Love Love. Hate Hate

One of the things I love most about working in a synagogue is that we get unique opportunities to bring innovative, exciting, meaningful, and significant programs and speakers to our community members. This Friday is no exception.

On Friday evening, at the Reform Temple of Forest Hills, we will be featuring a guest speaker: Christine Quinn who will be speaking about an important public service campaign that is designed to celebrate diversity and combat hate crimes called "Love Love. Hate Hate." Christine Quinn is the Speaker of the New York City Council and an avid anti-hate crimes proponent. We are lucky and honored to have her in our congregation and our community this Shabbat. Services will begin at 8pm.

I am so excited to hear about this new campaign, what she has to say about how NY is trying to combat hate-crimes and work on legislation that is FAIR and EQUAL for everyone, and to see how our community welcomes her and challenges her on important issues. You can bet there will be a follow-up blog....stay tuned!!! Or better yet...see you at services!

Rabbi Wood & the tale of the Electric Menorah

"It's the third night of Chanukah....who wants to screw in the light bulb to the menorah?"
My brother and I would jump up and yell "I do! I do!" My father would then hand one of us the light bulb and we'd gingerly screw it in place before he plugged it in. The smell of latkes coming from the kitchen, where my mother was undoubtedly covered in flour and potatoes, was overwhelming our house. But this was Chanukah - or at least what I remember best: the glow of our electric menorah in the window during those cold midwestern nights, the smell of latkes cooking in the kitchen, a few small presents on the dining room table and, of course, dreidles and gelt.

Whenever I tell this story - or reflect on the warmth of Chanukah that I felt as a child - I always get the sense that my family is embarrassed about our electric Menorah. My mother is sure to remind me, every year, "You know, we always lit REAL candles too!" "Of course," I respond, "but what I loved most was the orange glow of that electric menorah against the dark of night. The safety and warmth it provided me as a child. For whatever reason, that image sticks with me the most." Isn't that what Chanukah is about - safety and security against the unknown, families, and warm memories of our ever burning lights?
And electric Menorahs are not that strange. There is a HUGE electric Menorah that is lit in Jerusalem every year. The Reform Temple of Forest Hills will be lighting our own electric Menorah outside the building at our Friday night Chanukah dinner and dedication. And I know many other synagogues and communities will be plugging in, screwing on, and polishing their electric Menorahs this season too!

The funny thing is, year after year with all of the children gone, and even after they've moved houses, my dad STILL puts up our electric menorah. Sure, the light bulbs have died or changed color (the reds and blues are pretty too!), there are no kids eagerly waiting to screw in the bulbs, and we have different neighbors and postal workers asking when Chanukah starts so they can see the menorah. But it's such a part of our family tradition - so every year, it gets lit.

My mother, who is originally from New York, brought the Menorah back to the Midwest one year as she was heading home from a trip out East. She thought it would be fun and feel special to see one electric menorah in the midst of a slew of Christmas-light laden homes. Little did she know what a long-lasting tradition she was creating for us...

Chanukah traditions are a special thing. Although Chanukah is not a major festival in Judaism, it IS a holiday and it is a great joyous time for us to remember past miracles. The proximity to Christmas makes Chanukah always get a little more press than it deserves, but it's not bad press. And every family has different traditions. Some families celebrate Chanukah and Christmas. Some families make latkes and sufganiyot (doughnuts)to eat with friends and family. Some families figure out traditions for focusing less on the gifts or gelt and more on the historical significance. Some families even screw in the electric bulbs by the third night. Every family has a different tradition, and each one is special and significant in it's own way.

A few years ago, I was given the most spectacular present. When my ancestors left Russia at the turn of the last century, they carried everything they owned with them on their backs. Little did I know that many of the things they carried were their own pieces of jewelry, Judaica, books, and clothes. As I was sitting with my grandmother and parents one day, my grandmother brought out a very large box. In it was the biggest, most beautiful silver menorah I had ever seen. And it was for me. One side had been broken and restored and in the middle of a small Jewish star in the center was the Hebrew word "Tzion" (Zion). As I held the Menorah in my hands and listened to it's story, I felt a sense of connection - connection to my family members who carried this thousands of miles over a hundred years ago, connection to those whose hands had passed it down to me and where they came from, and connection to the unknown future that lay before me. This Menorah made me really feel a sense of tradition and helped me understand my important contribution as a link on that chain.

So every year now, I light candles on my "family" Menorah. It's my own tradition. And every year as I light it, I think about everything that it represents - to the Jews, to my family, and to me. And it's nice to know that even though my own traditions have started, or changed, they'll always be an electric menorah with bright orange lights sitting in a windowsill against the dark winter night, burning ever brightly....

Happy Chanukah!

What are your family traditions????

Generosity of Spirit

I've always been so interested in the human condition - the human spirit. As a rabbi (and a daughter, sister, friend, etc) I interact with all different types of people in a myriad of different ways. But the one thing I notice about all of these interactions, and all of these relationships, is the need for human connection.
Whether it's the congregant who comes into my office with one question and then ends up talking to me for 45 minutes, or it's a phone call from an old friend, or even a connection with someone online (the power of social networking is something, isn't it?!!?) everyone is seeking the same thing - to be heard and understood and cared for by another.
In Martin Buber's famous "I and Thou" he writes: "Through the Thou a person becomes I" meaning that we can truly understand ourselves best in relation to another. We gain better knowledge of who WE are when we interact with others, lean on them, support them, love them, guide them, and share experiences with them. We are not meant to be creatures that exist in isolation.

One of the things I've noticed most, over the last few weeks, about others is the generosity of spirit that many people have. Most people want connection. Most people want to say and do the right thing and be a good person. Most people want to have good relationships and friendships and feel like they've contributed to society. But generosity of spirit is something beyond all this - it's an extra step further. It's going out of your way to help another, or to lend support, or to offer a kind word when unprovoked. Lately, I've been trying to open my eyes to the people around me. And what I'm noticing is really beautiful - so many of them have such generous spirits. It's inspiring....every day.

All of us want and need something beyond ourselves. That's why many of us drift to religion - to seek a greater power (God, Holy Spirit, Source, The Divine) that can help us better understand ourselves and better understand the world. For isn't that one of the most sacred relationships we can ever have?

The human condition is fascinating - just look around you, and you'll see what I mean.

Is Halloween good for the Jews?!?!

A lot of people talk about the "December Dilemma" of Christmas and Hannukah. Some interfaith families struggle with how to celebrate both, how to respect both traditions, or how to appropriately integrate both holidays under one roof. Other Jewish families struggle simply with the proximity of Hannukah to Christmas - constantly having to defend Hannukah as not being "the Jewish Christmas" or with trying to lessen the emphasis on the gift-giving and increase awareness of the tradition and history of the holiday. Whatever category you fit into, the December Dilemma is a reality of being a Reform Jew in the 21st century.

Some of us might also feel a little bit of strain when it comes to Halloween. Although it is not viewed as a "religious holiday" it's origins have a religious background and the tradition deals with things like spirits, the devil, and pagan Celtic festivals in the Middle Ages. Nowadays, Halloween is taken much more lightly by the general American public and is meant to be fun (I think). But, it can often result in dangerous situations and an unnecessary amount of candy and treats, for no good reason. Some people argue that celebrating Halloween is antithetical to Judaism (read here). Others believe that you can do the same things on Halloween as you can do on Purim, and that is makes much more sense for us Jews, religiously. You want to wear costumes, go around visiting neighbors, eat sugary treats and celebrate by being silly?!?!? Wait for Purim!!!!

But is that really the answer? Perhaps, as modern Jews, we don't completely abandon a secular holiday, and try to justify it with a religious one. Perhaps we don't want to give up a day that is fun or silly, or that the rest of the world enjoys, simply because it doesn't speak to the religious aspect of our lives that is used to creating meaning from holidays. Perhaps, the solution is to infuse that day with some meaning of our own.
On Halloween day, the junior youth group at The Reform Temple of Forest Hills will be reading stories about the Dybbuk (Jewish spirit), the Golem, and other tales of spirits within Jewish tradition. We want to teach our children that it's okay to engage in activities on Halloween, but that there are also Jewish perspectives to be considered. Perhaps you and your family can make costumes that have a funny Jewish theme to them. And then, you can reuse them when Purim rolls around a few months later.
Or, if you're really stuck, the URJ (Union for Reform Judaism) has a great resource page on ways to make Halloween feel more Jewish as a family, without completely abandoning this day, altogether.

Is Halloween good for the Jews??? Is it against everything we believe in? Is it just another dilemma for us to work through in our modern world? Or, is it perhaps ANOTHER chance for us to get creative, think outside the box, and continue to build meaningful Jewish lives in our modern world? You decide....

Have I ever told you about my favorite time of day? It's just as the sun is beginning to set, but the world is still light. There's such a softness to the world at that moment...I live for it.

I decided I was working too hard today (what else is new) and I needed to take a break, so I went for a run in a park near my neighborhood. It was perfect. The weather was cool but not crisp. The sky was blue but turning darker as the sun disappeared. There were people and families, but it wasn't crowded. And I had a great time just listening to my music and turning inward for a few moments of solace while I jogged.

But then I stopped. The sun was slowly sinking down and I could say rays of light coming through the branches of a beautiful tree. It was a magical moment. And it reminded me of a passage from one of my favorite books.

Years ago, at summer camp, I had a counselor whom I adored. She and I connected and bonded. We shared many things, but she introduced me to this book called "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by Annie Dillard. I read it that summer and have loved it ever since - maybe because of her, but maybe because it speaks to me as well.

Here is the passage:
Then one day I was walking along Tinker Creek thinking of nothing at all and I saw the tree with the lights in it. I saw the backyard cedar where the mourning doves roost charged and transfigured, each cell buzzing with flame. I stood on the grass with the lights in it, grass that was wholly fire, utterly focused and utterly dreamed. It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance. The flood of fire abated, but I am still spending the power. Gradually the lights went out in the cedar, the colors died, the cells unflamed and disappeared. I was still ringing. I had been my whole life a bell, and never known it until at that moment I was lifted and struck. I have since only very rarely seen the tree with the lights in it. The vision comes and goes, mostly goes, but I live for it, for the moment when the mountains open and a new light roars in spate through the crack, and the mountains slam.

What have you done this week, or this month, that has taken your breath away? What has given you pause to reflect?

Practice what you preach

I'm on the NYC MTA (Subway) at least 5-6 days a week. And while I sit there for anywhere from 30-50 minutes, I watch the people around me. I might pretend to do work, or be engrossed in my music, but really I can't help watch the different kinds of people that occupy the same space as me for a particular length of time. I will never see the majority of them again, most likely, but I am so fascinated by having a glimpse into their lives for just a few moments. Some of them are joyous, beautiful, and content. Others are sad, worn, and even deflated. Of the 8 million stories...I'm getting a glimpse of them every day.

There are rules associated with the subway: You don't look at anyone else. You don't talk to them unless you know them or have a specific question. You take up as little space as possible so that others might fit in too (esp during rush hour!)If someone is asking for spare change, you dig into your pockets only if it's convenient for you not to move too much. You keep your distance in whatever way you can in a crowded, crammed, small space.

Today I was riding home and was about halfway there when the door opened up and a homeless man walked in. Instantly, the car smelled different. The half a dozen people or so sitting near me (it was an off-peak hour) turned their heads away.
He was dirty. He smelled. He was limping and wearing only one shoe, and having trouble walking, and his clothes were ripped. It was, admittedly, hard to look at him. He kept talking to himself and trying to move through the subway car. Slowly, but surely. I wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten a real meal. Or had a shower. Or proper clothes and a bed. Or even seen a doctor. I couldn't help but watch the others around me, partially frightened, but also wanting to just ignore him or make him go away. It made me angry, hurt and very sad.

When we got to the next station everyone but me and two other people left the car. I saw most of them go into the subway cars next to us, just to get away from him - this man who was not disturbing or causing harm to anyone. Eventually he managed to sit down and occupy some precious space.

As the train pulled into my station I got up, fished into my pockets, and took out whatever I had. He wasn't asking for anything, and I wasn't sure what he would do, but I gave it to him anyway. He needed it much more than I did. And when I handed it to him, he didn't say anything - but he looked me in the eyes and smiled. His eyes expressed his gratitude, and that was more than I needed.

Every day I think about what it means to be a religious leader. How do I help others? How do I inspire others to live Jewish lives of fulfillment and purpose? How do I make this world a better place? It starts from within. It means less talking and more doing, sometimes. It means having the courage to know what's right in a situation. And we all have the ability to make changes in our world every day.

This Shabbat, as I know the comfort of friends and family, and food, and shelter, and blessings, I will think of his eyes and his smile...I pray that he may know a blessing or two in his life as well.

Independent Minyan vs. Future of Judaism

Over the last several years I've noticed a new trend cropping up throughout the various cities I've lived in - Independent Minyanim. A minyan in traditional Judaism is a quorum of 10 men needed to recite certain Jewish prayers. In more progressive Judaism, 10 men and/or women can be counted to fulfill this obligation.

Independent Minyanim are sort of like an alternative to belonging to a synagogue, temple, or affiliated congregation. While each one looks different and serves different segments of the Jewish population (for various reasons) each one has something in common - by their very definition they are apart from congregational life. Some minyanim meet daily, weekly, monthly, or only a few times a year. Some are organized, participatory, and even have consistent locations for meeting. Others are come-and-go as you please. There may be meals/food associated with these meetings, or these minyanim might even plan and schedule other group outings or events that have nothing to do with prayer.

In my opinion, independent minyanim seem sort of like an offshoot of the chavurah movement that came about during the last half of the 20th sentury where groups within synagogue life were forming smaller groups for various activities - even prayer.

My concern is what impact these independent minyanim are going to have on the future of Judaism in America. As a rabbi, I'm in a tricky situation. Most of my rabbinical school friends and even colleagues often prefer going to or facilitating these minyanim. They claim that no congregation gives them the spiritual sustenance that they need, and so they seek out alternative groups. But, isn't it our job to be creating these kinds of experiences within the congregations that we work in? Others, like laypeople that I know of, don't want to belong to a congregation (cost, not important to belong, don't see value, etc) but still want to be Jewish and pray - and they like the ease of these minyanim.

Tonight I have some friends who are hosting an independent minyan in Queens. I'd like to go check it out - for curiousity's sake. But, I have to work tonight. Tonight we're having our Tot Shabbat, our L'dor V'dor dinner, and a Family service. It's my job, as the rabbi in our congregation, to work with kids at every age to engage, participate and experience the joy of Shabbat. And, to me, that's a huge part of the future of Judaism, as well.

But, as the congregational world grows smaller and smaller and minyanim take more ground, I sense a real shift that's going to change the face of Jewish America and our organizational structure. So I ask you, is this trend going to be healthy for the future of Judaism? Do we embrace it and learn from it, or do reject it and try to refocus our aims and structure within the synagogue? You tell me....