Category Archives: continuity

This Land is Your Land…

Some thoughts about Israel after our recent congregational trip, expressed in my Shabbat sermon from 7/1/17 –

Just back from Israel – the Beth El trip – and to travel to Israel today is to both step back into the past, and also to look forward into the future.   The past – both ancient and recent –  is everywhere in Israel.  In the north we stood in an excavated synagogue from the year 350 the CE, knowing that 1700 years ago Jews came together in that space to recite the words of the Shema, to listen to the reading of the Torah, to celebrate the festivals and Shabbat.  On the road from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem we saw the remains of burnt out tanks and transport vehicles.  They have been rusting in the hot sun since the War of Independence in 1948, still pock marked with the bullet holes of Arab guns trying to prevent the Jews from bringing supplies to their brothers and sisters in Israel’s most sacred city.

In the Israel Museum in Jerusalem we traveled back 4000 years as we looked at artifacts from the early Canaanite settlements in the land, and saw an Israelite altar that was in use 2000 years ago.  But we also saw the Ayalon bullet factory from the mid 40s, where young Jews from the early days of the Yishuv ingeniously hid an entire bullet factory underneath a laundry mat, less than a half a mile from a major British post.  These Jews – 19, 20, 21 years old – risked their lives every day to manufacture the ammunition that would enable the first Jewish soldiers in the modern era to defend their homeland.  The entrance to the underground factory is located underneath a movable laundry machine, and to climb down into it is to have an immediate sense of the unique blend of genius, courage, and hutzpah that defines Israel to this very day.

But Israel does not feel in any way like an ancient or outdated place.  In fact, just the opposite.  The vibrant energy of Tel Aviv, with its sky scrapers and beach front bars and cafes is palpable and feels entirely fresh and modern.  If you have any doubts they are put to rest as you drive north along the Mediterranean coast, and see the huge buildings with names like Intel and Microsoft on them.  This is Israel’s version of Silicon Valley, and inside those buildings Israeli scientists and engineers are creating and perfecting technology that will make the entire world a better place for all.  As we drove we saw the foundation of the new mag lev train track that is supposed to open in 2019.  It will enable people to travel from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv in 15 minutes time.  Imagine that!  You will literally be able to live in Tel Aviv and work in Jerusalem, or vice versa.

Imagine that!  From the shore of the Mediterranean to the hills of Jerusalem in 15 minutes.  For our ancestors in ancient times that would have been a trek of many days, possibly even weeks.  They would have made that journey multiple times a year, particularly for the 3 pilgrimage festivals of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot.  After a long, hot, and difficult journey they would have arrived in Jerusalem with a deep sense of gratitude, hope, and faith.

Today the way we reach Jerusalem has entirely changed.  Whether on a maglev train, or a bus, or arriving from some foreign land on a great plane filled with people, we  can get from point A to point B in ways our ancestors never could have imagined.  But for all of our technology, for all of the wonders of the modern world, the human heart is still the same.  And I suspect the emotions we feel as modern travelers when we come around a bend and see the city of Jerusalem – the city of gold –  laid out before us – how that touches our soul, how that feels in our heart – is very much the same way it felt to our ancestors thousands of years ago.  The gratitude.  The sense of God’s presence.  The connection to the history of our people.  Those things have not changed for the pilgrim – they are as strong as they have ever been.

This morning’s Torah portion ends with the Israelites camped across the Jordon River, within sight of the ancient city of Jericho.  For the rest of the Torah, through the last chapters of Numbers and all of Deuteronomy, they will remain in that place, looking across the river – westward – toward the land they have been promised by God.  Jericho lies before them as both a challenge and an incentive – a challenge in that they know it must be conquered before the land is theirs, and an incentive because they see that great cities can be built in this new land they are about to enter.

It was just a little more than a week ago that we drove by Jericho, winding our way down through the hills that lead from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea.  We were on our way to Masada, the legendary ancient fortress of Jewish heroism, in the south.  As we passed Jericho and turned to the right, the Jordon River was in front of us, and across it the very place where the Torah tells us Moses bade the Israelites make camp.

It is a strange thing to think about, but Moses never left that camp.  He stayed there, with the Israelites, until the very end of his life when God told him to ascend Mt Nebo, where he had one last view of a Promised Land he knew he would never enter.  He had spent his entire life working towards a goal that only others would realize.  The people would cross over, a Jewish homeland would be established, a Jewish monarchy would come into being, Jewish sovereignty would be lived and breathed for generations, but Moses saw none of it.

Or did he?  There is a well known midrashic legend that God gave Moses a parting gift, just before his death.  When God took him to the top of the mountain where he breathed his last God showed him not only the Promised Land, not only the physical space, the hills and mountains and vineyards and orchards and valleys, but also the future of that land.  The great triumphs, the building of the Temple, the establishment of an Israelite nation, as well as the tragedies, the destruction of the Temple, the exile of the people.

Thinking about that legend, I wonder if Moses knew that one day I would be blessed to enter that land, that I would one hot day be riding in a bus, with a group of tired and yet excited and fulfilled Baltimoreans, many of them experiencing Israel for the very first time.  Did he know then that some 3500 years after he stood at the far side of the Jordon, looking towards this land, that the land of Israel would still be the heart and soul of the Jewish people?  Whether he knew or not, whether the legend is true or not, I don’t know.  But I do know this – if Moses, in his vision, saw today’s Israel, he would have been deeply grateful and proud.

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Filed under American Jewry, Beth El Congregation, Bible, community, continuity, history, Israel, Israeli-American relations, preaching, Rabbi Steven Schwartz, sermon, Torah, Uncategorized

The Continuity Challenge

this a text version of my Shabbat sermon from 11/7/15 – I am hoping to address some of the issues raised in the sermon through this blog over the next couple of weeks –

It was in 1997, now 18 years ago, when Alan Dershowitz published a book entitled ‘the Vanishing American Jew.’ The book was Dershowitz’s reaction to looking around at the Jewish community of the late 90s and not liking what he saw. Fundamentally, he was worried about Jewish continuity – the ability of the community to maintain its distinctive identity from one generation to the next. When the book hit the stands Dershowitz joined a long list of Jews throughout the centuries who have bemoaned the state of the Judaism of their time, worrying that in one way or another, theirs would be the last generation to truly care about living a Jewish life and preserving that life for the next generation.

That list of Jews is so long that it goes all the way back to the Torah itself, and the ancient and unknown author who put together the text that we still read to this day. It is easy to argue that Jewish continuity, if not the central concern of the Torah, is one of its top two or three priorities. Think for a moment just in the book of Genesis that we are reading right now, with all of its stories about the birth of children and how difficult it is to bring children into the world. And why is that such a crucial issue? Because if you don’t have children, you don’t have a next generation to carry on the Covenant that God began with Abraham. At its essence Genesis is a story of continuity – of the difficulties and challenges of transmitting that covenant from one generation to the next.

Without question that is precisely the central concern in this morning’s Torah portion, Chayei Sarah. Sarah’s death is recorded in the second verse of the portion, and it sets into motion a series of actions undertaken by Abraham that are all focused on the issue of continuity. The first thing Abraham does is to purchase land, to create a familial homestead, in and of itself something that establishes a sense of identity that can run through generations. But the second thing Abraham does is what? He goes about the process of ensuring that Isaac his son will be married, so that there will be a next generation – Abraham’s grandchildren – with the potential of carrying the covenant forward. And so the Torah tells the long and somewhat convoluted story of Abraham sending his servant out into the world, making him promise he’ll return with a suitable wife for Isaac.

God actually gives Abraham a promise of continuity five times in the Torah. In chapters 12, 13, 15, 17, and 22 of Genesis God tells Abraham, variously, that he will become a great nation, that he will be the father of many nations, that his descendants will number either like the stars of the sky or the sands at the sea, or both. Abraham seems to take God at God’s word, but the reader knows that the reality doesn’t quite match the beautiful picture that God paints. Abraham doesn’t have many children, he has two – Ishmael, the son of Hagar, who is estranged from his father, and Isaac, Sarah’s son. When Abraham dies, at the end of this morning’s portion, the question of whether the covenant will be carried into the next generation is very much still on the table. It will remain so throughout the rest of the Bible, with each generation facing its own particular threats, with each generation struggling to keep that covenant alive.

We might very well say that that question is still on the table today. Dershowitz’s book was an example, but anyone who spends any time in the professional Jewish community knows that ‘continuity’ is a buzz word that is constantly bandied about. The truth is much of what Dershowitz wrote in his book 18 years ago was prophetic – intermarriage rates have continued to rise precipitously, synagogue affiliation rates have dropped, and traditional Jewish behavior – like engaging in home rituals – has decreased. Arguably today we have the most poorly Jewishly educated population that we’ve had in modern times. And Jewish identity seems to be morphing into something that is based on ethnicity more than faith – if you will – on bagels more than belief. We might very well sit here today, looking out at the Jewish landscape, and wonder – like Abraham probably did so long ago – how will God’s promises of a Jewish community that is like the stars in the sky ever come to pass when instead the very opposite seems to be happening?

Abraham’s story and this morning’s Torah portion may give us at least one answer to that question. When he feels that the covenant is most threatened, when Sarah is gone, and Isaac is unmarried, and Abraham has no heirs, he does not pray to God, he does not remind God of the promises that God made, and ask God to fulfill them. Instead, he acts. He puts all of his resources into finding a solution to his problem. He sends his servant to find Isaac a wife. He even marries again, and has six more children with his second wife, just in case things with Isaac don’t work out. Normally when we read Abraham’s story, we think in our minds ‘Abraham was depending on God to make sure the promises of continuity came true.’ But I would argue that in fact it was the opposite – God was depending on Abraham to ensure that there would be a next generation, and a generation after that. God was depending on Abraham to plant the seeds so that one day the Jewish people truly would be as numerous as the stars in the night sky.

And I would say it is the same for us today. The question of Jewish continuity is not something that God will resolve. Instead, it is a challenge for each generation of Jews to face in their own way in their own time. And somehow, in someway, each generation has been successful, and Judaism has survived. Now it is our turn. And the responses to the challenge are all around us. The Jewish renewal movement is one. Growth in adult education programming is another. A process of reimagining what a synagogue might be, how services take place, what it means to have a bar or bat mitzvah, how Hebrew school is structured, a new focus on social action programming, the Birthright program to bring college age Jews to Israel, organizations like Makor in LA, or the Sixth and I synagogue in DC with its contemporary speakers and music series, the formation of a Healing and Spirituality Center here at Beth El – the list could go on and on, but you get the point.

Like Abraham so long ago, the community is putting all of its resources – not only financial, but its creative resources, its intellectual acumen, its passion for Judaism and Jewish life – all of these resources are being brought to bear on our generation’s challenge of continuity. What in the end will happen – what being Jewish will mean to young Jews, what synagogue life will be like, what the Federation world will be like – we really don’t know at this point. But that it will be – that there will be a next generation of young Jews, to take up their generation’s challenge of continuity – of that I have no doubt.

May the work that we are doing today build the foundation that our children and grandchildren can stand on to carry our ancient tradition far into the future –

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