Flags, Parades and Fireworks: Pride Month 2021

 Flags, Parades and Fireworks: Pride Month 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

This week’s Torah portion (Balak, Numbers 22:2-25:9), more so than any other parasha, is simultaneously frightening and hopeful, serious and sarcastic—and above all, full of ironic humor.

The “hero” of this portion, Balaam, is a blind seer (first of the many ironies). He is said to speak for God, but in his heart of hearts intends to disobey God. He is said to see the future, but can’t see what’s right in front of him. And as for kindness and compassion—the surest signs of a true prophet—Balaam has none and, in anger and frustration, beats his animal for disobeying him (and probably saving his life).

Finally, Balaam’s speech—intended to be a curse upon the Israelites—turns out instead to be a blessing, its words now part of a prayer said by Jews upon entering a synagogue!

When Balaam is hired by the Moabite King Balak for the purpose of casting an evil spell upon the Israelites, the famed seer seeks a high place from where he can see the tribes of Israel. But what he perceives doesn’t match what he had been told about them. Instead of an unruly swarm of locust devouring any growth upon the land, he sees neat and orderly dwellings, all arranged in such a way as to ensure privacy, dignity and respect.

Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov, mishk’notech Yisrael, “How goodly are your tents O Jacob, your dwellings, Israel,” Balaam exclaims, arousing the wrath of the Moabite king.

Like Balak, we too sometimes fail to see things the way they truly are, until we experience them from a more personal perspective. Too often we see the world through a prism of misinformation and prejudice. We are taught to judge others by hearsay or gossip, and then, to make things worse, we spread these lies further, repeating them until others begin to believe them too.

How often, when I see two men or women holding hands while walking down the street, do I hear others express anger at the public display of affection. Or when a Pride Parade is set to pass through city streets, people raising objections that take the form of something like, “I have nothing against gays, but why do they need to flaunt their inclinations?” 

And basically, there are two reasons for doing exactly that: One, because being proud of one’s identity is a basic human right; and two, because people—all people, regardless of their gender identification—need to be reminded of this truth not only one month out of the year, but rather 365 days a year. 

For thousands of years, being queer meant hiding in shame and darkness. It meant facing discrimination, imprisonment, violence and often—particularly among teenagers—suicide. For some it meant eternal damnation, rejection both by one’s family as well as by God and God’s supposed representatives on earth.

Expression of pride, on the other hand, represents acceptance. Instead of living in fear, waving a rainbow flag tells both yourself and others that you belong, that you are not alone in the world, that there’s a loving and supportive community that you are a part of. 

Parades signify victory. A Pride Parade symbolizes that you are no longer oppressed or overpowered. You have fought the fight and come out victorious. You have come to understand, love and accept yourself for all that you are, and for all that you can be.

Society and the requisites of survival condition us to conform. We cannot survive on our own, so we become part of a group and show allegiance and commitment to its customs and laws. We are cool if we wear the right clothes or sport the right shoes. We are sexy if we drink the right beer. We are rugged if we drive the high-powered pickup; or conversely, womanly, if we assume a less dominant posture, put on a softer facial expression, wear the right makeup or—once again—the right shoes. 

But while for some these guidelines provide comfort and security, for others they only serve to confine and restrict. They are constant reminders of what’s accepted and what isn’t. They also serve to bring up painful memories of insults and slurs, of hundreds of “no’s” to any one “yes!”  

Jews have often been compared to subhuman animals. Balaam and Pharaoh, Haman and Hitler, and so many in-between, have tried to suppress, steal or deny our identity and authenticity. On Simchat Torah, however, the holiday where we most fervently express joy and pride in our heritage, we wave flags and march, we parade and dance with our Torah scrolls. Likewise, the blue and white flag of the State of Israel expresses not only national pride, but also our eternal hopes and aspirations—boundless as the sky above—and the infinite light and potential embedded in each and every one of us.

So too, do the flags, parades and fireworks that highlight important days in our American history and tradition.  These remind us of the challenges we have overcome, and of the yet many possibilities that still lie ahead of us.

And so too, do Rainbow Flags and Pride Parades, which serve to remind us all of the diversity of humankind, the strength that stems from the collective effort, and the promise of peace that comes after the struggle.

May we all learn to accept the uniqueness that resides within each human being; may the light embedded within each of us unite into a great flame that will shed light upon the path both into our hearts, and forward into a future filled with dignity, respect and love for all.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Liberty And Justice For All: Juneteenth 2021

 Liberty And Justice For All: Juneteenth 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

One of my favorite pastimes is doing research. Just about any subject will do—a Jewish topic, or perhaps something else that piques my interest. Learning something new is always fun and exciting for me. There are always multiple leads, and I tend to follow a good number of them (usually too many). So as one thing leads to another, I soon have a dozen or so windows open, and then I find that, regretfully, I have to close one after another and focus on the actual topic at hand.

Everything, it seems, is interconnected. Everything that happens depends on what has already been or that took place in the past. As the saying states, “We stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before us.” And how true that is.

Of course, there is an even more ancient proverb, penned more than 3000 years ago and often quoted:  “There is nothing new under the sun.” As it appears in Ecclesiastes 1:9, the verse is somewhat pessimistic. The author, said to be King Solomon, sitting in his palace in Jerusalem, laments the tediousness of life, viewed through the lens of the melancholy that accompanies his old age.

In countering Solomon however, one can argue that his world-weariness fails to recognize the newness of each day, the refreshing afternoon breeze that brings relief to the heat of the day, or the smile and potential that come along with each newborn baby.

Yet it is still true that everything that is, follows on the heels of something else that preceded it. Take Juneteenth, the newest national holiday, just approved by the United States Senate and House and signed into law by President Biden. The history of this holiday goes back almost 150 years.

Even though the Emancipation Proclamation was issued by President Abraham Lincoln as an executive order in 1862, it didn’t become effective in the South until June 19, 1865, when Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, and announced to the more than 250,000 Black people in the state that they were now free. And it wasn’t for another two years that this day was first celebrated as a holiday, and another five years yet before it appeared on “a calendar of public events.” 

Since then, Juneteenth, as it came to be known, went through slow progress, from individual and family celebrations to a quick surge in popularity, and subsequent decline under the Jim Crow laws. 

Ironically, during the 1950’s and ‘60’s, the Civil Rights Movement focused not so much on African-American identity and history as on passing laws ensuring freedom and integration. However, since then, the holiday assumed ever-greater importance, until it finally achieved the status of a Federal holiday just this week.

This quick history lesson, however, must be accompanied by some facts. Only two months ago, a former US Senator, Rick Santorum, claimed that America was in fact “nothing” before white Europeans came here and created a nation. In this sweeping erasure of history, what Santorum failed to mention was the contribution of the Indigenous Peoples (Native Americans); of the hundreds of thousands of immigrants from Asia and Europe who were induced to emigrate to this continent to build railroads and mine the coal, gold, silver and other minerals buried in its mountains; the migrant farm workers from Latin America; or the Black People who were enslaved and forced to provide the labor of constructing and building America. These were the workers who built the White House, who quarried the Yule Marble from Colorado used for the Lincoln Memorial and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. These were the same workers who, inspired and joined by impoverished Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, formed the unions that, literally with their blood, sweat and tears, guaranteed for the first time in history fair wages, health care and—later—equal opportunity for all people, regardless of gender, race or creed. It’s a struggle that’s still going on today, but one which has contributed to America no less than the contributions of the Puritans and other White Christian settlers who came from England, France, Spain and the Netherlands to find religious freedom and new economic opportunities.

America as we know it today is actually a New World, conceived and built by dreamers and refugees, by conquerors and victims. It’s the product not only of one race or people, but a conglomerate of humanity. 

And that is why Juneteenth is, finally and properly, a national, Federal holiday. The thread of slavery which gave birth to this day is woven into the tragedy and triumph of the Civil War, which in itself was a struggle for America’s soul. Juneteenth is a celebration that reminds us all, not only of the immense moral and physical evils of slavery, but also of the multitude of hands, colors, races, religions and nations that contributed to the birthing and safeguarding of this nation.

Juneteenth represents not only the end of the age-old scourge of slavery, but also the dawning of a new day, of new hope, and of new dreams.

We do stand on the shoulders of those who came before us, and we honor them all by taking this day to reflect on the path forward that they showed us, and on what now is incumbent upon us to do. We cannot erase the past, just as we must not ever take the future for granted. We are all part of the same flow, the same breath of life that came into being at the moment that the universe was created. The contribution of each and every one of us is as vital to our ongoing existence as that of any of our ancestors. 

Juneteenth is not only the newest holiday on our calendars; it represents every dawn and every new morning. It stands not only for any one event in our past, but also for everything that now must be done to ensure that we keep moving forward, toward the goal of liberty and justice for all. This task is up to each and every one of us; may we find the strength and courage to follow through.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

 

Courage And Faith, The Strongest Armor: Sh'lach L'cha.21

Courage And Faith: The Strongest Armor

D’var Torah for Parashat Sh’lach L’cha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 4, 2021

As almost anyone who knows me well enough knows, I hate to make plans.

Though I am not exceptionally superstitious, I firmly hold on to the belief expressed in the famous Yiddish saying, Mann tracht un Gott lacht, roughly translated as “Man plans and God laughs.”

Too many times have I made travel plans, bought concert tickets, even reserved expensive airline tickets—only to have to cancel my plans at the last moment. So I still plan, but I don’t confirm until the last possible moment, when, with great trepidation and much wishful thinking, I finally push the “enter” button.

Truth be told, I envy people who seem to have no problem with planning ahead. If it works, good; if it doesn’t, they look for the next available opportunity with nary more than momentary disappointment. 

As the song goes, “The future’s not ours to see, que sera sera.” 

And yet—we can’t help it. We want to—we need to—look towards, make plans, push ahead.

In this week’s Torah portion, “Sh’lach” (Numbers 13:1—15:41) God tempts Moses to look into the future—to send spies into the Promised Land and bring back a report to the people. And Moses takes the bait. 

Comfortable at this point with doing everything God tells him, Moses does just as God instructs and sends twelve spies, one from each of the Tribes of Israel. 

Forty days later, the spies return.

But along with examples of the rich produce of the Land, they also bring with them frightening tales of giants, huge armies, and well-fortified cities. Ten of the spies conclude that the Land cannot possibly be overtaken by the Israelites. Only Joshua and Caleb—representing the tribes of Efraim and Judah respectively—add words of encouragement: “Do not fear the people of that land for they are as our bread; their protection is removed from them, and Adonai is with us. Do not fear them” ( Numbers 14:9). Unfortunately, by now, having heard and come to believe the frightening vision of the first ten spies, the Israelites are ready to stone Joshua and Caleb, as well as Moses and Aaron. Only God’s interference saves them, while God condemns the faithless and rebellious people to be wanderers in the wilderness for forty years—one year for each day that the spies were touring the Land.

According to the Rabbis, that fateful day was the Ninth of Av, the day ordained for all the major disaster to befall the Jewish people. History, it seems, is written by the victors, but God determines the date.

So why fight it? Why look forward at all? Why not just live one day at a time?

Because we are human beings, endowed with imagination, with fears as well as hopes, with dreams as well as nightmares. 

Yet what this Torah portion teaches us is that as we look ahead, we have to do so judiciously, combining equal measures of practicality and optimism. 

Today, as we listen to the talking heads on the various media, the future is indeed painted in grim hues. Between climate change, costly cyberattacks, and the possibility of deadly pandemics erupting in hot spots all around the globe, we are totally doomed. 

Yet while—yes—there ARE giants in the sky, and while the earth does indeed hurtle into darkness at unimaginable speed, we don’t have to give in to defeatism. Our vision as human beings goes in two directions: past and future. We can take lessons from the past and apply them to everything we do going forward. That of course does not eliminate the random events that punctuate our lives, both happy and sad moments. But to give up hope a priori, from the get-go, is no solution.

What Joshua and Caleb remind us is that faith is valuable armor. 

Jewish existence would be nothing more than a short-lived dream if it weren’t for the practical, hands-on philosophy that the Rabbis devised. The Maccabees taught us that if our people is to survive our enemies, it is OK to fight even on Shabbat. Or even on Yom Kippur. 

Yet what we also learned along our long path is that Judaism without meaning is nothing more than hevel—so much hot air, steam or vapor that disappears in the morning sun. (Ironically, Hevel is the Hebrew name of one of Adam and Eve’s first two children, the one who was murdered by his brother, Cain. Perhaps the Torah’s first lesson about survival is contained in this famous tale of fratricide).

During the Shoah, the Holocaust, Judaism underwent the cruelest example of auto-da-fe, a test of our people’s faith. And out of the horror, what we also witness are some of the most uplifting stories: of Jews saving bits of wax to make Shabbat or Hanukkah candles, or finding ways to smuggle flour into the ghetto, for making Passover matzahs; or insisting on saying Kaddish—the mourner’s prayer—on behalf of a murdered parent, child or brother.

Hope and faith are more than the invention of feverish minds. They actually give us untold strength.

Maybe that’s why God ordained those forty years of wandering in the Sinai Wilderness. It was exactly the amount of time we needed to learn the lessons vital for our ongoing existence: Hands-on practicality along with glorious visions of justice and equality; dreams of sun-lit green pastures along with the all-too-real darkness that surrounds us while walking in the valley of the shadow of death.

Our days on the earth may be numbered, and none of us knows exactly when we might be called to return to the Maker of all. But even as we look forward, along with all the anxieties and uncertainties, we can fortify ourselves with our traditions. We strengthen ourselves not only physically but also with our faith, with that vision of a Promised Land first offered us so many thousands of years ago. 

May we continue our march forward, undaunted by the challenges ahead, fortified with the knowledge that God is at our side—as long as we keep God there, close to us, in our hearts, minds, and in the deeds of our hands.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Renewed Outbreak of Terror and War Against Israel

Renewed Outbreak of Terror and War Against Israel

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

May 12, 2021

Violence and terror have once again been unleashed against the State of Israel. While we can watch events unfold before our eyes from the safety of our homes, it’s important that we understand the wider nature and reasons for this conflict.

For the first time since the 2014 Gaza War, over the past 48 hours the terror organization Hamas has launched more than 1000 missiles against Israeli civilian population centers, causing tragic loss of life, many injuries and serious damage. Armed and trained by Iran, Hamas is taking a chance, knowing fully well that any retaliation by Israel will be viewed as “disproportionate.” Proof isn’t late in coming: While turning a blind eye to the nature of the indiscriminate attacks by Hamas, the International Criminal Court has already announced it will investigate “human rights violations.” The target of this investigation is predetermined, and it clearly isn’t the Arabs. 

So what has led to the recent outbreak? Basically, a power struggle between the PLO and Hamas. Mahmoud Abbas, the president of the Palestinian Authority, has just canceled elections, thus entering the 16th year of what should have been a 4-year term. The reason he called off the election is that he knew in advance he would lose to Hamas, which for years now has been developing a powerbase in the areas under PLO control. The reasons that he gave publicly, however, are based on events that took place over the last couple of weeks in Jerusalem—ever the epicenter of any power struggle in the Middle East.

As Abbas would have the world view his failures: They are all Israel’s fault. Naturally.

The truth, however, is that for some time now Arab incitement against Israel has been on the rise. Any attempt by Israel to prevent outbreaks of violence is seen as reason for even more agitation. In the past couple of weeks, there have been riots in Jerusalem, a terror attack that resulted in the death of a Jewish teenager, and the launching of hundreds of incendiary balloons from Gaza, causing wildfires and large-scale destruction, 

Politics among Arab nations and factions has always depended on military power—and on opposition to Israel. This historical trend has been going on since the beginning of the 20th century and shows no signs of change. Inevitably, at such times when Israel is perceived to be in a position of relative weakness, the Arabs launch acts of violence, war and terror. 

The current political crisis in Israel’s government, leading to indecisive results in four elections over the past two years, combined with the change of administrations in the United States (despite his past commitment to Israel, President Biden has not yet declared any clear policy with regard to the Middle East), as well as anti-Semitic and anti-Israel attacks in the social media have provided Hamas with the opportunity it has been waiting for.

What makes the situation today even more worrisome however, is the outbreak of anti-Israel violence among some Arab-Israelis. Mob violence has broken out in several Arab villages in the Galilee in northern Israel, as well as in cities where a mixed Arab-Jewish population has been touted as a sign of the possibility of peace and coexistence. In some places, synagogues have been torched, and on several occasions the lynching of Jews was narrowly averted. At a time when many in Israel and elsewhere are calling for the right of all citizens to live in peace and security, riots and calls for the slaughter of Jews will make the realization of these dreams impossible anytime in the near future. 

As in the past, while Hamas missiles indiscriminately target civilian centers, Israel’s response has been pinpoint elimination of Hamas leaders, and the precise bombing of missile launchers and operational headquarters—many of which are intentionally and cynically placed by the terrorists right next to or in schools, mosques, kindergartens, as well as high-rise apartment buildings. 

While I have personal reasons to find myself constantly glued to the news from Israel, without a doubt the current conflict, like its predecessors, will continue to resonate all over the world for weeks and months to come. At stake is much more than a two-state solution, or any dream of coexistence between Arabs and Jews. At stake are two vital points: Israel’s very existence and its right to defend itself. No other country’s existence is questioned or attacked on a daily basis as is Israel. No other nation is expected to absorb missiles launched against its capital and other population centers—and remain unresponsive. No other nation or country in the world is held to unrealistic—and even impossible—standards of conduct in war or peace as is Israel. 

Attacks against Israel are facilitated not only by the rising tide of global anti-Semitism, but also by the silence, inaction and even indifference shown by many Jews in the Diaspora. Yet this is exactly the time when we need to send a clear message of support to our brethren in Israel. This is precisely the time for Diaspora Jews to address our elected representatives—from local school boards to the State Department and the White House—and demand decisive action to stop anti-Israel and anti-Semitic incitement and violence.  

There is no doubt in my mind that Israel will survive this tragic outbreak of violence as it has for the past 100 years or more. But unless the constant international vocal, military and financial support for terror and violence against Jews and Israel ceases once and for all, the tragedy is bound to continue far beyond our own day and time.

Sha’alu sh’lom Yerushalayim—seek peace for Jerusalem, but not only through prayers. Bullets and missiles do not discriminate between children and adults, nor between Jews, Christians and Muslims. If peace is ever to come to the most volatile region in the world, it cannot be conditional. Rather, it has to be instituted from the ground up, replacing the hypocrisy, prejudice and hatred that have tragically been at the root of so much violence and bloodshed over the past millennia.

The words spoken by an ancient Roman general, “if you want peace, prepare for war,” are true today as they were two thousand years ago. How tragic that Israel, for as long as it has existed, has had to live by these words.

Our hearts are with those who suffer the most from this violence; we mourn with those whose have lost loved ones, and we pray for the restored health of all who were injured. May peace, security and sanity return soon to a land and people ravaged by hatred and violence for too long.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Justice In America, Justice For America

 Justice In America, Justice For America

A Conviction in the Murder of George Floyd

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

April 23, 2021

Our vaunted civilization stands on a foundation of ethics and ideals. Without them, human beings would be no more than a pack of wild animals, each of us in pursuit of our individual needs and desires, with little or no consideration for anything or anyone else. 

Justice, possibly the most important of these ideals, is more than a word. It’s actually a complex set of customs and rules. Its function is to ensure that our individual needs do not conflict or clash with those of others. Justice establishes boundaries but also attempts to restore matters to where they had been prior to an infraction—or even, ideally, to make them better.

If the idea behind justice is simply restoring the past, then it becomes impossible to achieve. After all, a law has been broken; a crime was committed. Something—trust, an object or a life—was broken. Even after the culprit is “brought to justice,” the process of rebuilding and restoration is going to take time and work. Once broken, justice cannot be simply restored: A guilty verdict is only the first step.

The conviction of Derek Chauvin in the murder of George Floyd will certainly bring relief to some, but long-lasting satisfaction to few. Will the conviction return Mr. Floyd to his family, alive, unbroken and still breathing? More importantly, will any punishment that the court will impose restore justice when justice has been missing for centuries? 

The Torah teaches us that the pursuit of justice is of the highest civil importance. “Justice, justice shall you pursue,” we read in the book of Deuteronomy, followed by a large number of rules that still form the basis of our judicial system today.  What’s most amazing is that this was written at a time—about three thousand years ago—when we hadn’t yet learned to examine a case from every angle and perspective; when we weren’t taught yet to hand the process over to a duly-appointed judge or a body of peers; when the most effective means of obtaining satisfaction was revenge. 

Still, the laws of Deuteronomy deal only with a present and immediate crime: A thief in the night, damage caused accidentally, through carelessness, or physical harm sustained in a quarrel. But what can we do when an injustice goes back not a day or two, but centuries?

For too long, Black lives were outside the jurisdiction of civil or criminal law. The murder of George Floyd is one of only a handful of cases in which a police officer was convicted of killing a Black man. The first in the entire history of the State of Minnesota. But we need to ask ourselves, how many others were acquitted? And how many weren’t even brought to trial? We don’t need to look far to understand how common the killing of Black people has been in America, and how rare for justice to be served for such killings. “Strange fruit,” wrote a Jewish poet and sang a Black woman singer as they observed the bodies of Black people hanging lifeless from trees, strung up by wild mobs for the slimmest excuse, for the slightest infraction of laws meant to demean and dehumanize people of color.

We Jews know about dehumanization. We know about slander, the blood libel, and genocide. We understand only-too-well how a system can be skewed against minorities, against people who for millennia were ostracized, detested, banished, and exterminated en masse. 

When Adolf Eichmann of cursed memory—the evil mastermind of the Nazi Holocaust—was hanged in Jerusalem in 1962, some people felt relief of sorts. Others, however, saw this “supreme penalty” as no more than an empty gesture. So many supported or participated in the murder of millions of Jewish men, women and children, yet so few paid any price for their crimes. And even if they had—would that be enough? Could the tortured lives ever be restored? Would broken bodies or spirits be revived? Would the trauma—passed through generations to children and grandchildren—be soothed by a guilty verdict?

Justice is essential if civilization is to endure. This most elusive of human concepts is fundamental to our ongoing existence and survival—but only if we see it as a starting point for the rest of the path: rebuilding and restructuring.

Racism in America IS endemic, very much as anti-Semitism is endemic all over the world. Exclusion from schools, health care and economic opportunities are built into this system. Today’s “crowded” inner cities are not very different from the Jewish ghettoes of the Middle Ages. They share a common purpose: to keep “undesirables” out, or at least out of view, of otherwise-respectable society. Anti-Semitism began as religious persecution. It took on its modern version, however, when the Jews were finally permitted to leave the crowded ghettoes and integrate with the general population. Almost overnight, we turned from outcasts into trespassers. Visibility became our sin. Our presence in their midst became so offensive that measures had to be enacted to eradicate our very existence.

Anti-Black sentiment in America is similarly built into our society. Unseen boundaries are drawn for the sole purpose of keeping Blacks out of “respectable” eyes and institutions. A Black student enrolling in an all-white school; a Black family seeking to purchase a home in an all-white neighborhood; a Black driver or jogger straying into an all-white suburb—all these automatically become objects of suspicion. Add to this: the proliferation of guns, the inbred mentality of racism and routine patterns of bullying and harassment—and what you have is a culture where violence and brutality become normative behavior. 

Without a doubt, the verdict in the Derek Chauvin trial sends a strong signal to our society. Injustice can never be tolerated, and it must never become acceptable, in any of our institutions. The role of the police must be redefined: Officers are not judges. Their responsibility is not to implement justice, but rather to apprehend a suspect and bring them to court. This delineation must become clear to all who might think they are the law—or worse, above it.  

In the past few years we’ve been watching our society split along fault lines that have become deep chasms. If peace and stability are to be restored, we need to examine the biases and intolerance that have divided us for far too long. We need to change the way we look at one another, to see beyond skin color, religious belief or gender identification. We need to build—from the ground up—a new America, a new and re-energized nation founded on open acceptance of the infinite diversity of the human race; a society that looks not at the differences between us, but rather at the unique potential embedded in each and every one of us.

The Rabbis have taught: “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.” For justice is more than a sentence: It’s a way of life that we must follow for the rest of our life.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

3000 Years Old, 73 Years Young: Israel’s Independence Day 2021

 3000 Years Old, 73 Years Young: Israel’s Independence Day 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

April 16, 2021

The connection between the People of Israel and the Land of Israel goes back more than 3000 years. First stated in the Torah, it extends to the period of the Patriarchs—and despite claims to the contrary, has never been broken.

Attempts to delegitimize this connection occur throughout our history. And while the size of the Jewish population in the Land of Israel has gone up and down through the centuries, the truth is that Jewish life in cities and villages spanning the breadth and length of this much-contested land has continued unabated since the time of Abraham.

In ancient days, for nearly 60 years, the Judeans were exiled from their homeland by the Babylonians. Edomite tribes invaded the land, and even after the Persian King Cyrus permitted the Jews to return and restore the country, the invaders continued hampering the resettlement and rebuilding until they were subdued by the Hasmonean kings, descendants of Judah the Maccabee. Two centuries later, the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and, after killing hundreds of thousands of Jews, enslaved and exiled a large number of the survivors. The Romans renamed the land “Palestine,” hoping to erase from history the memory of the land and people that they had subjugated. But they too, failed. Jewish presence persisted in the Four Holy Cities—Hebron, Jerusalem, Tiberias and Tzfat—and elsewhere throughout the land. 

During the Crusades, hundreds of thousands of lives were lost and many Jewish communities were destroyed. But after the conquest of the Holy Land in the 1500’s by the Ottoman Turks, stability returned and with it also a return of Jewish life and prosperity. 

Then, as the Ottoman Empire began to crumble in the 1800’s, Arab riots took the lives of many Jews. In 1929 and then again in 1936, under the British Mandate, anti-Jewish pogroms cost even more lives. Hebron—the city where Abraham bought a family burial plot and where Jews had lived ever since—was completely emptied of its Jewish population in 1929. The Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem—a city where Jews were always the majority of the population—was conquered by the Jordanians in the 1948 War of Independence and its entire Jewish population was evicted. The Jordanians denied Jews access to the Western Wall, the ancient Jewish cemetery and many other sacred places—until the Six-Day War of 1967, when we returned yet again.

For two thousand years, religious persecution, ignorance and intolerance tried to prevent Jews from returning to our homeland. A forlorn and desolate Judea was seen by Christians and Muslims alike as God’s punishment for our refusal to recognize the divine or prophetic nature of their messengers. In 1904, when Theodor Herzl met with Pope Pius X, Pius told the father of political Zionism that, since “The Jews have not recognized our Lord we therefore cannot recognize the Jewish People.” He continued by vowing that if Jews were to settle in Palestine, “the Church would make sure there were churches and priests there to baptize them.”  

The Vatican stayed true to its word and did not recognize the State of Israel until 1993, nearly a century after that meeting.

Tragically, the Arab-Israeli conflict continues to this day. Some propose a two-state resolution to the conflict, not realizing that the Arabs have rejected this idea time and time again since 1917, when partition was first put on the table. Others go much farther, however; for them, nothing short of the total annihilation of Israel will do.

It isn’t only Iran, the world’s number one exporter of war and terror, that seeks Israel’s destruction. Through its relentless pursuit of nuclear armaments as well as through military and financial support of its proxy militias, Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis, Iran seeks hegemony over the entire Near East. Closer to home, however, the Arabs living in the very area where some would like to see an independent Arab state established, continue following the all-or-nothing policy set by the man whom the British in 1921 appointed as Grand Mufti—the supreme religious leader—of Jerusalem: the infamous Haj Amin al-Husseini. Husseini was adamantly opposed to a Jewish state and was unyielding in his refusal to negotiate with the Jews. Instead, Husseini aligned with Hitler and offered him the support of the Arabs. A direct line of thought and action extends from Husseini to his followers: Yasser Arafat, the founder of the terror organization known as the Palestine Liberation Organization, the PLO, and Arafat’s successor, Mahmoud Abbas, the current head of the Palestinian Authority.

Israel, meanwhile, has taken in millions of refugees fleeing anti-Semitic persecution and genocide—from Europe, from the ex-Soviet Union, from Latin America, and not least, ¾ of a million Jews who were evicted from their homes in Arab countries.

But Israel today provides more than safe harbor. It’s the only country in the world where Jews can practice Judaism openly, without fear of bullying and discrimination; where Judaism can develop on its own terms, not bound by the whims and caprices of local leaders and surrounding cultures. Israel’s resolve to help humanity and make the world a better place gives its existence extra purpose and meaning. Its many contributions to the arts and letters; to medicine, science and technology; to environmentalism; and to the empowerment of women and minorities the world over make it a leader among the progressive nations of the world.

To ensure its survival, Israel maintains one of the most efficient and powerful armed forces in the world. It has to. But at the same time, the Israel Defense Force lives up to the strictest code of ethics and morality, more so than any other country in the world. In doing so, while committed to the principle and right of self-defense, Israel has sustained tremendous, tragic damage to life and property. It’s a heavy price, but one Israel is willing to pay.

Throughout its existence, Israel has served as a model not only for the world at large, but also specifically for Diaspora Jews. To those of us who live outside its boundaries, Israel provides not only a sense of safety and security, but also pride. Israel—not perfect, plagued by the same woes as many other countries—is desolate no more. One need only read Mark Twain’s description of the land as he saw it in 1867 to understand the nature of the miracle that has taken place there since his visit. The deep roots of the Jewish People in our homeland have sprouted once again and the Land has been revitalized. And we are all the better for that.

A popular meme on the social media reminds us that Israel today is 3000 years old and 73 years young. On this occasion, as we celebrate the State of Israel’s 73rd Independence Day, we thank the Almighty for enabling us to reach and witness this miraculous occasion: Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam, shehecheyanu v’kiymanu v’higi’anu layman hazeh. Amen.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman

Committing To A Covenant of Love: Passover 2021

 Committing To A Covenant of Love: Passover 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

March 19, 2021

My original intent for this sermon was to write something about the phases of the moon. As you might know, the Jewish calendar is mostly lunar (with some solar elements thrown in). The months on the Hebrew calendar are marked by the phases of the moon, with several of our holidays occurring on the full moon. I was going to write about the fear and trepidation that two of these lunar phases bring to my heart: the last full moon before Rosh Ha-Shana and the new moon two weeks before the start of Passover. These celestial happenings never fail to remind me how much work is left to be done, and how little time left to get it done!

But as important as the calendar is in bringing order into our lives, some incidents take place without announcement or preparation, managing to throw chaos and disorder into the otherwise steady rhythm established by the rise and setting of the sun and the waxing and waning of the moon. And one of these took place just a few days ago: The horrific killing of eight people in Atlanta, Georgia.

This latest shooting has left us all—yet again—in shock and disbelief. But this was no random act of terror. Six of the eight were Asian-American women, part of a rising wave of violence directed at this segment of the population.

So instead of talking about me and my nervousness as I look ahead to the holiday of Passover, I want to speak about what Passover actually means to me—to us actually, as Jews and Americans.

When God redeemed us from Egypt, we weren’t simply let loose into the wilderness. Along with the gift of freedom came a whole slew of new and different obligations. For all eternity, at the time of the Exodus the entire Jewish People were called upon to enter into a covenant with God. And even before we knew what this Covenant required of us, we agreed to live by it. It was a display of faith and trust that pleased God, who immediately proceeded to spell out the terms, first with the Ten Commandments, and then with the rest of the 613.

First, of course, we had to build the Tabernacle, the Temple that would symbolize God’s presence among us.

But then, even more importantly, we learned that being in a relationship with God meant that we ourselves had to be holy. This in itself was a revolutionary way of thinking. In all other religions, only the priests were holy. What Moses with all his heart and soul wants of us is for all of us to be holy. And then he spells it out for us. Holiness isn’t just about bringing sacrifices. It’s about how we conduct our daily lives—at home, on the street, among ourselves.

Deep inside the heart of Leviticus—the book we start reading this week at synagogues all over the world—lies the spark of what it means to be in a relationship with God. It’s a text known as The Holiness Code, and it’s such an important section of the Torah that we read it not only on the appointed Shabbat on our calendar, but also on the holiest of our High Holy Days, Yom Kippur. “Love your neighbor as yourself,” these verses say. Feed the hungry; support the weak and needy. And most poignantly, remember what it means to be a stranger in a strange land: “You shall not oppress the stranger… who resides with you. For you were strangers in the land of Egypt… I am Adonai your God!” To be in a relationship with God means to be holy, to act justly, with compassion, with understanding in our hearts. Especially for those we tend to overlook or look at with disdain.

And above all, God warns us: “Do not stand idly or profit by the blood of your neighbor.” 

I don’t know why in recent years we have been witnessing so many terrible tragedies. Maybe it’s nothing new; maybe human beings have always resented the other and tried to eliminate from society those we saw as alien to our culture and civilization. A quick perusal of Jewish history is enough to give proof of this bloody and all-too-human tendency.

Of course we could blame political and cultural leaders who stir the masses and spew words of hate and violence. As I understand it, however, the Atlanta shooter claimed other motives, blaming temptation and inclinations that he should have known are embedded deep within himself, not in someone else. But I wonder, where in God’s name did he find the permission to commit such horrific acts of violence and bloodshed. Where do killers like him find approval and sanction for their evil deeds? 

If the Bible is the ethical foundation of our civilization, who are the preachers who so misunderstand its sacred rules that they call for slaughter and mayhem? What is—or isn’t—being taught at homes or at schools about law, civics and mutual respect? 

Perhaps what our country needs now is a thorough re-reading of the Holiness Code. What lessons have we learned over the centuries and millennia? What do parents, teachers and preachers teach their children? As the powerful song from the musical South Pacific reminds us, we have to be carefully taught how to hate. How much more so, to act violently; to take a gun or high-powered rifle into our own hands and take the lives of innocent people. Just because they look different from me and you, or hold a different faith, or are of different skin color or gender; or whose features—the slant of the eyes, the shape of the mouth or nose—make them stand out as “alien.” 

The human race has always craved a relationship with God. We all profess the Golden Rule. Yet some of us see ourselves as somehow empowered to break this very rule. Perhaps all of us need to remind ourselves of what being in a relationship with God means. Maybe the daily toil of our lives has embittered us; maybe the harsh challenges of survival have blinded us to the most important laws of all: that we are all equal in God’s eyes. That we must not murder. That each human being carries the Image of God within us, and that no one—not a one of us—has the right to take that away from anyone else.

This is what I believe we need to hear now, at our homes, schools and—possibly more than anywhere else—in our houses of worship. The law of kindness is what we must now impress upon ourselves and our children. 

Ultimately, preparing for Passover isn’t only about emptying our houses of leavened bread. It’s about emptying our hearts of hate and filling them instead with love, with the desire for justice and compassion. That’s how I understand the Exodus from Egypt, and that is what Passover means to me.

May our holiday preparations this year be framed in this context. Yes, we have only a week now before our Passover Seders, and yes, there is so much left to do. But we’ll get it done as we always have in the past. What we must commit to now—for this week and for the rest of our lives—is the sacred teaching of the Torah: Do not oppress the stranger; love your neighbor as yourself. Do not stand idly by your neighbor’s blood and suffering.

Tonight we grieve with our whole nation, but we send special support to the Asian-American community. We send condolences and love to those who lost relatives or friends in the Atlanta shootings. We pray for all who live with fear or sorrow in their heart.

May sanity and sanctity find their place in our land once again.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman