to Israel. A widely held view in Israel, that I heard expressed in a variety of different ways is: everything has to be re-thought. Included on that list are: the ability of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) to keep Israelis safe; the belief in the Israeli government and its ability to govern competently; whether Israel is the antidote to age-old anti-semitism or the cause of new forms of anti-Jewish sentiment around the world; the implications of Israel’s growing diplomatic isolation in the international community; and much more.

This article appeared in The Times of Israel on April 1, 2024.

It was hard to wrap my brain around some of these profoundly big questions while on the ground in Israel. Spending time with people who I love in a country that I love seemed to more immediately require heart strength, not brain power. Israel is a country in trauma. The atrocities and deaths of 10/7, the knowledge of women, children, the elderly and others, still held hostage in the tunnels of Gaza, the daily casualty counts of IDF soldiers, all weigh heavily on the hearts and minds of Israelis. Nor are Israelis unaware of the humanitarian crisis and rising death toll in Gaza, which affects many civilians who are as much victims of Hamas’s insidious actions as are Israelis. Walking through Hostage Square in the middle of Tel Aviv or on the Nova Music Festival site only miles from Gaza, is akin to a visit to Yad Vashem but it is far more raw because of how recently the events being memorialized took place. 

As a rabbi, I try to see if our sacred texts can offer any wisdom about a situation so profoundly destabilizing as all that I witnessed in Israel. I was in Israel for Shabbat Zachor, the shabbat that precedes Purim. I was back in my home congregation in Bethesda, MD for Shabbat Parah, one of the “special” shabbatot that marks the countdown to Pesach. I could not help but read the Biblical passages differently this year, refracted through all that has transpired these past six months.

On Shabbat Zachor we read a section from Deuteronomy ch. 25 from a second scroll for maftir. It recounts how the nation of Amalek, seeing the children of Israel making their way from Egypt to the Land of Israel, attack Israel from behind, targeting those who were most vulnerable. In Jewish tradition, the phrase zachor at Amalek, “remember what Amalek (did to you)” has always been used to remind Jews of those who might seek to do our people harm. It also suggests a party that is utterly lacking in morality or common decency. The positioning of this Biblical reading prior to Purim is intentional because it reminds Jews that, in every generation, there are forces in the world that would like to destroy us (to paraphrase a line from the Passover Haggadah).

This sentiment is an important reminder, but it is also dangerous. We are living in a time when extremists from a wide array of religions declare “holy war” against those whose very existence is characterized as a threat to the realization of their respective religion’s messianic aspirations. Jews are not immune from using religious themes as a way to stir up hate, intolerance and “holy war”. In 1994, Baruch Goldstein, an American Orthodox Jew who made aliyah to Israel, entered the mosque built on the Tomb of the Patriarchs in Hebron, shot to death 29 Muslims, and wounded another 130, all of whom were there in order to worship. The massacre took place immediately prior to Purim and Goldstein was reported to have said that these Arabs were the modern-day Amalek.

Goldstein’s grave in Hebron, is visited by many Orthodox Jewish settlers in the West Bank who consider him a hero. Yigal Amir, who assassinated Israeli Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin, was among those who were “inspired” by Baruch Goldstein. When current Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, compared Hamas to Amalek in a speech outlining Israel’s military objectives in Gaza in November 2023, he was taking a page from a time-worn religious playbook. Wiping out Hamas was a religious duty. This is a “holy war”.

Today, Israel and Gaza are territories awash in blood and death. Because I walked through the sites of massacres on October 7th, I know many of the names of the victims and even a bit about their lives because of the memorabilia placed on those sites by members of their families. I know far less about some of the Palestinian civilians killed in Gaza as a result of Israel’s military actions against Hamas but I’ve seen enough footage and read enough news accounts that has led me to include them and their families in my prayers for peace in the region.

This too was on my heart and mind as I read the passages for Shabbat Parah this past shabbat. The special Biblical reading comes from Numbers ch. 19, and it tells of the practice of sacrificing an unblemished red heifer, mixing its ashes with water to create a healing potion that would purify individuals from the impurity that results from contact with a dead body. Like many Biblical practices, this one is long obsolete. Many would consider it irrelevant for our time.

It occurred to me that the trauma of October 7th, that has affected every person I met in Israel, is not unlike the “impurity” described in Numbers 19. Death and impending death loom over every person who lives in Israel. It affects the way people talk with one another, make decisions in their everyday life; engage with the world. The same can be said for the Palestinians who live in Gaza who have seen dozens of family members killed, thousands living in the streets without adequate shelter and children starving to death. This is a generation, both Israelis and Arabs, that will be scarred for life. The unfolding tragedy, triggered by the Hamas attacks of October 7th, will shape the future of the region, for better or for worse.

The end of that last sentence might strike the reader as odd. How can the tragedy possibly be “for better”? I have always believed that the power of Torah and of our Jewish tradition is that it helps us take the long view and not become overly myopic in the circumstances of the moment. When a person is experiencing trauma, their ability to make good judgments is impaired. This is even more true for nations in trauma, (e.g. the United States post 9/11). When I re-read the red heifer purification ritual in the context of my experiences of the past few weeks, I realized that the impurity that our ancestors believed resulted from contact with the dead, is not that different from the “impurity” of two nations acting and re-acting out of deep historical trauma.

The world stood in awe when Nelson Mandela emerged from prison, became the president of South Africa, and then, instead of launching a policy of revenge and retribution against the purveyors of apartheid that caused untold suffering on black South Africans, appointed Desmond Tutu to lead a Truth and Reconciliation Commission. That process was a process of “purification” from the cycle of violence that poisoned South Africa for generations. Thirty-five countrieshave engaged in similar reconciliation processes since the mid-1970’s, in each case, to help a country heal from ethnic, religious and political divisions that have been a source of oppression, civil wars and death.

The pairing of Shabbat Zachor and Shabbat Parah offers insight into how we might turn religion from a force that leads to hatred, intolerance and suffering into a force that can lead to reconciliation, compassion and peace. Trauma and death can easily be invoked by political leaders to wage “holy wars” to avenge past events. Indeed, history is replete with examples of this dysfunctional, cycle of violence. But we also have examples of political leaders with a unique visionary ability to look past the trauma of the moment, and to inspire their people with the possibilities of peace. Yitzhak Rabin modeled that kind of leadership, as did Nelson Mandela. Rabin and Mandela give us examples of leaders who convinced their respective people to break the cycle of violence that plagued them and their respective countries. They saw to it that “purification” was possible.

Israel/Palestine sits at the junction of the three great Abrahamic traditions—Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. That is at least one reason why the eyes of the world focus so closely on the region even as “holy wars,” persecution and death are ongoing in dozens of other regions around the world. That is also the reason why tens of thousands of people around the world feel like “stakeholders” in the outcome of the current conflict. However, only when we break free of tribal narratives that condemn us to perpetuating the cycle of violence and revenge over and over again, will we be open to the possibility of a peaceful way forward. That would be a true re-imagining of the ritual of purification that can bring a blessing of shalom into the world.

Yearning to Breathe Free…

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This weekend, hundreds of synagogues across North America and around the world will mark National Refugee Shabbat. The event is organized by HIAS, the storied organization founded more than a century ago and responsible for the rescue of hundreds of thousands of Jewish refugees. Today, HIAS is on the front line of organizations advocating for more compassionate and sustainable policies for refugees around the world who may not be Jewish but whose well-being goes to the very core of Jewish teachings about the preciousness of human life and the obligation to protect the stranger in our midst.  

This article appeared in eJewish Philanthropy on February 2, 2024.

Last week, I participated in a rabbinic delegation to the Mexican border, organized by HIAS, to see how the United States is trying to control the influx of asylum seekers into this country. We learned about the various administrative procedures and executive orders that have been put in place since the Trump administration to restrict the entry of foreign nationals into our country. Even though President Joe Biden has used “kinder and gentler” language than his predecessor in discussing migrants, the current policies make it no easier for individuals who are fleeing criminal gangs and political violence in their countries to enter the U.S., even though that is a right guaranteed by international human rights law and was long honored by the United States. 

It is impossible to experience what transpires at the Mexico-U.S. border without recalling how many Jews faced similar scenarios in the not-so-distant past. My own father was born in Berlin and was encouraged by his parents to accept an invitation from an aunt and uncle in Brooklyn to leave Nazi Germany. He left two weeks before Kristallnacht, in October 1938, and he came to the U.S. on the last successful voyage of the St. Louis. The next voyage of the St. Louis, in May 1939, came to be called “the voyage of the damned” because the U.S. refused entry to the more than 900 Jewish refugees aboard who were fleeing Europe and the boat was forced to return to Germany. 

Continue reading at eJewish Philanthropy

When Religion Died: A Fable

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I’ve never been a religion pusher. People are sometimes surprised by this. After all, I am a rabbi and people assume that pushing religion is my job. They figure: drug dealers push drugs; dentists push electric toothbrushes; shouldn’t rabbis push religion?

Delivered at Kol Nidre at Adat Shalom Reconstructionist Congregation, Bethesda, MD, Sept. 24, 2023. Rabbi Sid is Adat Shalom’s Founding Rabbi.

I remember, early in my rabbinate, a couple came to see me about getting married. The woman was Catholic and the man was Jewish. The bride-to-be had a rich experience growing up in her church community and was passionate about her faith; the groom-to-be could care less about being Jewish. They agreed to see a priest and a rabbi about how they might raise their kids. It was pretty clear that they were also using the visits to explore the possibilities of one of us officiating at their wedding. After 30 minutes of my asking a lot of questions, I suggested that they should get married by a priest and raise their children as good Catholics. For the first time in the meeting, the future groom got very animated. Well maybe the more accurate word is, “agitated”. “Two weeks ago, we got a great pitch from a priest about Catholicism,” he said. “This meeting was my turn. You are supposed to be pushing Judaism! Rabbi, do your job!” I don’t actually think he said those last three words, but that is what he was implying.

I responded calmly: “I think that families are stronger when they are part of a faith community and incorporate the practices and festivals of that faith community into their home. Your fiancé has experienced that through her church and wants to provide that for your children. You seem uninterested in exploring how you might do that with Judaism. I think you will have a happier home life if you allow your fiancé to take the lead and then, the two of you, can build a beautiful, Catholic home together.”

Suffice it to say, I did not get that wedding gig! Not that I was angling for it, mind you. Upon reflection, I think that I spoke a bit more truth than the Jewish partner could handle at that moment. And while I probably would give myself a high score on “integrity” during that encounter, I would give myself a C- on effective counseling.

I share the story because it is a metaphor for how we think about religion today and, more personally, how each one of us determines the role that religion might play in our lives.

There are numerous reasons why religion is suffering serious decline in America today. This is not the place for me to get into the details but I plan to offer a 3-part adult education series on “Religion in America” in January when I will look at the causes of religious decline in depth and offer some ideas for renewal. I hope that this sermon might entice you to attend.

Looking at the big picture consider these two data points: A University of Chicago study of American religion found that in 1998, 62% of Americans said: “religion is very important to me”. Now, only 39% of Americans will say that. Similarly, in 1998, 17% of Americans said: “I never attend religious services”. Now, 31% say that.

***

So, why does this matter? The state of our world is not good and the state of our country is not any better. Even as we suffer the consequences of global warming, we cannot muster the political will to cut the use of fossil fuels in a meaningful way. Democratic norms are being undermined around the world, most notably for us, in both the United States and in Israel, and we see the rising appeal and election of authoritarian leaders. Unregulated social media, now has the power to amplify hate speech, promote harmful conspiracy theories and confuse the public about what is fact and what is fiction.

No wonder that we are seeing an alarming rise of despair and hopelessness in our society. The Center for Disease Control reports that 2 out of 5 teenagers feel persistently sad or hopeless. 20% of high school students now indicate that they have considered committing suicide. Almost 40% of U.S. adults report that they suffer from depression and/or, from anxiety. Vivek Murthy, the U.S. Surgeon General, has named this “a national epidemic of isolation and loneliness”.  Dr. Murthy is right when he says that this a public health crisis impacting both individuals and our society at large.

I am quite certain that every person sitting here this evening can tell a story about how they or a loved one are being affected by this society-wide epidemic. And you would have to be living off the grid or on a desert island not to see the social and political consequences of our national loss of civility and common decency.  

The legendary American psychologist, Abraham Maslow, coined a saying that if the only tool you have is a hammer, you come to see every problem as a nail. As such, we could almost predict how different sectors of society might propose ways to fix our social malady. Mental health professionals would say that we need more therapists. Pharmaceutical companies would market more Prozac. If you owned PetSmart, you would propose that every family get a dog. (Side note: The Schwarz family will say a polite, “no thank you” on the dog.)

My take on this problem is a bit different. To lay it out, I want to share a fable.

With a nod and a tribute to George Orwell… the year is 2084. Every social malady that I mentioned earlier about America, has gotten far worse. An anthropologist from another planet lands in the United States. Let’s call this non-binary alien, Olam haBah, the Hebrew phrase for “the next, and better world”. Olam haBah tours this great country of ours, reads all the books and studies that have been produced documenting the sorry state of our country as well as many suggestions made by academics and policy experts for turning this country around. After six months of study, Olam haBah writes a prescription to heal our broken society. I’m about to share what Olam haBah wrote but, before I do, use your imagination to consider how the message reached every human being living in this country in a form that would be read, understood and taken very seriously.

Here is Olam haBa’s Epistle to the American People: “Seek out other people in your community who share your desire to live a more joyful and fulfilling life for you and your family. Gather together and agree on some common values that you share.  Agree to meet once a week. Create space where people can tell each other about their families, their cultural/ethnic backgrounds, their occupations and their hobbies. Find some wisdom literature that the group might read and discuss each week. Start and end each meeting with some singing of songs that everyone knows or can learn. If a member of the group gets sick or has a setback of any kind, other members of the group should visit them and bring food as a token of their love and support. If a member of the group is celebrating a birth, a marriage, a graduation, a significant accomplishment, have a party to celebrate together. Once a month, identify a need in the larger community and have the group volunteer their time to address the need. Honor and respect every individual in the group, even when you may not agree with them. Practice compassion, kindness and hospitality with one another. Consider your group sacred, as its very existence will make your life more meaningful and begin to repair the deep brokenness that has infected your society.” Signed: Olam ha-Ba.

Now in this Orwellian-inspired fable, of which I have only written this one paragraph, my premise will be that by 2084, all religions will have been shut down and declared illegal, not unlike what happened in the former Soviet Union. Part of what started an even more serious downward spiral in this country than what we are currently experiencing is when (hold on to your hat), Elon Musk won the Presidency in 2028. Within the first year of his Administration, Musk suspended all future elections and declared himself President for life. Many experts had been predicting the threats to American democracy for years; now, it had happened. With the end of elections, America, long a beacon of democracy, had become a totalitarian state. Among Musk’s draconian measures was the banning of religion because too many faith leaders were criticizing him from their pulpits and, besides, Musk thought that religion was a silly waste of time. Elon Musk’s rule lasted for 38 years, until his death at age 90 in the year 2066.  

But, don’t worry. My book will have a happy ending because Olam haBa’s message will capture the imagination of a human race that had bottomed out. There is nowhere to go but up. Olam haBa’s visit in 2084 made a big impact. Based on his universally read message, first one group formed. And then another. And then another. The third group called themselves a “sacred circle,” playing off on one of the words that appeared in Olam haBa’s epistle to the American people, and the name stuck. Soon there were dozens, hundreds and then thousands of sacred circles forming all around America.

In each circle, people got to know their neighbors in a real and deep way. Children came to these circles with their parents. It was the only place where you could connect to other people. Most Americans long ago gave up the use of cell phones since they realized that all frequencies were controlled by Elon Musk’s empire and were used to surveil and brainwash the population. The weekly sacred circles became life-affirming gatherings, in which formerly hopeless people, began to dream of a better tomorrow. And people learned to be kind. And people learned to be generous. And people learned to be compassionate. And the more people gave of themselves, the more generosity they received in return, as if the very act of giving had a magical quality of growing exponentially when practiced. Soon, people who were transformed by their engagement in their respective sacred circles, started to connect with other sacred circles. The civility and respect that was practiced in each circle, started to characterize the interactions happening in the larger society. People saw that there was a different and better way to live in America. The seeds for a renewal of American democracy and social civility had been sown.

Elders said that the sacred circles were reminiscent of how some faith communities functioned in the early 21stcentury, before they were closed down by the Musk empire.  

***

That is as far as I’ve gotten with my fable. If you are interested in collaborating with me to finish it, get in touch. I think we have a good shot at getting the movie rights sold to Hollywood.

The word “religion” comes from the Latin, religare, “to connect”. For decades, I have defined “spirituality” as a two-dimensional form of connection. Horizontally, we connect to one another. Think “community”. Vertically, we connect to something far larger than ourselves, to some transcendent power in the universe that connects us across many generations. Some people like to call that vertical connection, “God”.

Religion, when it works, does both of these things powerfully—horizontal and vertical connection. It functions like the “sacred circles” of my fable, helping us learn that we need a platform to come together, that is larger than our nuclear family but smaller than the nation. It is within sacred communities that we learn how to live with each other cooperatively and commit ourselves to some larger, altruistic purpose. And it is also in those sacred communities that we utter words and engage in practices that were invoked by our parents, grandparents and the generations that preceded them. As we re-engage with those practices, and the words of the prayer book cross our lips, all the generations that came before us are with us, in spirit.

It is easy to bad mouth religion. Religions more than deserve the bad reputation that they have acquired. The brand is badly soiled, if not poisoned for many. And yet, when faith communities do the things that characterized the sacred circles of my fable, they can be magical places. I think Adat Shalom is such a magical place. It has been so for my family and, I dare say, for many of you who are sitting here this evening. If that statement is true for you, I would invite you to stand up. (SS note: About 90% of the 750 people in attendance stood in response to this invitation. I suggested that everyone look around the room to take in the significance of the response before I continued.)

***

Let me now state the obvious. Even as I describe Adat Shalom as a magical place, it doesn’t work by magic. All of the benefits of sacred circles that I described in my Olam haBa fable, don’t happen because you walk into a synagogue building two or three times a year, or send a check to be on the membership list.

I recently heard a comedy sketch by Leanne Morgan, who just had a special on Netflix. Morgan is a middle-aged woman from Tennessee with a deep, southern drawl, which I will not try to imitate here. One of her sketches is about Weight Watchers. She says: “I have joined Weight Watchers nine times in 20 years! I have lost 7 pounds. I know the program works. I’ve seen the good results in others that joined. I just don’t follow the program. I only go to Weight Watchers for the laughs.”

For a sacred community to offer you a life of greater meaning, a sense of purpose, an experience of transformation, you have to follow the program! It requires showing up, giving of your time, reaching out to others in the community, internalizing the aspirational mission of the community and working to embody it in your own lives.  

Adat Shalom is not perfect. When we institutionalize religion, a lot can go wrong. In addition, Adat Shalom is a community in transition. But, let’s remember: Rabbi Fred was different than me. Rabbi Rachel was different than Rabbi Fred. And the person we hire to be Adat Shalom’s next rabbi will be different than all three of us. Still, Adat Shalom’s essence has not changed. We have been a spiritual home for seekers and skeptics, believers and non-believers of all ages and backgrounds since 1988.

When I talk to former members of Adat Shalom who have moved away for professional or personal reasons, they tell me that they cannot find synagogues in their areas that have the soul of Adat Shalom. They don’t say this to flatter me. I have worked in a professional capacity with dozens of congregations of all denominations all across the country and I know how special this place is. I never cease to be amazed at the intelligence, the commitment, the goodness of the people that Adat Shalom has attracted for 35 years. Whoever holds this rabbinic post a year from now, don’t forget, Adat Shalom is not our new rabbi. It is you. It is all of us. Our new rabbi will not arrive on a white horse and she or he will not have a magic wand.  The quality of this sacred community will always reflect how much time, energy and soul each of you invest in it and how much time and energy we all invest, collectively. After all, we are one big “sacred circle”  

***

All of us are concerned about the future of our country and our world. We are all affected by the epidemic of isolation and loneliness that has been identified by experts. We are all victims of the political and social dysfunction of our society. This evening, I want to suggest that the antidote to our social and spiritual malady is right here, right now. But it will take some work on our part.

My fable imagines that in this country’s darkest moment, there can be a re-birth of life-giving, sacred circles. It is the birth of Olam haBa, a new and better world. It echoes a line in our High Holyday liturgy: hayom harat olam, “on this day, the world is re-imagined, re-invented and re-born”.

May it be so for each of you and your families and for our Adat Shalom sacred community in the year to come.  

Anti-Semitism: Not Just About Us

Articles

One of my first jobs in the Jewish community was as the executive director of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Washington D.C. I started the job in 1984 (an eerie year, for sure, if you are a fan of George Orwell). The top priorities of the community relations field at that time were: the campaign for Soviet Jewish freedom and emigration; support for the State of Israel; intergroup relations; and combatting anti-Semitism.

Published in the Times of Israel, May 16, 2023

I was far more committed to the first three issues than to the fourth. In fact, at that time, anti-Semitic incidents were declining, year to year, and seen by many law enforcement officials as something that represented a fringe phenomenon in the U.S. While I was very much in favor of educational programs and events to commemorate the Shoah, I thought that too much attention was being paid by the organized Jewish community to the threat of anti-Semitism, relying on a narrative that was more accurate for my parent’s generation than for mine. I often felt that the “anti-Semitism card” was employed as a strategy by Jewish organizations to mobilize Jewish solidarity and identity. While often effective, I questioned the wisdom of the strategy.  

How things have changed! The ADL reported that in 2022, there was a 36% increase in anti-Semitic incidents in the U.S. over the previous year. Campus and school incidents were up by 50%. And there were 91 bomb threats targeting Jewish institutions. There are many ways to explain the phenomenon but, in my view, chief among them was having a President of the United States who played to the most tribal fears of Americans by scapegoating immigrants and non-white Americans. After the Unite the Right Rally, organized by white supremacists and neo-Nazis in Charlottesville, VA in August 2017, when marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us”, President Donald Trump announced, ominously, that there were “good people on both sides” at the rally!

I hasten to add that Jews are not the only people at risk in America today. One of the seminal commentators on prejudice and intolerance in America is Eric Ward, the executive vice-president of Race Forward. Eric has written and spoken eloquently about the synergy between racism, anti-Semitism and xenophobia in America. They are all of one piece and, because they are, we must respond by forming alliances. No group should face intolerance alone.  

History is replete with examples of what happens to societies when major public figures, no less a head of state, gives a wink and a nod to extremist rhetoric and behavior. There is a direct line between Donald Trump’s comments after the Unite the Right Rally and the assault on the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. It is sobering to think how close American democracy came to being undermined on that day. And, despite aggressive prosecution of the January 6th actors by the Department of Justice, the poisonous hatred that long existed on the fringes of American society, is now enjoying unprecedented status, attracting all kinds of individuals who have grievances about their social, economic or political status. Nazi Germany is not the only example of what happens when a dictator suggests that all the problems in a country are the fault of some minority group.

Jews and people of conscience cannot sit on the sidelines in the current environment. There are many efforts underway, both nationally and in communities across the country, to build bridges of understanding across lines of difference, be it religious, racial, ideological or ethnic. America is a pluralistic democracy. Teachers, clergy, elected officials and ordinary citizens must condemn all expressions of hatred and intolerance, whenever it rears its ugly head. We must seek out and/or create settings in which people can discuss hot button issues but do so in a way that is respectful and motivated by curiosity and not accusation. Finally, we must reject anyone running for public office who peddles in divisive rhetoric, pitting one set of Americans against another.

One of the core Jewish values is represented by the word echad, the word at the end of the Shma prayer. The word suggests that we must create a world that reflects Cosmic Unity, another way of speaking about God or the transcendent oneness of the world. It is not dissimilar from the Latin phrase on U.S. currency, E Pluribus Unum, out of the many, we can and must be, One.  

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