I received the following email:
Dear Mark,
I am your Menorah. Actually, I see that I am not exactly your only menorah, since you have a few. But I am the large, silver one. I’d like to think I speak for all of us, waiting patiently here on your shelf all year long, looking out over the living room, minding our own business and saying nothing. Now comes our week to shine, and I thought I’d let you know a few of my thoughts.
Wednesday night you are going to lift me off of this display shelf, where I sit and observe your comings and goings all year long, and give me a place of honor in the window of your home. You’ll put one candle in a candle slot the first night, along with the shamash; and each night you will light another candle until all eight candles will be lit a week from Wednesday night. I know how much you enjoy that, Mark, all the menorah candles flickering happily at once. I like it too; it fills me with pride. You might say “it’s the reason I exist.” But I want you to know, I am not just some beautifully crafted hunk of silver sitting around all year collecting wax and dust. No, I exist for a higher purpose, and I thought you might want to know my thoughts on this holiday that you will stretch out over eight nights and days.
You know, Mark, you’re going to start with just one candle Wednesday night, and end eight nights later with all eight candles blazing. But it wasn’t always that way. No, no. Everyone didn’t think about it the same way: adding one candle each night. Two thousand years ago there was another school of thought, from a teacher named Shammai, whose students lit 8 lights the first night, 7 the second night, until they lit just one light on the eighth night. It’s as though Shammai were saying, “We have 8 nights remaining; we have 7 nights remaining; we have 6 nights remaining…,” until the last night. But Hillel viewed it differently. With each light he was counting the miracle. First night, the cruse of oil is burning as they expected. Then the second night, “Whoa, we thought it was going to go out after the first day. What’s going on here?” Then another miracle, a third day, a second miracle. Then a fourth day. And each day, each candle adds to the miracles, until finally the eighth night, and a full week of miracles, and the oil still burns brightly. Each day we feel better and better, our spirit soars, our spirituality grows. Each day we add more and more light. It’s almost like when Moses watched the burning bush, and a miracle happened. Although the presence of God burned in the bush, the bush remained the same, unconsumed. Moses saw the fire of God’s presence contained in a bush. We witness God’s presence with each new miracle, and we add a candle.
I know; I know what you’re thinking. Someone made up that story of the 8 days of miracles. Maybe it didn’t happen at all. So what miracle are we remembering in the candles? Maybe there’s no miracle at all? Well, Mark, that’s why I am telling you this story. That’s why I am so proud: Because the miracle is everyone who lights a menorah. You, and everyone with you, are the miracle!
King Pharaoh of Egypt tried to put God out of the world by killing all the boys when they were born. But he failed, and Moses brought us out of Egypt. King Antiochus of Syria tried to put God out of the world by ending Shabbat and worship and Torah study. But the Maccabees revolted? And why? Because both Pharaoh in Egypt and Antiochus in Syria were saying, “You can’t be you!!!” They were not just denying our right to worship in our own way. They demanded that we be just like them, that we deny who we are. Antiochus and Pharaoh said, “Live a lie. You cannot study Torah. You cannot keep Shabbat. Do not embrace God and do not be real. Just live the way I live and everything will be ok.” But we knew better. We knew everything would not be ok. Many times kings have told us, “Just be like me.” But you know what? Pharaoh, Antiochus, Vespasian, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in Spain, Czar Alexander II in Russia, Stalin in the Soviet Union, Hitler in Germany – they are all dead and gone. But the miracle is: YOU ARE THE CANDLE. YOU ARE LIT AS A SIGN OF GOD’S MIRACLES AND PRESENCE. AND YOU ARE STILL HERE AFTER 3,000 YEARS!”
So, Mark, Rabbi, that’s why I am writing you this letter: because I may be a symbol of the miracle long ago, but you – and everyone celebrating with you tonight – you are the miracle. The Maccabees refused to worship like Syrians; and you, in Overland Park, Kansas, you light your candles and insist on being Jewish. Other religions, even some people in government, may insist that they worship in God’s way; and your way is wrong. But you take me off the shelf; you dust me off; you light candles in every Jewish home all over the country, all over the world, and you recite blessings: Praised are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who did miracles for our ancestors at that time in this season of the year.” This is who we are: we are the people who see God in our lives, the people who have survived to teach “Love you neighbor as yourself,” and “Shema Yisrael,” to the entire world. They tried to kill you; and failing they tried to make laws against you. But you, like God’s seed in the world, blossomed in each new spring. I am your menorah. But you are my light!

Parashat VaYetzei

Rabbi Mark H. Levin, DHL

November 8, 2013

“Jacob left Beer Sheva and set out for Haran.  Alighting upon a certain place, he passed the night there, for the sun was setting…”

So begins one of the most famous stories in the entirety of the Torah: the episode of Jacob’s ladder. 

The parashah continues, “He dreamed, and lo – a ladder was set on the ground, with its top reaching to heaven, and lo—angels of God going up and coming down on it.  And lo – Adonai stood upon it…”

God blesses Jacob, and when Jacob awakens he marvels, “Truly, Adonai is in this place and I did not know it.”  He was awestruck and said, “How awesome is this place!  This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gateway to heaven.”  The emotion of awe often is the human reaction to the overwhelming and beautiful.

The Rabbis have debated the meaning of the words translated as “He alighted upon this place,” for at least 2,000 years.  They are special because the place is termed “the gateway to heaven,” and “the house of God.” 

In the classic interpretation, Jacob arrives in Haran, and realizes that he bypassed a place where his fathers, Abraham and Isaac, prayed.  He returns immediately to that place, transported immediately and magically by God.  He transcends time and space, arriving at Beth El, the house of God, which the Rabbi interpret not as the city of Beth El, today’s Ramallah, but Mt. Moriah where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac and the site of the First and Second Temples. In other words: “this is the house of God” refers to an Axis Mundi, a world axis, the place around which the entire world revolves, which for Jews is clearly the Temple Mount.  In Jewish lore the Foundation Stone of the World lies deep beneath the Temple Mount, and the location of the Holy of Holies in the Temple was always, from the creation of the world, the holiest place in the entire world. There God’s presence is manifest in no uncertain terms.  No wonder Jacob was upset at having bypassed it on the way to Haran. You would be, too.  God causes the sun to set early, and Jacob dreams this epiphany of God’s presence.

But Reform Jews reject the rabbinic idea that different places in the world possess different levels of holiness, with the Land of Israel possessing 9 out of 10 parts.  Yet, many of us have had holy experiences in different places, and people will tell me that they can return to a particular place and that will evoke the holy experience they had there years earlier. 

Reform Jews focus for holiness more on the idea that, as Psalm 24 says, “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and they who live therein.” So if the entire world is equally holy, what was Jacob’s revelation, “Behold, the Lord was in this place and I did not know it?”

Jacob suddenly experienced deep inside a revelation: the holiness of the place.  He had placed himself in the position to experience something entirely new, by praying where his ancestors prayed.  But it transformed his reality, “Behold, God is in this place and I did not know it.”  Suddenly the experience is no longer about Jacob, now it’s about God.  In other words, the holiness Jacob experienced occurred because Jacob altered his orientation to the world, feeling God’s presence in a place.  It’s not simply the place that changed, it’s Jacob.

Last week many people in the congregation had just such a change in their lives.  With the experience of writing in the Torah, many people said that they experienced something wonderful that they could not quite put into words.  As Jacob put it, “How awesome is this place and I did not know it; this is none other than the gateway to heaven and the House of God.”  We can put ourselves into an experience in which we discover levels to reality.  The world is not as we had previously imagined it to be. But an experience uncovers a new awareness.  God is in this place means, “I experienced God in this place because I opened myself up to the experience of God, even if it took me by surprise.”

I can’t describe someone else’s experience; I can only listen. But I heard wonder in many voices: the wonder and awe of a holy encounter that lifted individuals to a higher level of existence, a more meaningful level, something they had not anticipated and could not explain.  In other words, the experience of the holy is often without content.  It’s filled with meaning, and the hint of purpose; but often without an explicit direction of where to go from that moment, other than to know that life has been forever altered by the encounter.

Jacob had the same thing occur. Having recognized, “How awesome is this place, and this is none other than the gateway to heaven,” he attempted, as we do, to fill the moment with content, perhaps to hang onto or perpetuate the experience.  Jacob makes a vow to the God he had just encountered, “If God is with me and watches over me on this path that I am taking and give me bread to eat and clothes to wear, and if I return safely to my father’s house, then will Adonai be my God, and this stone that I have set up will be a house of God. And of all that you give me, I will dedicate a tenth to you.” 

In other words, Jacob interprets the divine encounter, his moment of epiphany, as God’s concern for his well-being, but then sets out to test it. If God will provide for him, then will Jacob be loyal to God.  Encountering God, Jacob interprets the experience very much as we would, in terms of our own lives, time and place.  If God is concerned with Jacob, then Jacob will pay attention. Gods in the Middle East were considered to be powerful if they positively affected the lives of believers. If they delivered rain, crops and health at the right time, then they were powerful and deserving of worship.  Jacob will not be Yisrael, one who struggles with God and triumphs, for another 20 years. He will not be spiritually prepared to lead until he has suffered more and discovered what the presence of God in his life actually means.  It’s not to be narrowly defined.  The reality of God teaches us that existence is not as we have known it to be up until that time. We’d been wrong in interpreting our own lives.  Rather, God breaking through in time and place, this divine incursion into his life, is a symptom of God’s presence, not defining of God’s presence. And so it is with all of us today.  Having felt God’s presence at a given time and place, in the Torah writing for instance, we should become aware that the experience of God’s presence is constantly available, and can change our perspective on life.

Let me give you an example:  I am reading Michael Pollan’s book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma.  In it Pollan argues, convincingly I believe, that all animals and the earth that supports us have evolved naturally into a complex whole that fits together perfectly.  We are part of a natural, highly sophisticated system that fits together perfectly, and do much better in nature when we realize our harmony and live accordingly.  He demonstrates, convincingly I believe, that industrial agriculture, the feeds lots in western Kansas for instance, are poisoning us.  Pollan is not arguing religiously, but I am reading it religiously. What do I mean? God created the world as a perfect and closed system, and the world has evolved as God has meant it to be. Therefore, realizing God’s presence in all things demonstrates that living in harmony with this world, in terms of everything I do and everything I eat, maximizes not only my health but also my encounters with God and every person around me.  Each morsel of food and each moment becomes more satisfying and enlightening.  The one moment encounter with God is not to be exploited for all its earthly rewards.  It is to be seen as a sign, an indication of how the world actually works so that we can alter the entirety of our lives accordingly.

God is in this place, and we did not know it.  It’s perhaps true of every time and every place.  The question is not God’s presence, but our awareness of that presence.  May our search be rewarded with a renewed satisfaction of life in both place and time.

I have decided that marketing determines more people's thinking than reason and logic. We are no longer a society based on rational thought, if ever we were. Now we are so used to being marketed that we don't know how to discriminate between marketing and fact based decision making. Ted Cruz is not espousing a political philosophy. He is marketing himself to his followers. That's demagoguery.

We used to say, "You're only as well as your worst off child." But what happens when you have 200 to 300 children? You form a community of concern for the welfare of every child and their families. You reach out and extend a caring hand. You thank educators and all those whose job and personality it is to take care of our children. You withdraw from this culture of narcissism that corrodes and erodes our common humanity, the image of God within each and every person. And you hug your children, thanking God for the gifts of health we are granted everyday. "May God who blessed our ancestors, bless this child (insert name) and grand her/him full healing. May the Holy One preserve him/her from all harm. Praised are you, O Lord, Who heals the sick of God's people."

This weekend we celebrate 25 years of Beth Torah. Anniversaries mean renewal. On the first night of Passover Jews renew the exodus; we free ourselves once again from our personal slavery.  On our birthdays we renew our commitments to our core values: at least I do.  What might this anniversary of Beth Torah mean?
In the last 25 years communication has changed more than at any time since the invention of the printing press. I don't know that anyone can currently appreciate precisely where we are headed while the revolution continues.  I only know that Jewish core values: God's unity, gemilut hasadim (acts of loving-kindness), all humans being created in God's image, and love your neighbor as yourself will remain the same. But the methods of communicating them will change dramatically.
My 20 month old granddaughter uses an iPad. She will compare all activities with the games on her iPad.  What will we offer her that will be nearly as entertaining and involve her so completely that she seeks out the Jewish community?
This I know: in an age in which allegiances to old social groupings are totally fluid, in which people change religions for convenience, in which many people are not interested in spending 10,000 hours to learn Jewish core texts: Hebrew, Aramaic, siddur (prayer book) Tanakh (Bible), midrash, Talmud, Bible commentators like Rashi, it's going to be very difficult to transmit the depth of spiritual understanding contained in Judaism. It's not an easy religion.  It's a way of life, and it does not compete well with instantaneous cultures (think Monday night football games, the Super Bowl, even high production synagogue High Holy Day worship live-streamed.)
What will become of the Jewish community?  It will depend, it seems to me, on our voluntary allegiances to one another, on our reaching out to help those in our congregation who are in need, and are willing to give back.  The core of the synagogue, the synagogue community, will need to exemplify what community can mean in a world of anonymity.
You see: that's the enemy, and that's the plague for which Judaism is the antidote:  Anonymity.  The religious community that recognizes, validates and reaches out to help individuals in their difficult times in life: that is the community that will survive.  That is what I hope Beth Torah is, and what it will develop increasingly in the future.
In this vision of community there is continuity.  We did not stay in touch with our members by tweeting, by email, or by website and Facebook. But we started out as a community of people excited to rely upon one another.  The intimacy among members, the spirit and energy that enlivened all of us, that can be renewed in each generation.
We pass the baton to a new generation, conversant in the tools of the new world.  Moses did the same when the people entered Canaan. So it is in every generation.  Now is the time for renewal; and watching a new leadership grasp the mantle of leadership to cross the Jordan to a renewed Promised Land.

I am taking the unusual step of posting the outline of my sermon tonight in advance.
Here goes:

Torah Writing Project Launch Shabbat

October 4, 2013

Rabbi Mark H. Levin, DHL

 I don’t know exactly what Sinai was. 

·      Orthodox Jews contend it was a one-time event in history:  God revealed the Torah to Moses.

·      I believe Sinai is a metaphor for a process:

o   When the people of Israel, the Jewish people, focus on God for divine purposes, we tend to discern God’s will for us in history.

o   The result of that we call commandments, mitzvot.

o   In other words:  commandments are the action results of the interaction between God and the Jewish people.

One of the books we received as a result of Sinai, the encounter between the Jewish people and God, is the Book of Deuteronomy.

·      Since the second century rabbis have agreed that there are 613 of the these action statements, these mitzvot, in the Torah

·      The very last one in order, from the 31^st chapter of the fifth book of the Torah, is this:  once every 7 years, you have to read this book out loud where all of the people are assembled to hear.

In other words:  these encounters with God, and their results, are special to us: they are holy or sacred.  It’s not that they constitute our obligation. They are our responsibility. But that’s like you have a responsibility to your  birthday, or the day someone special died; or to pursue a challenge you relish in your life.

·      Mitzvot are embedded in, originate from, the Jewish people’s encounter with the sacred.

·      Let’s take Shabbat:  the Jewish people were the first to realize that if we are to bring the sacred into our lives, we must have certain techniques and devote time to it.

o   So on Shabbat we pray, study, rest and enjoy sacred pleasures:  all of them gifts from God to raise our material bodies to a higher, more spiritual level.

o   Embedded in each mitzvah, each commandment, lies a spiritual spark that we can harvest with the right motivation and intention. 

·      Our ancestors knew this, and that’s the answer to the question of why or how we are here today:  we’re here because they used this commandments, these embodiments of the experience of the holy, to bring holy actions into the world and into their lives.

o   So, as we are discovering today, it’s important what you eat, because that’s what you become physical.

o   Similarly, what you take in spiritually is important, because that’s what you become spiritually.

§  If you live among truth sayers all of the time, you live in a world of trust

§  If you live among liars all of the time: you live with constant doubt and trepidation.

§  Your spiritual values determine much of your life.

§  They result from our encounters with the holy.

So what did we Jews do?

o   We took those encounters with God, and we strung them together in a story, and we put that story of the spiritual encounters with God in a book that we call the Torah.

o   It’s not only our spiritual history:  when we unpack those embodiments of spiritual encounter in our lives: when we ask how God wants us to live in this world: how to encounter others, how to determine what we eat, whether to be cruel in order to gain politically or in prestige, then we again bring that holiness of the encounter with God embedded in the mitzvah into existence again in our own lives.

o   When we tell the story of the exodus at the Passover seder, we can really experience our emergence from slavery, but then we can also live as the Torah commands: with the lessons of slavery as part of our experience, even though we, ourselves, we never actually physically slaves.

So this book of Torah, containing our narrative history with its embodied mitzvot, the sparks of our encounters with God, can bring holiness into our lives because each experience records that encounter with holiness.

o   And so we call the book sacred.

o   And when we write those words, when we observe the final, the last commandment in the Torah: we are doing what our ancestors did thousands of years ago:  encountering the divine in our lives.

o   We must pause when we write in Torah, and make a particular story, or a mitzvah, something embodying holiness for us, a part of our personal lives.

o   As a result, we find a small portion of God enters our lives.

o   It’s not possible to take all of God into our lives.

o   We must encounter God where we find God.

o   But then we pause, consider, and make the experience part of the body and soul that is us.  We become Torah.

We cannot be at Sinai, but we can BE Sinai.

o   When we inscribe Torah

o   When we find the divine spark at the center of a mitzvah, we bring the Jewish people’s past encounter with God into the present and make it part of our own lives.

o   We stand at the foot of Sinai; we write Torah with Moses; we discover the eternality of God, and ongoing revelation of God’s mitzvot to the Jewish people.

When one of my daughters was 2 years old we dreaded taking her places because of the following incident.  Visiting friends in Boston, we stopped and strolled the Hancock Tower area downtown. Having rented a 2-door car, we stored the baby-stroller in the trunk and the kid in the child seat in the rear, having to push forward the front seat to manipulate her body into the back while placing her gently in the baby seat. You get the idea.  There's considerable twisting of the body required, which, being in our mid-thirties didn't phase us at all.
Until, the universally adored, model beautiful, blond child inexplicably determined she wasn't going anywhere.  She preferred her current location, regardless of the plans of the majority. On the grass lawn surrounding the Hancock Insurance Tower the little darling commenced to scream bloody murder, globular tears cascading down her seemingly innocent cheeks, while holding her 3-foot body so rigidly straight she could have been suspended plank-like between the backs of two metal folding chairs.
Around this time there had been several nationally publicized kidnappings of toddlers, and people were on the lookout for marauders snatching cute, Gerber-Baby children.  Consider my dilemma: attempt to cram said screaming child headfirst through the driver's side of a two door car, door ajar to hinge squeaking lengths, pushing the driver's seat forward with my extended butt while attempting to force her rigor mortis like body into a bent position, or remonstrate with a two year old.  I caved.  Sitting on the grass, ignoring the stares of passers-by, a grown man attempted futilely to rationally argue with this two-year old terrorist that she needed to stop screaming and obey daddy, all the while hearing in my ear a fantasy cop vociferously arguing, "If you're her father why is she so blond?"
And you ask why I am recounting this?  It is because the T-Party has decided to shut down the United States government in their self-absorbed, anti-democratic, economically destructive attempt to portray their fury at the Affordable Care Act, and the story somehow just came back to me.