This week’s Parasha brings our people to the covenantal and crowning moment of our earliest commitment of faith.  Mishpatim defines the moral, just and holy society that was expected of the Israelites going forward.  By setting forth the civil and criminal laws of the time, humanitarian expectations, and God’s commandments; our ancestors were assured safety in the face of their enemies in their quest to maintain a relationship with the divine.

Mishpatim reminds us that each of us was created in the image of God. It is for this reason that we are obligated to not only live our lives with civility and divinity, but with humanity as well.  We were promised that our enemies in the land of Israel would be “drive(n) out before you little by little, until you have increased and possess the land”.   Exodus 23:33 clearly states we shall be the sole inhabitants of the land for the safety of our relationship with God.  “They shall not remain in your land, lest they cause you to sin against Me.”  We were not just promised land - we were promised individual protection and that as a society.  In 23:22, we are assured “I will be an enemy to your enemies and a foe to your foes.” However, Mishpatim also teaches us that our pursuit of both individual and societal safety cannot be detached from the responsibility to protect the rights of others. 

While a portion of the Parasha directs the Israelites how to govern strangers, slaves and adversaries, it also teaches us how to oversee those foreign to us while preserving and protecting their rights.  Strangers were not to be oppressed, slaves were to be given opportunities for freedom, decision making and dignity, and enemies’ property was to be respected.  “When you encounter your enemy’s ox or ass wandering, you must take it back to him.”   In fact, freedom and individual rights were so important that the crime of kidnapping was punishable by death.

We are taught to protect the safety and security of those who are less fortunate or have little control over their own lives.  Widows, orphans and women seduced without a bride-price were to be given appropriate considerations. Clothing that had been borrowed should be returned before sunset as it may be the sole covering for that person to sleep in.  We were even assured a safe haven for someone who had killed another by accident or circumstances beyond their control.  God’s directives to protect one’s safety are clearly spelled out:  “…for I am compassionate.”

Throughout the ages, personal and societal security and safety have been both forsaken and sacrificed for the desires of others.  Our ancestors have been victims of horrible atrocities and the stories of their lives and injustices live through us.   As Jews, we watch with trepidation as events threatening the stability of our homeland unfold in Israel.  Terrorist attacks continue within Israel.  Rockets are beginning again to be fired into Israel.  Earlier this week we heard that ISIS had captured land in Syria not far from the Israel border.  As American Jews we continue to feel the uneasiness that surrounds us as we hear this week, for the fifth time in as many weeks that Jewish Community Centers and institutions are being threatened state by state and we worry about safety for ourselves and our children.  And as Americans we have real as well as perceived enemies whom many continue to see as a threat to the security of our country.

In Mishpatim, God promises us secure borders.  In fact, the borders of our promised land are very clearly defined.  But circumstances have changed since the times of Moses and depending on your political stance, God’s promise of secure borders may or may not include keeping out those who some deem a threat to our safety or security.  While I was referring to Israel, I could repeat the exact same sentence about the US.  Depending on your political stance, the promise of secure borders may or may not include keeping out those who some deem a threat to our safety or security. 

It’s hard to believe that we live in such uncertain times.  However, Mishpatim reminds us that despite the need to protect ourselves, we must balance that need with the moralities and personal freedoms of others.  Mishpatim imparts the perseverance one must have for the protection of the rights of foreigners and others who have less control of their own lives.  I am sure each of us here today has family, friends or acquaintances that are living in fear of their liberties and freedoms being revoked because of perceived threats to others within our society.  Whether the civil liberties of the LGBT community, constitutional rights of women or the human right of immigrants seeking a better life for their families; we as a community have the responsibility to protect those individual rights – and to protect those individuals.

While it would be easy to talk about the present day fragility of women’s rights, the bilateral arguments for the imposed/rejected/soon to be proposed travel bans, the ongoing deportation efforts in Chicago and elsewhere, or the fears that many young Jewish people including my own daughter face today in the US; I want to instead talk about the impact that we can and should have on the lives of others.

I organized a medical mission to Israel a year ago November for physicians from North America.  During that trip we had the opportunity to visit several hospitals throughout the county including those that have underground and self-contained emergency rooms that would serve in the event of a nuclear or biological event.  We saw a parking garage that was designed to be converted to operating rooms within hours of a disaster. We saw advanced technology that was decades ahead of what we have here in the US.  But what made the most impression on me was what I saw in a rundown basement section of the Western Galilee Hospital.  We had been told that Israel has been quietly bringing in Syrian civilians, fighters and refugees by the IDF for humanitarian medical care at this particular hospital.  The hospital administrator explained to us that the medical staff asks no questions as to who they are or why they were chosen to be brought in for treatment.  These individuals are treated and if appropriate, returned to Syria without any evidence that they were treated in Israel as they may face retribution for being in Israel - even if they were brought in while unconscious.  The hospital takes such extreme precautions that if medical devices or prosthetics are needed for these patients they are brought in from other countries so there is no indication that they were in Israel.  I will never forget the image of the rundown section of the basement we saw while walking between two very busy departments with high tech equipment, ongoing medical action and surgical steel.  As we descended to the basement and turned a corner, we saw seven or eight injured Syrian men sitting together on broken hospital beds and old chairs smoking cigarettes, talking and laughing with one another.   Their white hospital gowns, the white bedding of the old hospital beds and the peeling white paint of the basement walls were in such contrast to the not only the high tech department we had just walked through but also to their dark hair, dark skin and the cigarette smoke of the calm, quiet moments of refuge in these individuals’ lives. 

While some such humanitarian efforts are not widely publicized, others have made the news and spread through social media.  On Facebook, I heard about the Buses of Angels bringing injured and sick Syrian civilians into neighboring countries such as Israel, Jordan, & Turkey to be treated.  This initiative was the founded by an American-Israeli businessman and philanthropist who has donated considerable money and time providing support for the Syrian opposition.  More recently we have read that Israel is giving asylum to 100 Syrian orphans and integrating them into Arab Israeli families. 

Here at home, a silver lining may have resulted from our recent presidential election.  We are all certainly aware of the rallies, protests and legislative campaigns that have taken place in the US over the last several weeks bringing individuals together to fight for what many believe to be moral and just causes.  Moreover, US Jewish-Muslim relations have certainly strengthened by not only the heartfelt Jewish outcry to the Muslim travel ban; but also by the overwhelming response of the Muslim community to financially support the repair of the Chesed Shel Emeth cemetery in St. Louis.  How timely that this outpouring of compassion occurred during the week of Mishpatim.

Locally, Anshe Emet awaits the arrival of a refugee family whom we, as a community will be assisting in multiple ways.  I am pleased and proud to announce that the Anshe Emet Sisterhood has taken on the responsibility of providing volunteers to set up and organize the apartment for this family prior to their arrival.  We are thrilled to be able to join Anshe Emet in supporting this refugee family. 

The responsibility of ensuring human rights and safety to refugees and citizens alike are incumbent upon all of us – both as individuals and as a community.  Granted, border security and safety of a society must be a priority both here and in Israel; but as Mishpatim teaches us, not at the expense of human decency, respect and ensuring dignity of those that may be strangers, foreigners or those falsely perceived as enemies.

Remembering the Heat and Oppression of Auschwitz

Like everyone else who read that the former Auschwitz Concentration Camp installed cooling mist "showers" to cool off the summer visitors, I was disgusted and sickened.   I was repulsed not only at the idea; but appalled that someone made this administrative decision at a camp that was left standing to serve as a dedication to those that perished there and as a reminder of the horrors of our recent history.  I can not imagine visiting Auschwitz (as I did two years ago) and being confronted or greeted with anything that even remotely represents showers, steam or mist.  I know that even the suggested image generates a feeling of horror to each and every one of us and I don't need to comment on the atrocity any further.

However, as I started to think, I knew that I needed to write about the feelings that visiting Auschwitz, or any former concentration camp should evoke.  I am sure I can speak for most Jews worldwide when I say that being Jewish presents so many obstacles, concerns and challenges.  I image the range of emotions we are forced to experience is very similar to what African Americans feel.  I am in my early 50's - I have two teenage kids.  My peers all know at least one person who is a Holocaust survivor and most have never experienced significant direct episodes of anti-Semitism.  I NEVER imagined that I would have fear in my life time because I am Jewish.    However, life  in 2015 continues to be uncertain for so many Jews in the world,  I now worry what my kids will experience while on a college campus, and while traveling I feel as if I should keep my religion to myself.  As Jews we experience all types of sentiment every day of our lives.

When visiting a concentration camp, we need to feel the weight of life of our people that were there.  We need to know as best as we can the terror and shock of having our lives taken away from us.  We need to feel as much of what our parent's and grandparent's relatives went through to be able to fully understand our history.  We need to internalize the desolation and anguish.  Certainly any Holocaust Memorial seeks to invoke similar realizations.  We need to feel the heat and oppression of a summer day at Auschwitz.  Having cooling mists not only robs us of our dignity because of what we associate them with, it robs us of the necessary experience we need to encounter. 

We often hear of the fear that there will be no one left to tell the stories directly - no one to make sure that we never forget the atrocities that were brought on to our relatives.  Its so important to make sure we all know our history, but we also need to make sure we can feel our history as well - within our hearts, our souls and throughout our blood, sweat and tears.

When the Ultraorthodox Community is the "Wrong Side of Town"

I am a Conservative Jew.  I am still trying to define exactly what that means for me; but I am learning that it can mean a number of things and that there are no two ways of being a Conservative Jew that are exactly the same.  What I do know with certainty is that I am not a Reform Jew or an Orthodox Jew  and certainly not an Ultraorthodox Jew.  I had an interesting experience recently while in Israel on the northern end of Jerusalem which put me worlds apart from the ultraorthodox.   

I had decided to take a bus to the Dead Sea and on the way back I realized that the bus stop I was supposed to get off at had already passed.  I was in the middle of a Hassidic or other ultraorthodox community and knew that I was in the "wrong part of town."   The bus driver did not want to let me off at the next stop.  He was worried that I had too far of a walk to the other side of the street and that it would be unsafe for me to do so.  I was so taken with both his concern for me and the fact that he needed to be.  Clearly, in my shorts and tank top, this was not a neighborhood I should be in.

I quickly put on my sweater and got off at the following stop which had an easy cross walk to the other side of the street.  The bus driver gave me clear instructions so that I would not have to ask anyone for instructions.  While I was waiting for the bus, I was fascinated with what I was watching.  It was 9:30 in the evening and all the shops were packed with people and entire families were fully dressed in black and on the move on this very hot day.  I watched people carefully to see if anyone would look me in the eye because certainly I had heard stories of how the very religious Jews look down on anyone who is less religious.  I smiled at a few people to see what their reactions would be.  I did get a few slight smiles back, and a few glances, but it was almost as if I was invisible. 

What was most interesting to me was how I felt while waiting at that bus stop.  The days before I had been in southern Tel Aviv and had been in neighborhoods with African immigrants - both Ethiopian Jews and non Jewish immigrants.  I am a typical white girl that grew up in white suburbia and even though I now live in the city I will admit that, right or wrong,  I am still a little nervous when I am in a neighborhood that is clearly very different than my own.  The uneasiness I felt while walking through the neighborhoods of south Tel Aviv was nothing like the uneasiness I felt while waiting at that bus stop! 

It wasn't that I was insecure of my religious knowledge and upbringing as I had previously felt around people more religious of me - I think I am beyond that insecurity now.  I was uncomfortable because I knew how their sector of our religion looks down on my religious sector and what they think of Conservative Judaism and Conservative Jews.   I thought of how this inability of one faction of Judaism to accept another makes us all a much smaller minority than we need to be.  All of a sudden, I was both intrigued by that concept as well as disappointed by that concept.  As I sat on the bus and looked at the people going and coming, I knew that I was no different then any of them in the eyes of a just G-d.  I am an individual who uses the reasoning and intelligence that G-d has given me to make choices of my own.  Choices in my life as the affect me personally, as they affect my children and as they affect my relationships with others.  Choices in both the observance and practice of my religion - OUR religion. 

Today, I read an online article about a book written by Leah Vincent who was chastised by her family when she made a choice to communicate with a boy while in a religious high school.  Her story reminded me of other current cultures in the Middle East where she, as a woman in the Yeshivish community was not allowed to consider her own choices let alone make them.  When she decided to pursue choices as a woman within the confines of her religion she was cast aside by her family and rejected by her religion.

Being a Conservative Jew means having the freedom to make choices and I think (and hope) also means being able to define what the Conservative sector will be for me.  With the changing face of Israel, I can only hope that the other factions of our religion will come to accept that as well and enable the Jews of the world to band together and be less of a minority in Israel and the diaspora.

Deciding if I Believe

Do I believe in G-d? It sounds like such a simple question - either someone does or they don't - but many are pulled in opposite directions when that basic question is presented.  I have a friend who is very ill.  Despite all treatments he continues to worsen and is now considered terminal.  Despite my own uncertainty of faith, I knew I needed to visit the Kotel when I was in Israel last month on his behalf.

I had two pieces of paper on me to write notes to put into the cracks of the Kotel.  When I was there for the first time a year and a half ago, I was extremely emotional because my mother and grandmother had just passed away; but I knew that I wanted to leave messages of love for them and the others who had passed away.  I guess I felt that The Wall was a conduit to my loved ones who were deceased.  I am not sure what others leave in their notes, but I felt rather silly leaving messages for "my people" although it was important to me that I did.

On the day I ended up at the Kotel, I had only two scraps of paper that I could use.  I had planned on leaving one note expressing my love for "my people" and the other for a prayer for my friend.  One had printing on the back from the page I tore it from and the other was clean and unmarked.  I found myself torn on which message should be written on the unmarked paper and which I should use the marked paper for.  I found myself asking which message should be most pure, most direct and essentially, was most important.  I truly considered which piece of paper would have the best chance of sending its message to where it had to go.

After considerable contemplation, I wrote my two notes on the two scrapes of paper I was holding and I carefully put both pieces of paper into a crack in The Wall.  In fact, I made sure that each piece of paper was firmly seated in its space before I walked away.

I used the unmarked paper for the prayer for my friend.  I guess, when it really comes down to it, I do truly believe in G-d, believe in the possibility of G-d or at least I want to believe in G-d. 

But I did give a kiss to the other paper before tucking it in.

To Be Blessed: Giving and Receiving a Blessing

Our religion seems to be very dependent on Blessings - giving blessings, receiving blessings, being blessed.  I know that I have been blessed having spent time learning with Rabbi Abe Friedman.  Not only blessed by his ever ending knowledge and ever expanding wisdom; but blessed because in the short time that I have attended his classes, he has shown me how to expand my thinking.

But giving and receiving blessings is something I struggle with.  While I am somewhat familiar with many of the blessings in the Siddur, I still have a difficult time with the concept of giving and receiving blessings.  And while I find the thought of receiving a Rabbi’s blessing is beautiful, I don't know that I can accept that it is given as an extension for G-d.  Even the concept of a parent blessing to a child seems awkward and uncomfortable to me.

Years ago, our family was invited to a Shabbat Dinner at another family’s home.  I think that was the first time (and still only one of a few) I had experienced a Shabbat Dinner. I was uncomfortable to begin with because even the blessings over the challah and wine were foreign to me, but when they put their hands on their children’s shoulders to bless them, I felt more out of place than I ever had before.

I can accept that G-d himself had the power to bless Abraham.  I can believe that Moses, on behalf of G-d, blessed the Israelites.  But what power or authority do parents have to bless their children?  Certainly, we have wishes for our children – wishes and hopes that they will live fulfilling and happy lives.  But do we have the ability to bless them?

It's not that I don't feel blessed –I do.  I feel blessed despite the losses I have endured.  I feel blessed to have a life filled with loving family and friends.  I feel blessed for the gift of intellect and the ability to wonder, consider and reason.  I feel blessed to have met so many wonderful teachers who are willing to share their knowledge and understanding with me.

Maybe I have been thinking of “blessing” within the wrong context.  Maybe our traditional blessings are not to be interrupted as a blessing from G-d but instead a hope from one individual to another.  It was suggested to me that blessings are intended to give protection, guidance and even confidence.  As I think about my hopes and wishes for my children, I think I can accept this concept of both giving and receiving a blessing.  And as I think about my time spent learning with Rabbi Friedman, I know for sure that I have been blessed.

Will I Ever be Able to Balance the Need for Explanation with the Acceptance of Wonderment

Science vs. religion. 
Questioning vs. believing. 
The quest for explanation vs. the acceptance of wonderment.

I am so envious of those whose belief is unquestioned – of those whose faith is so innate to their being that the idea of searching would never even occur to them.  I now know many who have been brought up with such blind faith and are able to live their lives without any reason to question, or at least with so much faith that even the thought of questioning would serve no purpose.  I know that some of these individuals are quite learned; not only in religion, but in science as well.  As a physician and someone with a science background, I have come to seek truth in concrete answers and had reliance and trust only in cause and effect. 

 
I am jealous of those that believe.  Even though I am now studying Torah and Judaism, I am still finding it difficult to overcome the questioning person I have always been.  I sit in my classes and listen to very educated people who seem not to question while I I continue to struggle with intangible concepts.

I recently read As A Driven Leaf by Milton Steinberg.  It was the perfect book to begin my educational reading outside of the Torah.  The concept was very heavy for me – the quest for explanation vs. the acceptance of wonderment.  Set in the second century, the main character Elisha ben Abuyah leaves his religious life and his blind faith to seek a scientific explanation worthy of that faith.  He set out to explore the work of Greek philosophers and science of the time to enable him to confirm his belief or reject his belief.  He challenged his comfort zone of total religious belief to one that questioned the words of Scripture. He looked for hidden meanings of the coexistence of G-d and earthly things.  He wondered if G-d created form from something that may have already existed.  He began questioning what he had always taken for granted and tried to create cause and effect for the beliefs he had once simply accepted. 

I think As A Driven Leaf resonated with me for two reasons:  first, because I admired the thought of someone approaching the question of belief from the blind faith perspective and second, because I myself am approaching it but from the exact opposite perspective.  Like Elisha ben Abuyah, I am forcing myself to emerge from my own comfort zone.  Like Elisha ben Abuyah, I struggle to find a way to allow both my respect for science and yearning for religion to coexist. 

I so admire those that have absolute conviction and those that allow their lives to be guided by that faith.  When Elisha ben Abuyah was forced to make a life directing decision, I found myself hoping that he would return to his unquestioned faith.  I truly think my heart and soul are trying to believe despite my brain’s quest for answers.  In the end, Elisha ben Abuyah of course does not find the answers he is seeking because those questions have never been answered.  The mystery has remained and in spite of science, will likely always remain.   Despite science continuing to unravel the mysteries of life, I will continue my strive to believe in those mysteries. 

 

Prayer - Is It a Two Way Street??

Is G-d only there for those that pray?

Two weeks ago, while reading Mishpatim, I was struck with one line that left me contemplating this question in a way I have yet to consider.  In my last blog post, I revealed the raw and core emotions I am dealing with regarding prayer.  But I never considered the possibility that G-d is only there for those that pray.

In Exodus 22:26, it is written "...if he cries out to Me, I will pay heed, for I am compassionate." 

Obviously the most common question related to this verse is related to why G-d was not compassionate toward the Jewish people during the Holocaust, when surely people cried out in ways I can not even imagine.  I am not asking why G-d was not there for those who did cry out; but  questioning the words in a different way - will G-d only be there for those who do cry out. 

I have never felt that G-d would not be there for me despite my lack of religious education or upbringing.  I have never felt that my life was not valued or treasured any less than a religious person.   I have never felt less revered or less worthy by the powers that may be. 

Rather, I think that we are all valued and honored with the gift of life despite our religious beliefs and actions on those beliefs.  In last weeks parasha, Trumah, G-d acknowledges that some people choose devotion when it is said"...you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him."  I think these words are beautiful not only because I know that those that pray do so from the heart, but also because clearly we all have a personal choice.

I find comfort in believing that whether I pray or not, my soul is protected and held in as much esteem as someone who does pray.  But I wonder if those that pray daily feel the same way.