Image: The opening meeting of the 130th annual meeting of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (Photo Ruth Adar)
I’m writing this message from a hotel room in Cincinnati, OH, where I am meeting with the rabbis of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR) the association of Reform Rabbis in North America.
It’s a combination old-home-week, school reunion, continuing education and prayer festival. The elevators are full of people seeing dear friends they haven’t seen in years. The meeting rooms are full of discussions about everything from social justice, Israel, making worship better, dealing with anti-Semitic incidents, and nonprofit business practices. In the lobby there are pairs of rabbis putting their heads together, having conversations about everything from family to ethics.
I’m looking forward to posting thoughts inspired by the conference. Watch this space!
Some of us are well into the red zone of Overwhelm. Does any of this sound familiar to you?
I’m still digesting the message of Pittsburgh, which is that anti-Semitism is back in a big way in the USA. My Facebook feed and email are running over with evidence of that: destructive acts and cruel taunts and nasty stuff galore. I am sick of swastikas.
My nose and eyes are still recovering from the Butte County Fire – both are still running like faucets. I peer uneasily at the golden hills not far from my house and check to make sure that I’ve opted in for ALL the fire warning services in the area. It has begun to rain – that’s good! – but now we have to watch for mudslides.
I twisted (sprained?) my knee on Thanksgiving and it is taking its sweet time healing. There is nothing to do but be patient and RICE: rest, ice, compression, elevation. Everything hurts.
A number of people in my support networks are hurting, too. We try to take care of each other, but it is hard when everyone is running on fumes.
So this morning I put my nose to the grindstone to do what needed to be done so that Shabbat could be a shelter of peace. My to-do list isn’t empty, but it’s a lot better than it was.
For the next 24 hours I will take the opportunity to say the ancient words, to ground myself in the tradition, to count my many blessings. I will rest the knee. I will recall that I have family and friends and students and work that I love. I will give a little tzedakah before the sun sets, and I will remember thereby that it all could be worse.
If there’s someone you love, hug them. If there’s something good in your life, cherish it. Remember that none of us are much good to anyone when we are physically, emotionally, or spiritually depleted.
Let’s take care of ourselves and be as kind as we can be. Ok?
That was right before the smoke poured south from the Camp Fire in Butte County. The fire is nowhere near here – 175 miles away! – but the air outside makes my throat close up and my eyes burn. Sunset was a muddy smudge against the horizon. So much for breathing.
Last week it was bombs and gun violence. This week it’s climate change and gun violence. Tonight giant fires burn in Butte and Ventura counties in California within 24 hours of a shooting in Ventura County that killed 12 people, including an officer from the sheriff’s department and a survivor of the mass murder in Las Vegas last year.
This is the new normal, apparently: things that once would have been the big news of the entire month or season are now piled up in a single day, disaster upon disaster. The most sickening part of it is that these are human-made disasters: they aren’t earthquakes or tsunamis. Every week, some guy grabs a gun and kills a bunch of people because he’s mad, or he’s sick, or he believes conspiracy theories, or he just feels like it. For the past two years, the changed climate in California and the rest of the American West has engendered monster fires, fires so big that they are visible from space.
So how should we pray about these messes that we human beings have made?
Jewish tradition does not encourage us to pray for miracles. It does not encourage us to look towards the heavens and say, “God, please fix it.”
Jewish tradition encourages us to work to make the miracles we need. When we stood trembling at the bank of the Red Sea, God scolded Moses for stopping to pray and said, “Get moving!” (Exodus 14:15) In that story, God may have stretched out “a mighty arm” as the Haggadah says, but we were expected to seize the hand offered and ultimately, deliver ourselves. We did not fly out of Egypt; we walked.
For too long, we have whined and scuffed our feet at the edge of these Red Seas we face today. We have wasted precious time arguing instead of acting.
Can’t get the solution to gun violence that we want? Push our elected officials to get whatever compromise might help a little. Enforce existing laws, Tighten what controls can be tightened. Fund more mental health care. Fund research. Explore every possible option. Do not simply blame it on “bad people” or “stupid people” or liberals or conservatives.
Let’s do the same with climate change. Let each of us push our elected officials to take it seriously, and do what we can individually. If our grandparents and great-grandparents could sacrifice to fight the Nazis, why can’t we make sacrifices to make the changes we must make to survive? WE – not “other people.” Let’s tell the billionaire business people and corporations that they get to make sacrifices, too. We are all in this together.
Blessed are You, Eternal our God, who gave us brains and intended that we use them. Please give us the strength to save ourselves from ourselves.
Image: The flowers in my front yard. Despite the inconveniences of plans made and thwarted, there is still beauty in the world if we choose to notice. Photo: Ruth Adar.
דער מענטש טראַכט און גאָט לאַכט.
Der mentsh trakht un got lakht.
Man plans and God laughs.
This Yiddish saying speaks to all the times we make plans, only to have them collapse in the face of events. I’m meditating on it now as I deal with a new round of body aggravation.
Things had been going so well. After a rough year of pain problems, a new therapy seemed really promising. I got a bit more ambitious about projects. I began getting more exercise.
This past Monday night I noticed I was particularly exhausted in the evening, with a lot of unsteadiness. I didn’t sleep well, and by morning it was clear that a bunch of familiar bio-mechanical problems and pain problems were back with a vengeance. What a drag.
It is so tempting to get caught up in fake moral thinking about these things: What did I “do wrong?” Friends, expressing their concern, say things like, “What did you do?”
What I have learned is that sometimes there is no “what” that I “did.” I can frustrate myself by looking for causality or I can turn my attention to living in the present, paying attention to things as they are. Exercising mindfully and eating mindfully are more challenging when the experience of being in this body is painful or unpleasant. It is an important challenge both for healing and for spiritual well-being.
Judaism pushes us to pay attention to the present moment. Blessings make us stop before we eat to appreciate the food in our hands. Other blessings demand we pay attention to our bodies, to the sun in the sky, to the fragrance of a flower. The day begins not at an abstract time but when the sun rises, and it ends when the sun sets.
Does God really laugh? The Yiddish proverb used to sound cruel to me: “I make plans, and God says, ‘Gotcha!'”
Now I read it a bit differently. I get a little too involved with the future (plans) and God reminds me to stay in the present. It isn’t a cruel laugh; it’s more of a gentle chuckle. I am still learning, still growing, not dead yet!
Image: My vote-by-mail ballot, which I will hand in tomorrow. (Photo by Ruth Adar)
I just filled out my vote-by-mail ballot for the June 5 Primary Election in California. Tomorrow I’ll take it by one of the collection points and drop it off.
I like voting by mail. I can think things through and give each choice the attention it deserves. I like reading the instructions, considering the choices, and making the marks that are my participation in the democratic process.
My grandmother felt strongly about voting. She was in that first cohort of American women who were eligible to vote after ratification of the 19th Amendment on Aug 18, 1920. She used words like “sacred” to describe the right and the duty of each person to vote. She told me that she’d come back and haunt me if I didn’t vote in every election I could: “If you can, you must!” she said, poking my arm for emphasis.
So here you go, Meme: I voted again. Thank you for teaching me that it is important.
I regard voting as a sacred duty. There is no commandment that says specifically “Thou Shalt Vote” but almost every item on the ballot has sacred implications. When I vote for a legislator, I am choosing someone to be my voice in Washington or Sacramento, or on a more local body. They will make many decisions with ethical implications – I need to choose someone who will make ethical choices. When I vote for a judge or an executive, I am voting for someone who will have tremendous power to do good or to do evil. To make it even more complicated, I have to think, too, about the chances each candidate has: under what conditions should I vote for the good-enough person who can get elected, instead of the perfect candidate who can’t?
I understand why some people are so sunken in despair that they think their vote doesn’t matter. I have less sympathy for those who choose not to vote because they are cynical: I want to say, “You think you are so smart, why are you throwing away your power?”
I’m not going to tell you for whom I voted. (That was my grandmother’s advice, too.) But I will ask you: Did you vote? Will you vote when you next have a chance?
Image: Textile art with Genesis 21:1 and a vision of Jerusalem with lions of David, the skyline of the Old City, and stone tablets flanked by doves. Art by Barbara Binder Kadden, photo by Ruth Adar. All rights reserved.
I was ordained a rabbi ten years ago today in the City of Angels.
The photo is of a beautiful hanging that Barbara Binder Kadden made for me when I set off for school in 2002. Barbara asked me for a verse from Torah that was particularly meaningful to me. I cited Genesis 12:1: “Go to yourself, from your native land, from your father’s house, to the land which I shall show you.” Those were God’s words to Abram, after which Abram set off to become the patriarch Abraham.
Thirty two years ago I set out from Tennessee without a clue, much as Abram set out from Haran in Genesis 12. Like Abram, I became a Jew, I acquired a name, and I had many adventures that for good and ill made me into the work-in-progress I am today.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my teachers and colleagues. Rabbi Rachel Adler mentored and mothered me through my years in Los Angeles. R. Tamara Eskenazi opened the doors of Torah for me. R. Dvora Weisberg and R. Joel Gereboff unlocked the gates of Talmud. R. Lew Barth taught me how to dig treasure from the fertile ground of midrash. Jehon Grist shared with me his infectious joy in the Hebrew language, without which I would never have had the joy of studying at HUC. Yossi Lechem enchanted me with the algebra of Hebrew grammar (you had to be there.) Steven Windmueller and Bruce Phillips equipped me to deal with the changing Jewish American scene, and R. Michael Berk taught me about Northern California Jews.
Barbara Kadden taught me the best of what I know about educating adults. Linda Feldman taught me how to walk softly and avoid tender toes. Rene Molho z”l taught me about the Shoah, and gave me perspective on Jewish community that I try to pass along. R. Sandy Akselrad hired me, God bless him, and taught me how not to fall on my face in the real world. Yuval Selah tutored me in Hebrew for four years with infinite patience and love.
I am grateful for my study partners, R. David Novak, R. Deborah Goldmann, and R. Robin Podolsky. I’d have learned nothing without them. I am grateful to R. Sabine Meyer, with whom I continue to explore the wonders of teaching “Intro” and the Torah of canine companions. And where would I be without Fred Isaac, my first Jewish study partner, and Maryann Simpson, my partner in studying class dynamics?
I am grateful for the students who inspire me to learn more and and be a better servant of the Jewish people, including you, dear readers.
Finally there are the people without whom I have trouble imagining the world. Rabbi Steven Chester has been my rabbi, my mentor and my friend since I first knocked on his office door in the early 1990’s. My sons, Aaron and Jim Scott, inspire me to choose life over and over again; I am so much more alive because of them.
And then there’s the love of my life, Linda Burnett. (Thank you for baseball and everything else, my dear. You are right, these are the good old days.)
Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Ruler of All-That-Is! In Your wisdom You commanded the orderly progression of night into day, and set the planets in motion with a word. Grant seychelto the baseball team managers as they set our players in motion from team to team, from franchise to franchise. May they achieve the perfect harmony they seek. Amen.
Give comfort to the players in motion and their families. May their new home be a good home, and may they be greeted with enthusiasm wherever they go. Amen.
Console the fans, O God of Compassion, as they mourn the departure of favorite players. Give them open hearts to receive the new faces, the bats and gloves of new players. Give them patience for a period of adjustment. Amen.
May the bats be mighty and the pitchers wily. May the green diamonds overflow with the joy of the game, and may all players and fans alike end each game with gratitude for what went well, and energetic discussion of what lacked.
And when this season nears completion, when the dwindling hours of day reflect the dwindling number of teams in post-season play, let our team remain victorious to the last inning, so that we may glorify Your Name with the World Series trophy. Amen.
Blessed are You, Eternal our God, who enlivens our hearts with games. Amen.
* A rabbinical note: The prayer above is from Sefer Greenberg, a book of prayers attributed to Jewish baseball great Hank Greenberg, although certain skeptical Wissenschaft types insist that it is likely a pseudepigraphal piece, probably written in about 5768 by a ba’al teshuvah in Detroit, probably a Tigers fan.