Shabbat Shalom!

It’s still hard to believe that two weeks ago, I was celebrating Shabbat with 46 other members of our Temple Shalom family in Jerusalem. What an incredible blessing it was to share those 12 magical days with our Temple Shalom group as we traveled as much of the Land of Israel as we could humanly cover in a week and a half. For me, returning to Israel so soon after my sabbatical time there this past summer was an extra blessing. As many of you know from my remarks during Rosh Hashanah this past summer’s visit was, for me, the first in a very long time. It was an important visit as I had a deep-seated need to reconnect with Israel, with the Land and especially with our people. I know that for many in our group that returned not quite two weeks ago, the feeling was much the same.

My arrival in Israel in early July is still quite fresh in my mind. After nearly 24 hours of travel, both exhausted and exhilarated I set out for the first of what would be many long Jerusalem walks this summer. As I made my way from my bed and breakfast in the Baka neighborhood towards the center of town I felt a growing sense of excitement with each step I took. Having lived in Jerusalem during my first year of Rabbinical School, I had the sense of coming home. Walking the familiar streets, I felt as if each step I took reconnected me with history – both that of our people, and my own personal history with a city that exudes a sense of magic and the mystic; a city in which I feel very much at home. After nearly an hour of walking, I arrived in the mercaz – the center of town. There was a palpable buzz in the air. It was a Thursday night. Traffic was steady. The sidewalks were crowded. As I approached Ben Yehuda street, with its broad pedestrian mall, I realized that I was heading into a throng gathering for what I would learn was a summer-long festival held on the streets of Jerusalem each Wednesday Thursday and Saturday night. There were multiple stages where different artists performed – music, dance, drama. There were street performers akin to those we might find at Fanueil Hall. There were craft booths lining the streets and food kiosks selling almost anything one could want to taste. I confess that on that first night I was a bit apprehensive. After all, having just arrived in Israel after a long hiatus, and after nearly four years of reading news accounts of the challenging and on-going conflict with the Palestinians, I was nervous about placing myself in a crowded pedestrian mall which had been the site a numerous attacks. That night was the last time I felt that apprehension – either this summer, or in my more recent visit. What I came to realize is that Israel is quite safe. Israelis and tourists have returned to the streets, to the shops and to the cafes, prepared to live and enjoy their lives as fully as they can. On my last night in Israel this summer, I happened upon yet another such street festival – this time in Haifa. Same experience, minus any of the apprehension I felt on that first night in Jerusalem.

Late December is not July. The air is cooler, the weather less certain. The streets are not quite as packed. It was no surprise that the street festival had long since been packed up. It was thrilling nonetheless, to find Israel’s streets busy, her shops, and especially the hotels and restaurants crowded to capacity. Indeed, many members of our group reported difficulties in gaining access to restaurants I had suggested, or those recommended by the concierge at our hotel, because the places were packed. It was great to see Israel thriving and bustling with such activity.

If you have traveled in Israel, especially in Jerusalem, you know that a frequent and accepted site is that of beggars roaming the streets in search of tzedakah. Indeed, there were several members of our congregation who handed me dollar bills before I left – asking me to be their emissary in giving tzedakah at the Kotel or to a beggar on the street. Even the beggars seemed to be out in greater numbers than I remembered from the summer. Maybe its just that the cold of winter makes them more desperate. One aspect of this street begging phenomenon struck me as different from what I’d found this summer. I was struck by the number of Orthodox rabbis (or at least I assumed they were rabbis) wandering the streets in search of tzedakah with bunches of red strings draped over their arms. At least initially I found myself somewhat amused by this sight. I found myself wondering if this was the tangible impact of Madonna (Esther)’s Rosh Hashana visit to Israel. Perhaps her visit had laid the groundwork for these rebbes to troll the streets looking to capitalize on a new-found interest and curiosity in the powers of a red bendel (a string worn around one’s wrist to ward off the evil eye.) I confess that after several evenings spent walking the streets of downtown Jerusalem their relentlessness turned my amusement to annoyance. The street beggar is an accepted reality in Israel. But there was something about these gentleman and their mystical hustling that left me cold. "This string will make you happy – wearing it will solve all your problems." It’s a bit too easy for me, much as the phenomenon out of which it grows, or at least on which it plays is likewise, a bit facile for me. One need not journey to Jerusalem to tap into this mind set and this hype. One need only travel 5 or 6 minutes from where we are gathered, to the corner of Langley Road and Beacon Street to the storefront Kabbalah Center to buy (and I mean buy) into the quasi-mystical pop-kabbalistic craze that is sweeping our nation (if not our world.) Don’t misunderstand me. There are many for whom study of kabbalah – the Jewish mystical tradition is powerful and meaningful. I respect serious students of kabbalah. However, the pop-craze version which takes bits and pieces of authentic Jewish mystical teachings, sometimes strips them of their Jewish identity and/or content, and then peddles them as the answer to the "big" questions of life in a simplistic form troubles me. Selling bottles of supposed "holy water," bottled in Canada and purportedly "injected with positive energy" in a technological process which can’t be explained gives me pause. Selling copies of the Zohar, the foundational text of classic Jewish mystical tradition, so that it can be placed beneath one’s pillow to evoke positive spiritual and psychic energy leave me scratching my head. Selling red strings, either on the streets of Jerusalem or the storefront of Newton Centre as an answer to life’s challenges bespeak an adherence to a side of Jewish mysticism which runs counter to a core message of our Jewish tradition, as I understand it. To be sure, Judaism and its adherents have always dabbled in magic, superstitions and mysticism. One of my predecessors in my former pulpit, in Teaneck, the late Rabbi Joshua Trachtenberg wrote a masterful work on the subject entitled, Jewish Magic and Superstition. However, in the main, Judaism has generally played down reliance on amulets, incantations, and totems as part of its practice. Even prayer, our most regular and potent ritual, is not to be our sole form of expression and involvement in understanding and determining the direction of our lives. Indeed, in next week’s Torah portion, as we come to the reading of the story of Moses and the children of Israel trapped at the shores of the Red Sea, with the Egyptian army in pursuit, as the people to Moses, and in turn, Moses cries to God, God’s responds, "Why are you crying out to Me? Speak to them – tell them to go forward." And I suspect many of us know the midrash which teaches us that it was only when Nachson ben Amminadav stepped into the waters and marched forward that the waters of the Red Sea ultimately parted. Prayer is good, action is better. To be sure, the gentlemen selling hope and salvation on the streets of Jerusalem in the form of red bendels know this midrash. It’s possible that the proceeds from their sales were going to be put to use in "marching forward." But somehow, I am more certain that the tzedakah our group delivered on behalf of the congregation to the Carmei Ha-ir Soup Kitchen in Jerusalem, and the check for $10,000 we presented to our friends at Haifa’s Congregation Or Hadash are a more tangible form of acting on our faith, our belief that we must go forward in engaging in making our world a better place.

In a similar vein, I have to say that it was a different experience to be in Israel as the eyes of the world turned to focus on the tragedy which began on December 26th with the earthquake and tsunami in Southeast Asia. It was a potent reminder of the miracle and power of Israel in a number of ways. First, I was reminded of how Israel is, in some ways, like one large family. Though I didn’t know it prior to December 26th, I learned that the region slammed by the tsunami is a very popular destination for Israelis on vacation and Israeli youth who travel after completing their mandatory army service. One might expect that if a small village or town, became aware that one of its residents was trapped or missing, the attention of all who live in that community might be galvanized and turned collectively to praying on behalf of that individual. Such was the case on a nationwide basis in Israel as the names and faces of Israelis known to be missing became known throughout the country. To be sure, there was a powerful response in the form of prayers throughout the country and Shabbat services in Jerusalem two weeks ago took on added dimensions of meaning. But what I found even more inspiring was the response of Israel – not merely because some of her citizens were affected but because Jewish values, Israeli values demand it. Israel was among the first of the nations of the world to respond. Within hours of the first reports of the unleashing of nature’s fury, rescue and relief teams were on their way to the region, bringing medical supplies, food, water and most especially Israeli know-how unfortunately gained through too many un-natural tragedies. I was proud of Israel’s response – much of which went unreported in the world press; some of which became mired in hate and conflict as Sri Lanka initially refused the help Israel was offering.

I believe in the power of a community at prayer. I am prepared to accept and understand that others may find comfort and meaning in mystical customs which seem alien to me. But when it comes down to it, there is no substitute for the actions of Nachson ben Amminadav stepping into the waters, or a modern State of Israel reacting with haste and deliberateness to respond to the suffering of human beings anywhere in the world.

In our Torah portion this Shabbat we read of the final plagues brought upon Pharaoh and Egypt in the build-up to Pharaoh’s release of the Israelite slaves into freedom. The ninth plague of which we read this Shabbat is the plague of darkness: "Then God said to Moses, "Hold out your arm toward the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched." Moses held out his arm toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days. People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings." (Exodus 10:21-23) The late Rabbi Sidney Greenberg used to tell the story of a ten-year-old yeshiva student who was studying the plagues for the first time. As he studied, he learned that about the plague of a darkness which was so "thick" that "they could not see one another." (Ex 10:23) The student asked his rebbe: "What kind of plague was that? After all, they could have lit their lamps and been able to see despite the darkness. Isn't that what they did every night when it got dark?" The rebbe smiled as he said: "The darkness from which the Egyptians suffered was a special kind of darkness. It was not a darkness that affected the eyes; it was a darkness that affected the heart. Physically, they were able to see, but they didn't feel or care for one another. This is what the Torah means when it says, 'They saw not one another.' They were blind to each other's needs. Each person saw only himself. And that is a terrible plague."

Together with my family, and many members of our congregation, I was privileged to travel to Israel – albeit at the darkest time of the year. As it happened, the darkness of the season was made all the more harsh by nature’s force unleashed in a manner that destroyed the lives of a region of our world. To be sure, there is light in the manner in which so many nations and so many people have responded – and we must make certain that we are among them. For me, there was light in the manner in which I witnessed Israel’s response – reaching through the darkness – of the season, and of differences – to bring relief, comfort, rescue, and hope to the countless numbers of people living through a darkness we can only imagine. That rescue and relief effort shines more brightly for me than the bright red of any string tied around any arm, for any reason.

Shabbat Shalom!