From Dream To Reality: Shoftim.20

From Dream To Reality: Shoftim

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

September 21, 2020

As the Jewish year comes to a close (Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year, is just about a month away) so does our cycle of weekly Torah readings. This cycle starts anew every fall, reminding us not only of the beginning of the year, but also of our origins and obligations as a people.

Deuteronomy, the fifth and final book of the Torah, is thus both a summary of the first four books and a distillation of how we view ourselves and our relationship with God.

Deuteronomy is structured as a series of sermons delivered by Moses as the Israelites, after forty years of wandering in the wilderness, finally reach their goal and destination, the Promised Land. It’s a look back, a recounting of the hardships endured and lessons learned along the journey. But at the same time it also offers insight into the future, a foretelling of historical events to come—the battles that will be fought as the Israelites settle in Canaan and the social, religious and political dilemmas that they will be facing.

Most of all, however, Deuteronomy is a collection of laws. About one-third of the Torah’s 613 Commandments are found in this book.

Why so many?

Laws are not necessary where the population is sparse. Where there is little traffic and few intersections, there is no need for stop signs. The number of laws in Deuteronomy—and the many different situations these cover—reflect the time and place in which they were legislated.  There are laws about warfare—a sure sign that the Middle East never was and probably never will be a haven of peace. Rules limiting the power and wealth of a king likewise indicate a political and social reality. The focus in this week’s portion (Shoftim, “Judges,” Deut. 16:18—21:9), is on the need to establish a judicial system, necessary for any civilization and culture to exist and prosper. First steps are also taken toward the centralization of religious practice and authority, enabling the nascent Jewish religion to survive in the Middle East, a place where the world’s major trade routes intersect—and with them, the cultural and religious influences of many lands and peoples.

Some of the laws in Shoftim strive to control human passions such as sexual lust, hunger for power, and the brutal urge for blood vengeance.

As the last of the Five Books of Moses, we would expect Deuteronomy to offer denouement, a satisfying conclusion tying together all the loose ends, all the storylines that interweave and leave us wanting more. As a work of theology, one could expect some answers about God, God’s nature, and the nature of God’s relationship with humanity. We could be pardoned for wanting to know more about our role and place in the universe, to see the larger picture, with all the whys and wherefores answered.

Yet exactly the opposite happens. No explanations, no sweet resolutions.  Ironically, even though it is part of a religious text, Deuteronomy says little about the nature of God’s divinity and is actually a roadmap into the human soul. Rather than explain why God or the Universe are the way they are, Deuteronomy actually helps us understand ourselves, the complex entity that we human beings are—that I am, that you are, that each individual is, in his/her/their own and unique way.

Deuteronomy isn’t about God at all. Rather, it’s about you and me. Every law in Shoftim is addressed to the individual, taking the form of the singular “you,” the “thou.” That’s what it all comes down to. There is no grand finale, no revelation of things or days to come. Everything is up to you.

Maybe that’s why Deuteronomy is read during Elul, the last month of the Jewish year. As we begin to reflect on the year that is now ending and as we begin to look, with hopes and expectations, toward the new year, we are reminded that so much depends on what our choices are going to be.

Yes, prayer is good. Prayer expresses the deepest longings in our hearts and souls—for peace, for health, for satisfaction, for a good job, for love. But prayer by itself is no more than wishful thinking. It’s what we do that complements and completes prayer.

If we want peace, we must work towards it, and not strive for destruction.

If we want to be treated with dignity and kindness, we have to treat others in exactly the same way.

If we want to live in a just world, then we need look no further than to the words that open this week’s portion: “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” The doubling of the word justice has been taught as a reminder that we must judge others as we judge ourselves, no more and no less.

And lastly, if we want to live in a world where all people—regardless of race, color, creed or gender—are treated equally, then we must tear down walls of prejudice, fear and hatred and replace them instead with fair and equitable systems and practices. No one, no matter how rich or powerful, is above the law; we are all—president or ordinary citizen, rich or poor, subject to a higher power, a higher authority, a higher and ultimate Judge.

Deuteronomy is set in the days immediately prior to the People of Israel’s crossing the Jordan River into the Promised Land. As we read it now, facing a new year, new opportunities and new challenges, these chapters remind us to see ourselves as our ancestors must have: Our fear mingled with faith, our doubts replaced with resolve. Our dreams of a Promised Land remain unfulfilled until we—you and I—take action to make them real.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Abraham Accord: Peace Agreement Between Israel and UAE

The Abraham Accord: Peace Agreement Between Israel and UAE

Opinion by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 14, 2020

The announcement of a peace deal between Israel and the United Arab Emirates couldn’t come at a better time.

These days, as the COVID pandemic continues to rage unabated, when politics, social unrest, the economy, jobs and other divisive issues leave all of us afraid to listen to the news for fear of what else could be going wrong, the words “peace agreement” sound a little like a Disney fantasy. Our cynical minds turn immediately to thinking, Why? What’s going on? Who is gaining from this agreement—and what is being gained by it?

And the answer is simple: Everyone and everything.

When the UAE first became an independent country in 1971 its first president termed Israel, “the enemy.” By 2015, however, Israel opened a diplomatic office in the Emirates. But even before that, mostly under cover, cooperation in trade, security, technology and other areas had already been going on for several years.

The normalization of relations between the two countries is a major achievement for which President Trump, Jared Kushner and Secretary of State Pompeo deserve much credit and thanks. For, despite long-standing cooperation between Israel and the UAE, there have been roadblocks too. Sports events in which Israeli athletes participated were boycotted by the UAE. Travel restrictions existed. Recognition of the Jewish State was adamantly rejected.

Now, however, with what is being called “The Abraham Accord” (named after the common ancestor of the Jewish and Muslim faiths), a new stage in the relationship between Israel and the Arab world has begun.

Prior to the Israel/UAE agreement, only two other Arab countries had signed peace agreements with the Jewish State: Egypt and Jordan. Ending the state of war that had existed since 1948 was important, but these proved isolated developments. The accord with the UAE is part of a new game plan, a wider and more encompassing maneuver for a new time and a new world.

For Israel, recognition by an Arab state is an old dream come true. The process has been long and complicated. At times it seemed more science fiction than possible reality.

So what has changed?

In a word: Iran.

The world’s largest exporter of terror and violence, Iran has long been aiming for domination of the Middle East. The failed Syrian regime of Bashar al-Assad has meant that Iran now plays a major role there, establishing military bases and a regular supply route to Hezbollah—the armed militia that runs Lebanon (and is responsible for the horrific ammonium nitrate explosion in Beirut earlier this month). Iran also arms and supplies the Houthis, who have been waging war against Saudi Arabia and wreaking havoc and disaster in neighboring Yemen. Iran has been menacing the United States, jeopardizing oil shipping in the Persian Gulf, and threatening Israel as well as Western European countries with its development of nuclear capabilities and the ability to deliver nuclear warheads on ICBM’s.

Iran’s crumbling economy hasn’t stopped any of its expansionist plans. Despite economic and diplomatic pressure from the United States and elsewhere, Iran is persistent in furthering its militaristic aims. The upcoming elections in the United States and the uncertainty of a second term for President Trump have bolstered Iran’s determination to make its move now, with the hope that a new, more favorable, Democratic administration might prove more forgiving of any consequences tomorrow to such a move today.

Other countries in the region are similarly fearful of a change in administration. In their view, a return to a deal with Iran such as the one carved out by Obama would mean one thing only: a more powerful and threatening Iran.

A defensive wall is thus being built, with the UAE-Israel peace agreement as the first in what will hopefully be a chain reaction. In a major speech announcing the accord, Israel’s Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, intimated as much, without naming any names.

But for all its benefits, any such treaty must also come with a price. The United Arab Emirates has to face the rage not only of Iran, but also of other hardline Islamist countries and governments. Not surprisingly, the Palestinian Authority has denounced the agreement. Turkey has called it hypocrisy and a betrayal.

For Netanyahu, he now has to face a large part of his power base—the extreme right-wing Settler Movement. In making the deal, Netanyahu has suspended his plans to annex parts of what the world calls “the West Bank,” a promise he reiterated as recently as last month. On the other hand, one could ask if—at this point in his career—the loss of this segment of his base is so damaging. More than half of Israel’s population has stated and proven—many times over—its willingness to trade land for peace. For the many vocal and fierce opponents of Bibi and his administration, this move is seen as a move in the right direction.

Still, despite the expected opposition, the Abraham Accord is a huge step forward.

For the United States and President Trump, the Accord is a major accomplishment, one that every President has hoped for since 1948. For Israel, it is a step toward the realization of a long-sought dream. For those Arab countries that would like to see progress into the 21^st century—technologically, economically, ideologically—this is also a positive step.

Some will say that this agreement will lead to stabilization in one of the world’s most volatile regions. Others, more skeptical, will undoubtedly see it as a hardening of positions, the formation of new power blocks and an alliance that would lead to world-wide conflagration.

For a world weary of war and terror, however, this show of solidarity means greater determination and strength in fighting evil. In the larger scope of things, it doesn’t do much to alleviate hunger, pollution, preservation of water and other natural resources. However, if it does lead to greater cooperation in health, technology and education, the Abraham Accord will prove an important stepping-stone towards a safer, saner world.

Let’s hope that this is the case.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

To Merit A Mitzvah: Eikev.20

To Merit A Mitzvah

D’var Torah for Parashat Eikev

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

August 7, 2020

It probably didn’t take human beings, even those at the beginning of our evolution, too long to figure out the law of cause and effect. After all, other species learned pretty quickly that patience has its rewards: Ants learned that hard and consistent work results in a thriving colony; and bees, in order to ensure a healthy hive, have been known to cast out useless drones and even queens that are less than adequate. Likewise, at the dawn of our evolution, even the earliest original humanoids must have realized that certain behaviors would lead to desirable outcomes more frequently than other, less efficient means. 

But it wasn’t until Moses that the principle of cause and effect was put into law form.

In this week’s Torah portion, Eikev (“Consequences,” Deuteronomy 7:12—11:25), we find the foundations of a system of foolproof behavior: Do what God deems right, and you shall be rewarded amply; do that which God disapproves, and the punishments will be just as quick and inevitable.

Thousands of years have passed since the words of the Torah were written and codified. We have since learned that things aren’t quite so simple. We have seen good and innocent folks suffer while evil and arrogant individuals seem to prosper. Sometimes, even our best intentions fall apart for reasons beyond our understanding. We have learned that other people’s actions and behavior can affect our work in negative ways. Success is not a given—at least not always in the short run. It may take a while; it may mean trying again and again until all conditions are favorable. It may mean starting all over, seeking a different path.

In the Torah, what seemed at first to be a short route from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land turned out to be an arduous journey. A path north by north-east, along the Mediterranean seacoast, would have taken a week, maybe two, to complete. Instead, we found ourselves wandering and often lost for forty years in the harsh Sinai wilderness.

Certainly questions came up: Was all this roving necessary? Did it not lead to even more rebellions against Moses, Aaron, and God? Could no one foresee the plagues, fires and warfare that this grueling journey would entail?

Deuteronomy answers all that, by restating the Law of Cause and Effect: Because we rebelled against God and Moses, we were punished, and we suffered. Because we lost faith, we had to learn it from scratch. We now know the truth that faith is easily broken, but repair is not so simple. It may take years, perhaps a lifetime, and sometimes even more.

Still, this week’s portion gives us a most beautiful vision of the Promised Land: “A good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey; a land where you may eat food without stint, where you will lack nothing; a land whose rocks are iron and from whose hills you can mine copper. When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to Adonai your God for the good land which God has given you” (Deut. 8:7-10).

But this wistful vision is tarnished by reality. The Land of Israel—then or today—has rarely known a time without war. The promise of abundance for all, of justice and compassion for the poor, of housing for the homeless, of health and peace for all its inhabitants seems as far from us today as it was when Moses first described it to the weary Israelites in the harsh wilderness.

While the author of Deuteronomy must have been certain why that was so, we are not. And while we constantly repeat these words, and every day look up toward the marvelous vision of the Promised Land, nagging doubts continue to undermine our faith in this blessed outcome.

While Deuteronomy provides certainty, real life brings up doubt.

Questions come up with every disaster, with every plague and every drought. What have we done wrong?

Fortunately, Jewish philosophy doesn’t stop with the Torah. The Prophets of ancient days tried to offer their own reasons; Jewish mysticism—the Zohar and Kabbalah—offers yet another theory, the one that teaches that the universe itself is broken, and that it is our task to repair it. Tikkun Olam, they called it.

But perhaps the reasons for the broken state of the world today are much simpler than the explanations offered by prophets and mystics. Maybe it’s because Creation emerges out of Destruction, because we live in an eternal cycle of day and night, of life and death. Or maybe it’s as simple as the fact that we live in a world that is always on the verge of chaos. We can begin to understand the weather, but we can’t predict the course of a hurricane. We know why volcanoes exist, why earthquakes happen, but we can’t foresee when or where the next disaster will take place. We know about viruses, but obviously we don’t have the cures for all—or even most—of them.

And we know that some people, knowingly or not, intentionally or not, will cause harm. Free choice is part of the human soul, and that means that evil—the bad, the wrong choice—is always there, “crouching at the door,” like a beast just waiting to pounce.

Jewish thought is not fatalistic. It never was and never will be. If only things happened exactly as predicted, as prophesied, as foretold! But they don’t, and so Faith plays an important part in Jewish thinking. In the Jewish view of the world, miracles do happen, and good deeds do lead to good consequences, as surely as mischief leads to evil.

There are times when evil overpowers righteousness, and when that happens, bad things happen, even to good people.

And that’s why it’s important to do good deeds—mitzvahs, mitzvot—to balance the effects of evil on the world around us.

The rewards of a mitzvah, the rabbis teach, is yet another mitzvah. One good deed leads to another as surely as a wicked deed leads to more wickedness. It’s the cumulative effect of all our deeds of kindness and compassion that will lead to a better world. And that’s why we sometimes hear the words, tizkeh l’mitzvot—“may you merit mitzvahs”—as a thank you to a good deed. It’s a blessing that we merit not a perfect world, but a world that runs well because we do our best to make it so, because we do not grow weary or discouraged, because we do not despair or lose faith or hope.

The vision of the Torah and our Prophets may be a dream, but as long as we perform mitzvot, we are not lost in the wilderness. Rather, mitzvot are the way we work towards making that dream real. May we never lose sight of that prophecy; may our hands never tire, may our heart and soul never grow faint. There will be challenges, but with belief and faith in ourselves and in God we will overcome them.

That is why we still repeat the words of this week’s portion, thousands of years after they were first put down on parchment. The promise of the Promised Land is still before our eyes; the Torah and the teachings of the Rabbis are our roadmap there. As long as these are there, we remain strong, we endure and persevere through every storm, wind or fire.

May the holiness of this teaching strengthen us and keeps our feet steady on our path from day to day, from one mitzvah to the next.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

From Doubt to Faith: Tish'a B'Av

From Doubt to Faith, From Mourning To Joy: Tish’a B’Av

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

When Nebuchadnezzar II, king of Babylon, conquered Jerusalem in the year 587 BCE, his chosen date for setting Solomon’s Temple on fire was Tish’a B’Av (the ninth day of the Hebrew month Av). This choice may have been random; or he may have selected it on purpose. For the ancient Mesopotamians, this season was one of joy and celebration. After spending nearly half a year in the underworld, their deity Dumuzi was resurrected every summer at this time, and Nebuchadnezzar might very well have chosen the date to show the Judeans that whereas our God was now homeless, powerless and on exile, their god had ascended to victory and prominence.

The myth of the death and resurrection of a divinity called “The Favorite Son” was  popular at the time, and it made its way into other myths and religions.

But not in Judaism. This was, after all, the religion in which Father Abraham was told in no uncertain terms not to sacrifice his favorite son, Isaac.

Nevertheless, a day that had been set aside for celebration in the ancient world turned instead into a day of grief and mourning for the Judean nation.

But it didn’t stay that way. At least, not entirely.

In the Jewish tradition, formed by the ancient Rabbis to unify a people that had spread throughout a vast Diaspora, Tish’a B’Av was not just any random date on the calendar. Rather, it became a day set aside for disaster by God Godself. This was the day on which the twelve spies sent by Moses to bring back to the people a report of the Promised Land, returned with bad news: the land was fruitful and beautiful, but impossible to conquer. The majority report, delivered by ten of the spies, caused the people to panic and lose faith in God and Moses. Only Joshua and Caleb reminded them that God was their stronghold, and that as long as they kept their faith, they could indeed overtake the giants and monsters that presently occupied the Land of Canaan. Unfortunately, the people refused to listen and nearly stoned Moses and Aaron to death. This was the first Tish’a B’Av, and it set the precedent for all those that would follow.

The First Temple, built in Jerusalem around 950 BCE by King David’s son, Solomon, was destroyed on Tisha B’Av, as was the Second Temple, destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE. Both destructions resulted in the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of Jews, and many who survived were sold to slavery or exiled to foreign lands.

It was on Tish’a B’Av that the last Judean rebellion against the Romans was crushed in 135 CE. The leader of the rebellion, Simeon Bar Kochba, a man whose vision and bravery caused many to see him as the Messiah, was killed and his fortress, Beitar, was razed to the ground. Following this disaster, the Roman emperor Hadrian changed the name of Judea to Palestine. He also founded a new city on the ruins of Jerusalem and named it Aelia Capitolina, hoping to erase the memory of the holy city from the hearts and souls of the defeated but still-stubborn Judeans.

In the more recent past, other disasters took place on the same date (or, in some cases, a day or two later): The expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290; from France in 1306; from Spain in 1492; and the start of the liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto in 1942.

In the eyes of some, the dating of these disasters was no more than coincidence. As the Rabbis saw it, however, it was no less than the fulfillment of a divine decree.

But the story does not end with destruction. Just as in the Torah God relents and lets the remnant of Israelites enter the Promised Land, so is God bound throughout history to forgive God’s People, the Jews, when they repent and return to God through faith and good deeds.

By setting Tish’a B’Av in a context of faith, the Rabbis succeeded in transforming sorrow and mourning into faith and hope. As long as the Jewish Nation held on to their belief in God, Redemption was bound to come about. It was their failproof restructuring of the Jewish religion that turned a day in history into an eternal, cosmic event. Our faith became our mission, and as long as we endeavored to fulfill it, our Redemption was imminent.

Jewish tradition calls for the observance of Tish’a B’Av through a number of customs:  fasting for 25 hours; communal reading of kinnot (liturgical poems of keening and grief) as well as the books of Job and Lamentations; and the performance of deeds of kindness and righteousness. These, we are told, are the actions that will hasten ge’ula (Redemption) and will bring salvation not only for us, but also for the entire world.

The Rabbis conclude their remarkable take on this day by teaching that on Tish’a B’Av, on the very day that was set aside for terrible misfortunes and calamities, the Messiah will be born. May our faith and good deeds be strengthened by this belief, so that the day will come soon when all hunger, war, disease and ignorance will disappear from this world once and for all and be replaced by wisdom, love and peace.

[This year, 2020, Tish’a B’Av will be observed July 29-30]

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

The 42 Steps: Matot—Mass’ei.20

The 42 Steps: D’var Torah for Matot—Mass’ei

July 17, 2020

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

We like to collect mementos, souvenirs of places we’ve been to or experiences that hold meaning for us. Whether it’s a rock found on a hike in the Carmel Mountains or on the hills of Jerusalem, a touristy knick-knack from an exotic location, or a magnet from each State in the Union that we have visited, we all have our collections. Like songs from a particular era, our souvenirs hold memories for us, they take us back to other places and times. They help us keep track of where we are today, and where we’ve been along the way.

With this week’s Torah reading, (the double portion Matot-Mass’ei, Numbers 30:2—36:13), the book of Numbers, the fourth book in the Torah, comes to a close. In this concluding section we are given a list of all the places the Israelites stopped at along their journeys in the Sinai Wilderness—forty-two stops in all—each bringing up memories, some good, others not so much. Still others are a mixed bag. So at Mt. Sinai the Israelites receive the Ten Commandments. But also at this very time and place—the most awesome moment of God’s revelation—they give in to temptation and bow down before the Golden Calf.

Forty years later, as their travels come to a close, right before they ford the Jordan River, with all the hope and jubilation the Israelites might have felt at that moment, they are also about to be thrown into mourning over the loss of their guide and teacher. Mt. Nebo is the spot from which Moses will see the Promised Land—but where he is about to die and be buried.

Yet it’s more than memories that these souvenirs hold for us: It’s lessons, too. The Torah is a roadmap for us, marking not only where we were, but also what we learned there.

For all its grandeur and vision, the Torah is really a microcosm of Jewish existence. We have been wandering not only forty years, but rather thousands of years. We have seen empires come and go, civilizations rise and fall. We have lived through revolutions and civil wars. We witnessed pogroms and crusades. We’ve seen golden ages become dark ages, and back again.

And through all these, our understanding both of life and its meaning has continued to evolve, grow and mature.

As a people, however, we tend to mark the successes of our existence, our miraculous escapes from persecution. What all too often we overlook is our failures. It isn’t only the complaining in the desert, or even the worship of the Golden Calf. It’s the zealotry of Pinchas, whose murderous rage sets an example for all zealots who do not hesitate to kill in the name of their belief. It’s the genocide of the Midianites, the indiscriminate killing of all men, women and children and the looting of all their possessions.

That we have come a long way from these horrific memories does not cancel or erase them from our Torah. They are always there, their purpose to remind us of the dangers and pitfalls we need to circumvent.

Our successes must never blind us to our failings. Our rich contributions to humanity must never cover up mistakes that we also made along our long history.

Today, bitter dialogue is arising between Jews and members of the Black Lives Matter movement. Unwelcome reminders of what has been termed “Jewish privilege” are flung in our faces. And while we can come up with responses to some of these, others are not so easy to excuse. While the African slave trade was neither invented nor financed by the Jews, there were Jewish slave traders. And there has been cultural appropriation. Jewish and non-Jewish musicians, including George Gershwin, Benny Goodman and many others—used blues, jazz and other musical idioms developed by Blacks to their own advantage and gain.

We can always find excuses: these very Jewish musicians also helped popularize black music and bring it to the attention of the white cultural elite, paving the road for eventual recognition of the Black contribution to American—and world—music.

And we can also find excuses for the pawnbrokers and the Jewish merchants who opened up shops in Black neighborhoods—when they couldn’t afford (or weren’t allowed in) other, more expensive locations.

But it’s also vital that we recognize that there were Jews who definitely took advantage of their color and money: absentee slumlords who failed to maintain and upkeep their buildings. Real estate and property developers who conspired to keep people of color segregated. Racism is evident in some of the language we use and even in the beliefs some Jews hold. We are, after all, product of the culture of which we are part, to which we contribute but from which we also absorb and draw sustenance.

But at the same time we must not lose sight of the fact that anti-Semitism is present in many of the statements we hear coming out of the Black Lives Matter movement and certain individuals. Anti-Zionism—the latest form that anti-Semitism has taken in its long evolution—is prevalent on college campuses and in many of the liberal media. A prominent member of the editorial staff on the New York Times—Bari Weiss—resigned a couple of days ago, citing bullying and harassment from other staffers. This, too, is part of the culture we live in today, where Jews more and more are excluded from public debate and representation.  And it doesn’t stop only with words. Desecration and vandalism of Jewish cemeteries and synagogues, violent assaults and mass shootings at places easily recognizable as Jewish-owned or catering to Jews have risen in the double digits.

Obviously not all of these acts can be attributed to anti-Semitism among People of Color. The rise of neo-Nazis and other far-right extremists is equally worrying.

We Jews cannot be complacent about any of this. In an interview given two days ago, former NYPD Commissioner Ray Kelly warned that “We are in a dangerous place in history,” and that Jews should “protect our communities.”

And how exactly should we do that? Most synagogues and JCC’s already have armed security guards at their gates. Perhaps we should now learn to build golems, like the famous Golem of Prague?

As we continue to watch events unfolding on city streets; as we continue to follow political debates on the media; whatever position we take, we must always also remember to stand up for ourselves. Supporting the rights of other minorities does not diminish our responsibility to ourselves, to the Jewish community and to the entire Jewish people.

What a timely reminder we find in these concluding portions of the Torah’s Book of Numbers, as Moses chides two of the twelve tribes of Israel who choose to dwell outside the borders of the Promised Land. Does that mean that they won’t come to the aid of the other Israelites as they struggle to establish and defend themselves, Moses inquires with both anger and indignation. To which the members of the tribes of Gad and Reuben answer, we will always be there for our brethren!

The question of what we Jews must do to protect ourselves has always been part of our culture. All along our history, some Jews sought to disappear rather than stand up, to hide rather than fight back.

This is one of the stones I have picked up along my many stops along my path in life, a reminder that I must not be silent when my people are threatened. It’s much more than a magnet on my refrigerator or a song on my playlist: It’s a vow I have taken, one I will not renege on, one which will always be there before my eyes. I will not be pushed aside or silenced.

As a Jew, I will continue to engage in the ongoing struggle to free the oppressed and to integrate the disenfranchised, excluded and subjugated.

But at the same time I will continue to demand for myself and my people the very same freedoms I demand for others—the right to exist, to define myself, to defend myself and my people against all our detractors.

We have learned much since our early days as a civilization. Our accomplishments and our missteps have taught us much about the rights and wrongs of warfare; about civil rights; about justice for all human beings, regardless of color, gender or creed. Our history and culture are always there to remind us that we have come a long way from Sinai to where we stand today.

Today we stand together: One people, one God, one humanity, “with liberty and justice for all.”  This is our path, no matter how many steps it will take to get there.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

Rebuilding America: Independence Day 2020

Rebuilding America: Independence Day 2020

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Not often, but just sometimes, I long for the simpler days of the past. Not even the recent past, but rather those ancient days of the Torah and Prophets. In truth, I don’t look at those days through rose-tinted glasses. I don’t think there were fewer problems then—only simpler solutions. Take this week’s Torah portion, Chukat, and specifically the sacrifice ordained in its first few verses, Deut. 19:1-12, the ritual of the Red Heifer.

Little is known about this strange and mysterious sacrifice. Intended to atone for unspeakable sins committed by an individual or community, it’s said to have been offered either seven or nine times during the entire time that the Temple stood in Jerusalem.

Some commentators say that the original sin which necessitated this law was the worship of the Golden Calf. Another story, from the Midrash, explains that it was meant to exorcise demons. In either case, it was a purification ceremony. Its hopeful effect was to remove guilt from the community, so that all could go about their business with a clear conscience. Simple, neat, and effective. How sad that we don’t have this kind of reset button in our own day. How much we could all use it, as individuals and as a nation.

244 years ago, this country was founded on the principle of freedom, justice and equality for all. A wonderful ideal—but like all ideals, difficult to achieve. Several things stood in the way.

For one thing, white settlement in the New World was based on colonialism, the belief that countries could impose their religious, cultural and economic systems on other nations and lands. And even though religious freedom was one of the goals of the original Pilgrims, not all religions were equally accepted.  The right of Jews to practice Judaism was a hard-won freedom. And then, of course, there was slavery, born of economic necessity, greed, and inherent racism.

The inevitable conflict between the ideal and the real led to disastrous results that are still with us  today. Throughout America’s history, the sins of the fathers were visited upon the children, and today we still find racism, anti-Semitism and white nationalism ripping apart our society.

If only there were some simple ritual that, like the ancient Israelites, we could undergo to solve these problems!

Unfortunately, there isn’t one. And although we have been making headway, step by step, amendment by amendment, the road ahead is still unclear and perilous.

Now it feels as though America is under attack again. Not only from the COVID virus, nor so much from foreign countries (though this danger is always there)—but rather from within. Today, our society and nation are suffering from wounds that have never healed and are still painful, still bleeding.

How did we get here? From a group of individualists seeking freedom and unity, today we are a people who have turned against one another, with some groups intent on imposing their own beliefs, their own way of looking at God, lifestyle and mission, upon others, with little or no tolerance for other possibilities. The prejudices of our past are still an inseparable part of who we are today. They determine where we live, what we do, where and how we educated our children, and how we protect ourselves from real or perceived danger.

It would be easy to put the blame on the virus, or the political system, even climate changes. But though these are powerful factors, they are not in themselves the root cause of the riots and demonstrations that have been taking place in almost every city in America. Yet they do serve to tear the veil from our eyes, making visible what we so conveniently veered our gaze from until now.

As we look forward, in a short six years, to the 250^th anniversary of the founding of our nation, we have much to contend with. Though the goals of the Founding Fathers were noble, our path has not been guilt-free. Our nation was founded on colonialism, our homes built on land taken by force and violence from Native Americans. Our entire economic system is based on cheap labor—and until not too long ago, on actual slavery. To this day, our socio-economic system is defined by gender, color, race and religion. This is what has delineated property lines, demarcated our inner cities from outlying suburbs. This is what led to an hierarchical education system; a healthcare system that discriminates between those who can afford medical attention and those who can’t; and a judicial structure that singles out and victimizes People of Color.

The United States is a political experiment unique in all history. Unlike nations that can claim a past going back to ancient days, sharing a common history and fate; unlike empires that sought to unify through domination and subjugation, our country was formed with these unique ideals: That freedom is the right and privilege of every individual; that Government is neither exempt from the law nor above it; that unity emerges from the collective effort and contributions of the many. This, at least, is what the Fourth of July has always meant for me. When I look at the Stars and Stripes, what I see is the potential for greatness, just as the millions who arrived at the shores of America looked through the harbor mists and saw the Statue of Liberty standing for the promise of acceptance, opportunity, and equality. But this glorious vision is only true for some, not for all. For those who came as slaves, for those who were driven from their native lands, America was far less than all that.

And that is what we—we, I say, all of us, of all genders, races, religions and philosophies—must fix if this nation is to find healing. Once upon a time, it was possible for a high priest to slaughter an animal and offer ablution for our sins. Today, we must be the priest. It’s up to us to atone for those sins by which we have benefitted. “You shall not stand idly by your brother’s blood,” the Torah teaches us. We must not profit from the suffering of others—that’s the basis of human morality and the teaching of every creed, faith and religion.

On this Independence Day, it is incumbent upon us not to look with arrogance and self-righteousness at our past, but rather with humility and questioning at our future. At his inaugural address in 1961, President John F. Kennedy challenged us to, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” Today we must ask ourselves a similar question: What can each of us do to heal our nation, to bind our wounds, to make us whole again, whether by voting, demonstrating, patronizing businesses owned and run by People of Color, or simply by engaging in conversation and learning about conditions we turned a blind eye to in the past.

Perhaps, in the end, it’s just as well that the Torah’s Ritual of the Red Heifer isn’t practiced anymore. It made it too easy to find forgiveness, to go on with life, to return to a situation that we called normal. What we know today is that there is no silver bullet, no magic reset button, only the hard work of reconciliation and rebuilding America.

244 years ago, our Forefathers laid the groundwork for a great nation. Today, we must be its builders, replacing worn structures with new ones, paving roads and bridges that will take us forward, not backwards; making sure that when we say, “with liberty and justice for all,” we really mean “all” and not “just some.”

May the day come soon when prejudice and intolerance will be gone from this nation and this earth, when true equality will enable each of us to reach the potential for which we were placed on this earth.

May this be God’s will.

© 2020 by Boaz D. Heilman

Juneteenth: Day of Dreams

Juneteenth: Day of Dreams

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 19, 2020

The Jewish calendar is different from all other calendars. “How is it different?” you ask. Well, to begin with, our days don’t start when we get up, but rather on the evening before, at sunset. The reason usually given is based on the story of Creation, where we read, “And it was evening and it was morning, first day… second day…” and so on.

And that’s why it’s on Friday evenings that we have a special service to welcome the Sabbath; that is why the Passover Seder is held on the evening preceding the first day of the holiday, and why the Yom Kippur fast begins not on the morning of the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, but at sunset the evening before.

But there is yet another purpose for this practice, a psychological explanation with deep meaning. Twilight, the onset of darkness, has spiritual as well as emotional effect on us, often bringing with it feelings of sadness and gloom, and even the neurological phenomenon commonly known as sundowning.

Illuminating the darkness with candles and cheer helps in warding off sadness and dejection. The night, instead of being cause for fear and anxiety, thus becomes a time of hopeful anticipation.

Much has been written in Midrash and rabbinic commentaries about the phrase “And it came to pass at midnight” (וַיְהִי בַּחֲצִי הַלַּיְלָה, Exodus 12:29), the time when the Angel of Death came to deliver upon Pharaoh and all Egypt that final, terrible, tenth plague, the Death of the Firstborn. It was at that fearful moment—not an exact hour, but rather better understood as that most dismal and darkest portion of the night—that the Redemption of the Israelite People began.

Finding optimism while in the throes of despair is no easy feat. It takes vision and courage. It takes all our strength to overcome doubt and fear. It requires that we crack open that shell of Faith, deeply buried inside us, and within which Hope is encased.

We are living through challenging times today. The first wave of the COVID pandemic shows no signs of abating, and there’s already fear of a second wave come this fall and winter. The economy is in a shambles, and our confidence in the country’s leadership is quickly vanishing. Civil unrest is sweeping through our cities, the result of centuries of brutality and injustice directed against African Americans and other people of color, and scenes of savage violence, vandalism and cruelty are unfolding before our eyes daily. How easy it would be to give in to the darkness, to become discouraged, or else to join the surge of fury and rage.

And yet, in the midst of all this change and convolution, we are given a sign, a candle in the dark as it were: Juneteenth.

Juneteenth—the name given this day, the 19^th of June—commemorates the abolition of slavery in America, and as such it’s a day that needs to be observed not only by African Americans, but also by all Americans. For slavery, while causing immense suffering on People of Color, has left a deep stain of shame and guilt on the rest of us, who have either taken advantage of, or benefitted from, this terrible injustice that was inflicted on millions of human beings.

The past three weeks have been transformative for all of us. It isn’t only the rioting, the marches and the demonstrations that we have been watching or participating in. It’s the eye-witness stories of racism and bigotry that we’ve been reading and hearing; the testimonies of indignities and humiliations; the cries of anguish that few of us paid heed to. Suddenly we see new meanings in old, degrading stereotypes that have been around for ages: Aunt Jemimah; Mammy; blackface.

The reawakening of conscience is no simple matter. Some claim ignorance, or else deny harboring racism. For many of us however, the vital question is no longer “What have we done,” but rather, “Have we done enough?” 

And that’s why this year, Juneteenth is such an important day, to be observed not only by those who benefitted most from it—African Americans—but also by the rest of us, for whom this day represents our own awakening.

June 19, 1865 was the day on which the citizens of Galveston, Texas, first heard the news of the Emancipation of slaves, two and a half years after President Lincoln proclaimed it in Washington, D.C. On this day, Major General Gordon Granger of the Union Army issued General Order Number 3, announcing the end of the Civil War, and with it also the end of slavery in the United States.

But though slavery was abolished, the stated goal of this order, “Absolute equality of rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves,”[1] has yet to be reached. Slavery may have been abolished, but racism in America is far from gone.

In the Torah, it took the Israelites 40 years after the beginning of Redemption on that fateful midnight in Egypt to reach the Promised Land. During that period of time, there were many times when the people lost hope, when they  rioted and rebelled. Some wanted to return to those terrible days of slavery, while others expressed even more drastic ideas on how to reach the shores of safety. In our own day and time, we find ourselves on a similar meandering path forward. And like our ancient ancestors, we have a long way to go.

And that’s why we have Juneteenth, a day that must become a national holiday—and is actually already on track to becoming that, with all our support. We need this holiday not only to help us remember where we came from, but also where we are going. Juneteenth not only represents the end of slavery, but is also a road sign, pointing out and illuminating the direction we must follow in order to achieve the goal we set for ourselves: liberty, equality and justice for all. 

May the profound purpose of Juneteenth never be lost on us. May it help us celebrate the potential of every human being, regardless of race, creed, age or gender. Let it always remind us not only of the injustices of the past, but also of the work that yet needs to be done as we reach towards our dreams of a more meaningful and just tomorrow.

© 2020 by Boaz Heilman

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[1] Major General Gordon Granger’s General Order Number 3, History of Juneteenth. Juneteenth.com (accessed June 18, 2020).