"The Best Kind of Action is Social Action"

I've just arrived in Washington, DC with some of my Confirmation students to participate in L'Taken, the youth lobbying conference of the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. Over the course of the next four days, my students will learn about issues of social justice from a Jewish perspective, worship with hundreds of other teens from across the United States, and on Monday, they will be lobbying their U.S. Senators and Representatives on issues that are important to them.

This week's Torah portion, Mishpatim, outlines a whole host of laws about the ways in which we interact with one another. We learn about the laws of theft and of lost property and of our obligation to the weakest members of our societies. One of my favorite pieces in the text is Exodus 23:4-5, where Torah teaches us, "When you encounter your enemy's ox or ass wandering, you must take it back to him. When you see the ass of your enemy lying under its burden and would refrain from raising it, you must nevertheless raise it with him."

The text doesn't just tell us to return lost property, but it reminds us to return the lost property of our enemies. It doesn't tell us to do things for others, lifting their animals under their burdens, but to lift it with our enemies. There are many times when we don't see eye to eye with others, where we see them as enemies and are threatened by them, either in reality or in perception. What Torah teaches us in this moment is that when we engage with our enemies, however hard that might be, we create real opportunities for dialogue and maybe even friendship.

Over the next four days, my students will wrestle with difficult issues of social justice. They will challenge themselves in what they know about the world and their power to bring about change. They will turn their learning and reflection into action on Monday and actually make real steps to make the world a better place. At the same time, half way around the world, Egypt is in turmoil. We may view Egypt as a friend - of Israel, of the United States - and we may fear that what lies ahead may make an enemy of our friend. However the turmoil in Egypt resolves itself, we must remind ourselves to continue to engage with one another because without communication there can be no relationship. And without relationship there can be no peace.

The Peace Corps, Tikkun Olam, and Seeing Each Other's Faces

Yesterday was the fiftieth anniversary of the inauguration of President John F. Kennedy. As a teen and young adult, I had an unusual fascination with JFK and his family. I have always been intrigued with understanding the impact that the Kennedy family had on what my own responsibilities were as an American citizen. "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country." We are well familiar with this often quoted line from JFK's Inaugural Address. There always seemed to me a natural fit between the Reform Jewish values of social justice and tikkun olam, and Kennedy's insistance that "If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich." Perhaps that is why shortly after the Reform movement created the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, we presented President Kennedy with a Torah scroll.

JFK went beyond rhetoric. He helped to create opportunities for a nation to improve itself and improve the world. One of these was the Peace Corps. In essence, the Peace Corps was created to bring to fruition JFK's inaugural declaration: "Let the word go forth that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans... To those peoples in the huts and villages of half the globe struggling to break th bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves."

Upon creating the Peace Corps, President Kennedy named Shriver its first director. This week, we lost one of the leaders of one of those opportunities. On Tuesday, Sarge Shriver, JFK's brother-in-law, died. Sarge Shriver "took on some of the toughest issues in the public sphere with optimism and commitment -- poverty, race, unemployment, and access to justice." Through his own faith, his Catholicism, Shriver believed that we, as human beings, need to meet one another's needs, to be better people. "He saw caring as 'the cure'" to the ills of society.

In an address to Yale University graduates in 1994, Sarge Shriver challenged the students to step away from their own reflections in the mirror and to focus on the world around them. "Break your mirrors!!! Yes indeed -- shatter the glass. In our society that is so self-absorbed, begin to look less at yourself and more at each other. Learn more about the face of your neighbor and less about your own." The Chasidic tradition teaches a similar message.

There was once a man named Abraham. He had a little store and earned just enough to take care of his family. He was neither poor nor rich, but simply got by and helped others when he could. One typical day, he stood in the doorway of his store, hoping for business, making conversation with passers-by, and welcoming guests. He encountered a stranger, someone who wasn't regularly in his village. Intent upon taking care of others, Abraham offered the stranger a bite to eat, something to drink and a place to put up his feet. What Abraham didn't know was that this stranger was no ordinary stranger. He was the rebbe from another village who was passing through on his way to a wedding.

The rebbe's visit to Abraham's store made him the destination in town. All of a sudden, business was booming and he was quickly becoming rich. He built a brand new house, filled it with wonderful things, and hired servants to care for him and his family. The people of the town quickly realized how he'd changed, how he didn't focus on caring for others anymore. The rebbe paid him a visit.

Immediately, the rebbe saw the change in Abraham's house, the fancy rugs, the artwork, and the most elegant mirror you'd ever seen. "Quite a change!" pointed out the rebbe, calling Abraham before the mirror. "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" asked the rebbe. Of course, Abraham could see himself and his possessions reflected back at him, nothing more. Then the rebbe called Abraham to the window, opened the curtains, and again asked him what he could see. Now, Abraham could see the people of his town. And he could tell the rebbe about each of them; he knew them all.

The rebbe pointed out to Abraham that a mirror and a window are virtually the same, both just a piece of glass. The only difference is that the mirror is coated with silver on one side so that instead of seeing through it, you only see your own reflection. Abraham realized that he'd been spending so much time only focusing on himself. He'd stopped looking out the window of his house into the faces of others. To remind himself of his responsibility to learn more about the faces of others and less about his own, Abraham scraped away the silver at the corners of his mirror so there'd always be a reminder to look out his window more often.

This was the kind of message that Sarge Shriver wanted to send. We cannot only be focused on ourselves. Also, we can't do it all alone. One of Shriver's visions for the Peace Corps was that it would be a program constantly filled with new talent and new ideas, new faces. He imposed "'The Five Year Rule,' requiring all staff to work at the Peace Corps for a limit of five years, [insuring] that the agency does not become stagnant." As an in-law to the Kennedys, Shriver quickly took on the role of "best supporting actor," someone behind the scenes, often out of the spotlight, making the magic happen.

In this week's Torah portion, we encounter Jethro, Moses' father-in-law. When Jethro witnesses Moses' handling all of the people's questions and inquiries by himself, Jethro warns him. Jethro takes note of the endless line of Israelites seeking advice and asks Moses why he sits alone trying to take care of the people's needs all by himself. When Moses tries to insist that the people need him, Jethro tells him he will surely wear himself out. He advises his son-in-law to delegate responsibility and create a legal system so that Moses can share the burden. Jethro isn't only concerned with Moses' well-being, but also with the nation's well-being. it is only if he changes the way that he does things that the people will be able to eventually enter the land in peace.

Sarge Shriver taught, "No free market can ever replace free human services rendered by one free human being to another human being. A 'good society' is the result of billions of such acts." There was a lot that needed fixing in Moses' time. There is a lot that needs fixing now, too. "Too many families live in poverty; too many children are stuck in underperforming schools and too many American cynically believe we can't fix what's broken." But we can fix what's broken, when break the mirror, or even just scratch the silver off the back of it, look more into the faces of others and less at our own reflections, and share in the responsbility of making the world a better place.

Waffling at the Water's Edge

This week is Shabbat Shirah, which gets its name from the Torah reading assigned to this week, the crossing of the Sea of Reeds and shirat hayam, the song at the sea. The Haftarah for this Shabbat comes from the Book of Judges and includes Deborah's song. As the Israelites left Egypt, with the Egyptian army in hot pursuit, they found themselves between a rock and a hard place, well, actually, between an army and the water, with nowhere to go.

According to one midrash (BT Sotah 36b-37a), as the Israelites stood at the edge of the water they began fighting. The midrash first claims that they each fought about who would get to go first, each wanting to be the first one in the water. But Rabbi Judah corrects Rabbi Meir and tells him that that was not what happened. Instead, the tribes were fighting because none wanted to go into the water first. All of a sudden, Nachshon son of Amminadab jumped forward and was the first to go into the sea. Nachshon is honored for his quick action, for jumping in and doing something when everyone else was just arguing.

In the meantime, the midrash continues, Moses was standing by the shore of the sea praying at great length. God interrupts Moses and says, "While you're busy praying at great length, have you not noticed that My people are about to drown in the sea." God tells Moses not to pray, but to call the people to action.

This all reminds me of a poem I encountered years ago. I don't know its source.

This is a little story about four people named
Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody.

There was an important job to be done
and Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.

Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.
Somebody got angry about that because it was Everybody's job.

Everybody thought that Anybody could do it,
but Nobody realized that Everybody wouldn't do it.

It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody
when Nobody did what Anybody could have done.

This cute little poem, which I think I first encountered in high school, reminds us to be the kind of people who jump in when things need to get done. There is a time for discussion and a time for praying, but there is also a time for action. Nachshon son of Amminadab knew this. We should too.

"And you shall be a blessing..." Debbie Friedman, zt"l, May the memory of the righteous be a blessing

In November 1995, I attended the UAHC Biennial Convention in Atlanta and stayed with our close family friends, the Borths. Their granddaughter had recently been born and was in NICU, if I remember correctly, with heart issues. I visited her in the hospital and then went on to the convention, where in a worship service with thousands of other Reform Jews, I sang Debbie Friedman's Mi Shebeirach, a prayer for healing and cried into the shoulder of a friend.

On a cold February 14, 1996, I drove home from a peer leadership program at my high school to find out that my Aunt Liz had died. My father asked me to pick up my brother from Boy Scouts. I rolled down the windows of my car, frigid air letting me know I was alive, and listened to Debbie Friedman's L'chi Lach on repeat on my way to pick up Adam and probably on the way home, too. Its words, "and you shall be a blessing," comforted me.

During the summer of 1997, while on staff at Kutz Camp, my friend Emily taught me sign language to Debbie Friedman's L'chi Lach and Oseh Shalom, which I would use a few years later at Debbie Friedman concerts in Birmingham, Alabama and in Jacksonville, Florida, when Debbie would call me up on stage to sign alongside her. Later that summer, while on a day off, a group of staff and I showed up at Debbie Friedman's apartment. (I remembered her address from when she'd announced it from the stage at Biennial Convention in 1995.) She graciously welcomed us in, crazy teenagers that we were, spoke to us about her inspiration and her music, offered to order us lunch, and then walked us to the subway with her dog, Farfel.

This morning, Debbie Friedman died in her late 50s in Orange County, California. As Rabbi Daniel Freedlander said, "By creating a whole new genre of Jewish music, Debbie was able to reintroduce authentic Jewish spirituality." My own Jewish identity, my connection to worship, and the relationship I have with God stand on the foundation of Debbie Friedman's music and the impact she has had in my spiritual life. Her words and melodies will forever be a part of Judaism.

To her family and loved ones, we say, HaMakom y'nacheim etchem b'toch sha'ar avlei tziyon virushalayim, May God console you among all who mourn in Zion and Jerusalem. Of her we say, zecher tzadikim livracha, may the memory of the righteous be a blessing.

In Every Generation

We are on the cusp of freedom. Well, in the Torah reading cycle, anyway. This week, in Parashat Bo, God carries out the final plagues against Egypt and next week, on Shabbat Shirah, the Sabbath of Song, we will cross the Sea of Reeds, with Pharaoh's army in hot pursuit. Our Torah portion teaches us to explain the Passover rituals: "And you shall explain to your child on that day, 'It is because of what the Eternal did for me when I went free from Egypt'" (Exodus 13:8). In the Talmud (B. Pesachim 116b), the rabbis look at this verse and say בְּכָל דּור וָדור חַיּיב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְּאִילוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם (b'chol dor va-dor chayav adam lir'ot et atzmo k'ilu hu yatza mi-mitzrayim), In every generation a person is obligated to look at himself or herself as though he or she personally departed from Egypt. When we celebrate Passover and our freedom, we are not celebrating something that someone else before us experienced. Instead, the rabbis demand that we understand that it is our own liberation from bondage that we are celebrating.

In her version of Im Ein Ani Li, Debbie Friedman links Hillel's words from Pirke Avot 1:14 (If I am not for myself who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?) to the words from Pesachim 116b. In doing so, Debbie Friedman reminds us of our obligation to take care of the needs of others not only because it is the right thing to do, but because we, ourselves, have been the downtrodden, not our ancestors, but us. It is because of the fact that God brought us out of Egypt that we celebrate Passover and Debbie Friedman teaches, with her music, that the debt we owe God for having redeemed us demands that we stand up not only for ourselves, but for others, as well.

This week, Debbie Friedman was hospitalized in Orange County, California for pneumonia. As I am writing this, she is in a medically induced coma, in critical condition. Debbie was in the 1967 Confirmation class at Mount Zion Temple in St. Paul, Minnesota and later went on to become one of the leading musicians of Reform Judaism. Her music framed my Jewish identity in my teen years, helping me celebrate and comforting me. There have been calls for congregations and individuals to join in singing Debbie Friedman's Mi Shebeirach, sending prayers of healing her way. The lyrics can be found here.