The Wealth Gap and Isaiah's Moral Bottom Line

The haftarah for Yom Kippur contains important social commentary. The earliest social commentary in the Torah can be found in Genesis Chapter 11, the Tower of Babel. You remember the story:  people build a tower to the sky and God confuses them by giving them different languages, so that the building ceases and the people are dispersed throughout the land. “That is why it is called Babel, because there the LORD confounded the speech of the whole earth” (11:9)

What did the people do to merit the dispersion of humanity across the globe and the proliferation of different languages? A common interpretation is that they challenged God by building a tower to the sky. But the rabbis had a different view. In the midrash we read that what really bothered God was that the builders were more concerned about losing a single brick falling off the tower than losing a life. The rabbis saw in the lesson of the Tower of Babel an example of a society that cares more for bricks than bodies, for material goods than for human beings.  Perhaps it’s telling that this story comes in Chapter 11, a sign of the moral bankruptcy of this kind of thinking.

It’s been two years since the Occupy Wall Street movement gave us the catch-all term, the 99% and it still feels like people care more about bricks than bodies.  Just this week, a report came out with the shocking and disturbing news that the income gap in the US today is even wider than it’s been for 100 years. In 2012, the top ten percent of Americans made half of the income. The top one percent made 20% of all the income in our country. After five years of recovery, the income gap is worse than before the Great Depression. The top 1% have received 95% of the wealth during the recovery, not leaving very much for the 99% who still suffer from unemployment and income stagnation. This is a shande and an outrage.

These statistics sound a shrill echo to Isaiah’s prophetic message in the Yom Kippur haftarah. Both call us to act for economic justice.

Our haftarah begins with the words solu solu, build up build up! But the building that Isaiah calls for has a dramatically different design than the Tower of Babel.  Isaiah calls on us to clear a highway and remove the obstacles to creating a world of morality and justice, where greed is punished and the oppressed will go free.

Isaiah knew the Hyatt Hotel corporations of his day, the Walmarts and the McDonalds, the industries that promise low prices to the public, wealth to the shareholders and exploitation to its workers. Isaiah taught us that there is a limit to financial success, that there is a moral bottom line that trumps the economic bottom line. He says directly that God refuses to accept the offerings of the greedy,

“Because on your fast day you see to your business and oppress all your laborers!” (58:3)

Hyatt is now the exemplar for Isaiah’s call for teshuvah (repentance), having reached a historic agreement with hotel workers, despite having been the worst hotel employer for the past four years. Though the agreement does not right the wrongs of the Boston Hyatt 100, and is far from perfect, it demonstrates the importance of standing up for workers, for demanding fair pay, and for taking a stand for justice. The Hyatt agreement gives us hope that we can make a difference.

As we hear the angry words of Isaiah consider the actions that you can take.

At the top of my list this year is to increase the minimum wage, nationally and locally. Income inequality starts with the lowest paid works. If the minimum wage had kept pace with the cost of living for the past 5 years, it would be at $10/hour rather than the $8/hour that it has been since 2008. There is not one state where a worker making minimum wage for 40 hours a week can afford to rent a two-bedroom apartment. Not one. Many minimum wage jobs that used to provide pocket change for teens or supplemental income for families have become full-time employment for the breadwinners in many families.

To those who argue that raising the minimum wage will cause employers to fire more workers, Dr. Bob Rubin makes a very different case. Rubin is a professor of management , human resources and organization development consultant  and organizational management coach. In an article entitled “Paying a High Price for Low Pay,” Rubin insists that the data shows that increased labor rates do not lead to increased labor costs. Creating a living wage actually improves overall company performance, increasing employee retention and even lowering costs by increasing productivity. It’s a win-win for everyone.

So what can you do when you hear Isaiah’s call for economic justice?

There are two simple ways we can all support an increased minimum wage in Massachusetts:

We can support the bill currently being debated in the Massachusetts legislature is to lift the minimum wage and to link it in the future to the cost of living. Please contact your legislator to voice your support for the bill.

We can also support Raise Up Massachusetts, to put a vote on the state ballot for 2014 to require employers to offer earned sick time and raise the minimum wage. Please plan on spending a few hours collecting signatures for this ballot initiative this fall.

Remember the lesson of the Tower of Babel. Listen to the message of Isaiah. Let us build a world where bodies count more than bricks, where we work together to clear a path toward justice, where “your light shall shine in the darkness and your gloom shall give way to the noonday sun.” (58:10)

We're Number Two!

On the airplane home from our trip to Israel this summer, I was looking for a movie I hadn’t yet seen. One choice was “Quartet,” a movie I had heard had good reviews. But instead, I found myself watching “Late Quartet, a different movie. Not the best way to choose a film, but as serendipity, or perhaps God’s gentle hand would have it, it turned out to be a good choice for the flight and gave me food for thought.

In “Late Quartet,” the story of members of a long-standing professional string quartet, Phillip Seymour Hoffman plays the second violinist, and is considered the best second violinist around. Early in the film, his girlfriend asks him, “Don’t you ever want to play the melody?” He insists that he is proud of his work, adding that the second violinist holds the group together. He is considered the best second violinist around. Yet she convinces him to ask to take the lead every once in a while. Should he be content with his role or risk disrupting the quartet by demanding the opportunity to be first violin?

I noticed a similar theme a few weeks later at a viewing of  the documentary “20 Feet from Stardom,” an uplifting film about rock and roll’s greatest back-up singers. Some of these great voices have tried to take the 20-foot leap forward to the front of the stage, to be lead singers, but few have succeeded. Others happily continue sharing their powerful talents in the number two position, behind the stars.

In both stories, the pull to be first is in tension with a life that is meaningful, though in the background. In each instance, we wonder: why not take our talents to the next level? Is there anything wrong with wanting to be Number One?

Is this a natural impulse or a product of our competitive cultural? After all, have you ever heard an American crowd chant “we’re number two”?

Sometimes, number two is a wonderful place to be, perhaps the best place to be.

Sometimes our purpose is to be the 2^nd fiddle, the back-up singer. The best number two I can be.

In the Book of Genesis, time after time it’s the number two who receives the blessing. Not Ishmael, Abraham’s firstborn son, but Isaac. Not Esau, Isaac’s firstborn son, but Jacob. Not Reuben, Jacob’s firstborn but Joseph. Not even King David passes on his kingdom to his firstborn, but to Solomon, one of his younger sons. All of these biblical stories upend the cultural norm of the day, that firstborn sons received all the privileges and recognition. This is the first clue that the Jewish tradition does not put stock in being number one.

But I wonder, how did Ishmael, Esau, Reuben, and the rest of Solomon’s older brothers feel? In the Torah we hear Esau express deep and bitter grief over losing his birthright and his blessing. We know that losing out to someone else brings disappointment. Some of us may be entering this new year feeling we have done our best yet not been recognized for our work. We may have been “the other candidate” for a job. We may have tried our hardest to come in first place, only to be beaten in the finals.

Many of us come on Yom Kippur with disappointments.

Disappointment is a fair and honest reaction when our lives do not live up to our expectations. The ancient teacher Aesop described one response to disappointment in the fable the Fox and the Grapes.

Driven by hunger, a fox tried to reach some grapes hanging high on the vine but was unable to, although he leaped with all his strength. As he went away, the fox remarked, 'Oh they were probably sour anyway.'

Fortunately, “sour grapes” is just one way to deal with failure, disappointment or frustration. The key to success is not being number one. The key is finding the blessing in the supposed curse.

One of the most important books I read this past year was How Children Succeed, by Paul Tough. Tough has spent years learning about children and character and his book makes the case that our approach to success in education has been overly focused on cognitive skills, while overlooking the underlying components of personality and character that truly ensure success. Tough delves into the current research in psychology, economics and brain science, and weaves in personal interviews with young people of different backgrounds who exemplify the complex equation that equals success.

 

Among the key character strengths Tough found were “an inclination to persist at a boring and often unrewarding task; the ability to delay gratification and the tendency to follow through on a plan.” That is, grit, resourcefulness and resilience. These are the skills that we should be helping our children to develop, since  “noncognitive skills like resilience and resourcefulness and grit are highly predictive of success in college.” These are skills that are not innate; they need to be modeled, cultivated and nurtured. Not only are they skills to success in college, but they are the skills that can make us the best number two we can possibly be: grit, resourcefulness and resilience.

 

We Try Harder: Grit

When I was growing up my dad collected the buttons put out by Avis Rent-a-car. Their slogan was “we try harder.” He had buttons in a myriad of languages. I loved reading the different alphabets and pronouncing all the different languages. Nous faisons plus d’efforts. Anu mishtadlim yoter. We try harder. (You can find the buttons on ebay today)

That slogan was the brainchild of an advertising executive named Paula Green.

In 1962, Hertz was number one, and Avis was in a financial crisis. Paula Green articulated a philosophy that became the company manifesto. We are only #2, so “We try harder.” With those words, Avis workers from the CEO to the sales force to the mechanics developed a work ethic and service mentality that won over customers. While Avis remained number two, their profits shot up as clients recognized Avis for exceptional customer service. We try harder remained the company slogan for fifty years.

Trying harder does not always come naturally, but it is essential to success. Do you have that toughness, the “grit”?

Paul Tough describes grit as “a passionate commitment to a single mission and an unswerving dedication to achieve that mission.” Or in other words, “Self discipline wedded to a dedicated pursuit of a goal.”

Another great teacher, Reb Nachman of Bratslav, agrees with Paul Tough. Reb Nachman’s slogan was: mi sherotze ose, which literally means, one who desires, does. In other words, “We try harder.” But Reb Nachman gave a twist to those words, saying sometimes your rotze, your desire, has to get big enough so that you act on it. No matter who we are, we have to fall in love with our own goals. And then we will have the rotze, the desire, the grit, to try harder.

Finding our Purpose: Resourcefulness

Being number two may force us to try harder. It may also motivate us to consider and reconsider our purpose and then do whatever it takes to achieve it.

Jane McNally recently shared this story of purpose, which comes from the third Bobover Rebbe, Rabbi Shlomo Halberstam, who attracted many Hasidim to the Bobov sect in Brooklyn before his death in 2000.

Once a Hasid of the Rebbe came to see him, despondent. The Hasid worked as a school teacher, believing that was what the community expected that of him. But didn’t want to be a teacher.  So he came to the Rebbe, because he was at a loss. He didn’t know what to do with his life. The Bobover smiled and told him simply, “the world is a great big place. Find something you love and do it!”

The Rebbe encouraged the Hasid to find his own rotze. So many others had told him what to do. For once, someone listened to this man’s heart, and affirmed his own inner stirrings! The Hasid loved antiques. One day he saw a small classified ad in the paper for appraisers. He answered the ad and eventually learned to be an appraiser. He loved the job because he loved antiques and used his photography skills. He discovered his purpose. All he needed was someone to give him permission to open his eyes to what he saw himself doing.

We find in Netivot Shalom, of Rabbi Sholom Noach Berezovsky, a passage that is often quoted at baby naming. It speaks to this same notion: “every individual is a small world unto himself…No person has ever been identical to another person since the creation of the world, and therefore each and every person has a special shlichut, a distinctive purpose for which she was sent…The beginning of all avodah, all service is discovering for what particular purpose one was sent to this world.”

We can’t look to others to set our goals for us, just as we don’t depend on them to run the race in our stead. It is up to us to be resourceful, to discover who we are and what we are called to be.

You Can’t Always Get What you Want: Resilience

When you get your first choice the rest is easy. What really matters is how you handle your second choice. Perhaps you have a rotze, a desire, a goal or a purpose, but you still feel thwarted in reaching it. As the Rolling Stones taught us long ago “You can’t always get what you want but if you try sometime you’ll find…. you get what you need.”

Getting our second choice can be an important time to reflect on our behavior, to learn from our mistakes and to look to the future. Even if we believe that we had no control in the outcome, we can learn something from every loss.

This is an essential practice for us to model and teach our children. It’s called resilience.

Our Yom Kippur liturgy offers a striking poetic image of resilience in a piyut that we will chant in a little while: Ki Hinei Kachomer, we are like clay in the hands of a potter. We can be shaped, formed, changed by the slightest touch or the heaviest hand. Like silver in the hands of the silversmith, we can be melted, bent, turned, with grace or with clumsiness. Like fabric in the hand of the embroiderer. We can be stretched, cut, folded, embellished, with love or in anger.

As the Talmud explains,

“The School of R. Ishmael taught: It can be deduced from glassware: if glassware, which, though made by the breath of human beings, can yet be repaired when broken; then how much more so a person, created by the breath of the Holy One, Ha Kadosh baruch Hu.” (Sanhedrin 91a).

It is only when we harden to life that we become fragile. As the potter’s wheel of life turns, we adjust and adapt. To be like clay is to develop resilience.

 

Groundhog Day: second chances

One of my favorite movies of all time is “Groundhog Day.” I could watch it over and over again (in fact watching it once is like seeing it over and over again). In case you’ve never seen it, Bill Murray starts out as a complete jerk, a selfish, boorish weatherman sent to Punxsutawney, PA, to report on Groundhog Day. But at the end of the day, he gets stuck in town in a snowstorm. When he wakes up in his hotel room the next morning, he has gone back in time to the day before, to Groundhog Day. There he remains in a perpetual loop, always waking up to “I Got You Babe.” However, he does not remain the same. By reliving each day, working hard at learning French, mastering the piano, and, most important, learning about the people around him, he grows into a caring, sincere, and thoughtful human being.

Bill Murray gets a second chance, over and over again. Second chances is what the yamim nora’im, the Days of Awe are all about.  We call it teshuvah. Rambam teaches that true teshuvah is achieved when you are in the same situation as before and choose to behave differently.  When I was learning to play piano, my mother used to tell me “practice makes perfect.” Though I know that I’m far from “perfect,” whether playing piano or anything else I do, I have become a true believer in the value of practice. We go back to the same scene and try again until we make change.

In Jewish tradition, second chances are built into the universe, an essential aspect of our spiritual make-up. The rabbis teach:

Before the world was created all that existed was God. Then God decided to create the world, and carved it out, but it did not stand up. This can be compared to a king who wants to build a palace: without a foundation in the ground, the king could not begin building. Similarly, God carved out the world, but it did not stand…until God created teshuvah. (Pirkei D’Rabi Eliezer, Ch. 3)

Teshuvah is the foundation that enables us to try again and again and again and eventually to transform our lives. We will make mistakes. That’s a given. We will be disappointed with the results of our hard work. We will not always get it right. We can’t stop time like Bill Murray, reliving Groundhog Day over and over. We will never be perfect. Yet we do get more than one chance.

But if perfection is not the goal—what is?

Being proud to be the very best number 2 there is, or number 6 or number 723. Being proud, because you have worked hard, looked for second chances, and been satisfied with the unique purpose of your life, whether you are second fiddle or the back-up singer.

The poet Rilke wrote words in “Letters to a Young Poet” that can be our guides as we enter into Yom Kippur and ponder the purpose of our lives:

“You carry within you the possibility of creating and forming an especially blessed and pure way of living. Train yourself for that—but take whatever comes, with great trust, and as long as it comes out of your will, out of some need of your innermost self, then take it upon yourself, and don’t hate anything.

“Those tasks that have been entrusted to us are difficult; almost everything serious is difficult, and everything is serious.”

One final story, probably very familiar to many, but one I could not leave out, about the modest Rabbi Zusya. As Rabbi Zusya he lay dying, his students came to his bedside and found him crying.

“Why are you crying?” they asked.
He answered, “All my life, I have tried to be like Moses. But I have come to realize that when I stand before Ribono shel Olam, God will not ask me, why were you not like Moses? God will ask, why were you not like Zusya?”

Today we contemplate the purpose of our lives. We cannot help but consider, how will I be judged when it’s all over and done? Am I trying to be like Moses? Am I trying to be like Zusya? Or am I simply trying to be the very best I can be: the best rabbi or the best doctor or social worker or organizer or teacher or journalist or lawyer or receptionist or advocate, the best parent or child or sibling or grandparent, the best friend or lover or citizen you can be?

God does not expect you to be the best in the world, just the very best you can be, right here, right now. Every day, in every encounter, in every moment.

May we all be blessed to discover our rotze, our heart’s desire. May it be big enough so that we do not succumb to despair, and so we have the grit, the resourcefulness and the resilience to become the very best we can be. Ken yehi ratzon.

What is our Purpose? Rosh Hashanah Sermon 2013/5774

Let’s get this out in the open. The holidays have come way too early this year. We haven’t had a moment to breathe between the end of summer and the onset of the Jewish holidays. Road construction is still blocking the roads, schools are just beginning to open. There are so many reasons to be somewhere else, so many obstacles to getting here for Rosh Hashanah.

Yet, you have decided to be here. Why? What is you purpose in coming here for the Jewish holy days?

You might say tradition—this is what we do. We come for the melodies, the drama, the recognition of what it means to be a Jew.

You might say community—we long to be with friends, acquaintances. We want to be part of this big event. We don’t want to miss out. Or someone made us come—a parent, a friend. Perhaps a deceased relative is speaking to us, insisting that we keep this annual ritual.

Underlying all of these reasons, is a purpose that unites us all. One purpose in coming on the Days of Awe is to take time to reflect. To look back on the past year. We change, we evolve. Our cells are always changing, bodies growing stronger at one end of the spectrum, and aging at the other. So too our minds. Reflection helps us recognize the direction we have taken as well as the one we have not. It helps us celebrate the achievements, and learn from the failures.

Also a time to make change, to set an intention for the coming year, to create modest goals for ourselves, to direct the change and not just respond to it.

Advancing the Dream

One event after another this past summer reminded us of the endurance of a monstrous and insidious racism in our country. From the Supreme Court decision to strike down parts of the Voting Rights Act, to the Trayvon Martin verdict, Americans have had to take a hard look at this abiding plague in our nation’s culture. I have heard the pain of people who feel deeply affected, not only by these decisions, but by the conversations, and the lack of conversation, in the aftermath.

I have to admit that I was silent after the verdict in July. I could say that I was just returning from vacation, or that my mind was elsewhere. The truth is that I did not know what to say. Trayvon’s death, by itself, was a tragedy. The laws of Florida that permitted George Zimmerman to walk away—both immediately after the event and again after the verdict—are a disgrace to all Americans. Nevertheless, the verdict was based on those impossibly unjust laws. What I can say is that we need to work to change unjust laws that promote and excuse gun violence. We need to work to change unjust laws that exclude citizens from the voting booth on flimsy and supposedly innocent grounds of preventing non-existent voter fraud.

On the other hand, the confluence of these events with the 50^th anniversary of the March for Jobs and Freedom offers us a magnificent opportunity. As I listened to the speakers at the Lincoln Memorial on this historic anniversary, I was moved and inspired. Just when we suspect that nothing has changed, John Lewis dramatically described how his life was changed; that in place of “separate but equal” our country has made it possible for a leader in the civil rights movement to become a US congressman. Just when we are tempted to believe that the gap between whites and blacks is wider than ever, President Jimmy Carter paid homage to those brave leaders in 1963, men and women, labor organizers and civil rights activists, who made the march possible and changed our country forever. Just when we feel despair over the political gridlock and polarization that has created seemingly insurmountable obstacles to justice, President Bill Clinton urged us to draw on the examples of the leaders of the past to stop complaining and to start working for change.

And then, our first African-American president took the podium, and with humility spoke in the place where Martin Luther King, Jr. had roused a nation with words that continue to vibrate across state borders and political divides. If you missed the speech, his words are worth reading. In fact, I plan to quote them at the next Martin Luther King Day observance.

It’s true that the milestone of electing an African-American president does not excuse the imprisonment of more African Americans than the number of slaves in 1850.

 

It’s true that while Dr. King’s speech spurred the civil rights movement as a national priority, the focus on jobs went unanswered, and the economic situation of the masses of people of color in the US is no better today than it was in 1963.

It’s true that while the concrete walls of segregation were torn down, the invisible walls that lead to racial profiling, suspicion of people of color remain.

But when we have an opportunity, like today, to stop and remember, to celebrate our achievements, to honor the brave men and women who courageously risked everything, including their lives, when the speeches are broadcast across the country and the event is publicized throughout our land, we are all stronger.  And the walls that divide us will surely come down. Not by hope alone, but by actions fueled by hope and conviction.

N.B. Thirty years ago, Brian and I, returning to Washington D.C. from our honeymoon in Cape May, attended the 20^th anniversary of the March for Jobs and Freedom.

Arthur Waskow and Sheila Weinberg

Barbara and Brian

 Looking at photos from that event, I’m struck by our youthful naiveté and the blissful confidence that change comes easily.

 

Today’s anniversary appears to be more sober; the celebration is more reflective.

Today may be one of the greatest moments of Barack Obama’s presidency, a rare moment when he can offer his personal gratitude for all he has received and all he has (so far) accomplished. It was a true moment of authenticity for him, not only as an African-American but also as a community organizer. He may not be the preacher MLK was, but by his very being, he preached a powerful sermon at the Lincoln Memorial in 2013.

The View from Limestone

The cry of a loon across the moonlit lake. A cloudburst that sends the workers scurrying to cover lumber with tarps. Fields of fragrant potatoes. Harsh sun on our backs as we paint the boards covering the underside of a trailer. Fresh blueberries for breakfast, lunch and dinner. 

These are some of this year’s sights and sounds for the eleven adults and teens working in Northern Maine on the Tikkun Olam Family Work Project. With so many of our regulars heading off to college this week, our workforce is diminished in size, but not in spirit. Each one of us has been to Limestone before and we can all handle power tools. 

As usual, we are adding insulation to homes where the wind whips around the underside and leaves no trace of heat within. We are also doing a little carpentry:  adding rails to a deck, rebuilding a stoop, installing a new door.

Each year we learn a little more about Limestone, Northern Maine, and what life is like in a community that has not thrived for many years. We also realized that, despite our best efforts and the strength and grace of the community here, we cannot repair more than our limited corner of the world.

Just weeks before we arrived in Maine last Sunday, we learned that the King family, the first family we helped in 2006, lost their home in a fire. Though insurance is helping them to acquire a new pre-fab double-wide home, none of their belongings were covered. With the generous support of our friends in Boston, we were able to purchase a new queen-sized mattress, box spring and metal frame, a new living room sofa, and a new flat-screen tv. We also delivered a few assorted used tables and chairs and dressers that we brought up from Boston. These are the bare minimum for them to furnish their new home. Yet they were so grateful, insisting that we let all of you know what a difference we’ve made.

“It is not up to you to complete the work; neither are you free to neglect it.”

This message from the classic Talmudic text, Pirke Avot, is my personal mantra for this annual trip. Do we feel sad that we can’t do more? Yes. Do we wish we could help every needy family in Limestone, not to mention those in need in our own Massachusetts communities? Of course. It’s heartbreaking to hear the stories behind the buildings we are repairing. It’s frustrating to drive up to a familiar neighborhood and see a slab of concrete where, seven years ago we had spent five days installing insulation, putting on a new roof and chimney, replacing windows and rebuilding the back porch. All gone in a puff of smoke.

And in the same week, to be welcomed to the lake home of the owner of the hardware store in Caribou, who treated us to a tasty barbecue dinner (veggie burgers and kosher hot dogs purchased especially for us). He took our kids out on their power boat for water skiing and made us all feel completely at home with his own family. All this hospitality from a man who regularly discounts all the material we purchase for our work. Such generosity and good will balance out the individual pain and sorrow.

The full moon of Elul reminds us all of the approaching New Year. It’s a time to count our blessings, to give thanks for all the good people and their generosity, to bask in the beauty of the landscape, and to prepare for whatever next year will bring—to us and those we love as well as to strangers we have yet to meet. It isn’t up to us to do it all, but what a gift to be able to contribute whatever we can.

On the Second Day of Elul, I realized I have work to do

 

You know how unsolicited and unexpected offers pop up in your email? I try to buzz through the promotions quickly in order to get to the personal and professional messages. This morning, the second day of Elul, I paused to glance at an email from Jewish Lights, promoting a new book, Repentance:The Meaning and Practice of Teshuva.

An endorsement of this book, a quote from my teacher and colleague, Rabbi Nancy Flam, caught my eye:

“Our greatness will not be judged by our supposedly grand accomplishments, but by how each of us deals with our inevitable moral failings, however great or small.”

This morning, I heard a radio report on the latest MIT study of successfully implanting “false memories” in mice. Though the researcher assured the audience that it will be a long time before this can be accomplished in humans, he also suggested that this is a good time to start the conversation. He noted that for people with debilitating traumas, this can be a valuable tool. However, I would argue that for most of us, the “real memories” we have should suffice.

As we navigate the coming weeks in preparation for the New Year, memory is key. Without memory, can I regret the hurts I have inflicted, the offensive words I’ve spoken, the promises I have broken? Can I look closely at my “inevitable moral failings, however great or small”?

Implanting false memories is a great accomplishment. But it will not lead to greatness for anyone who seeks to escape the uncomfortable past.  Only through examining our deeds, acknowledging our habitual behaviors, and seeking to rectify our mistakes, can we rise to moral and spiritual heights. Without memory, we fall into a false way of living. If we forget what we have done, how can we apologize? How can we ask forgiveness? How can we grow?

Jewish communal life is rooted in remembering our past. Rather than distance ourselves from our past, we recall it ritually. On Pesach, we reenact our ancient slavery and the subsequent Exodus. On Shabbat we recall the stories of our ancestors, with their faults looming as large as their feats.  At weddings we break a glass to remember the destruction of the Temple. Whenever we study Jewish history, we reflect on the experience of wandering and the adaptive culture that has survived dispersion to every region where human beings have settled.

From our memories, collective and individual, we tell our stories and we extract meaning. We look back and discover how we have managed to survive. Most importantly, our memory is full of moral failings from which we learn and grow and contribute to the healing of the world. This month, the twenty-nine days of Elul, let’s examine our memories closely and face “our inevitable moral failings, however great or small.” Then we will be ready, on day one of the year 5774, to achieve greatness.

Gam v'gam: Both Sides Now

Hope from the Holy Land

It’s been a while since I returned from a trip to Israel feeling hopeful. My last trip, three years ago, was characterized by a sense of ongoing frustration and near despair.

As you undoubtedly know, I’m a hopeful kind of person. I try to find the good in each situation, aiming to give people the benefit of the doubt. But the last time I was in Israel, it was hard to find something positive. Attending the Hartman Institute, listening to speakers, visiting with Jews and Palestinians, friends and family, I heard a common refrain. No one could see a way out of Israel’s challenges, whether political, religious or economic. For a while it seemed that Israelis had chosen to avoid the difficulties. The tide was against them, and it was all they could do to tread water.

This summer I attended the Hartman Institute again and have arrived home with a wide array of experiences. I met family in different cities with different political views, learned with scholars providing insights into the different sectors of Israeli society, visited Lod and Sderot, towns on the periphery of Israel’s mainstream center, and heard Members of Knesset (MKs) from the newest government coalition.

The best way to characterize what I heard is the phrase ”gam ve-gam” which  loosely means “this – and that.” Journalist Ilana Dayan used this phrase to describe Israel today, a country of many sectors, many ideologies, a place of paradox and contradictions.

She talked about Israel’s culture of negotiation and argument. She pointed to issues of security vs human rights, social democracy vs capitalism, Jewish vs democratic state. Obviously, these binary distinctions are not necessarily in opposition to each other, but they often come into tension.

This is exactly what I heard too, a world of contradictions. And that in itself is hopeful, because it means that healthy debate is alive and well in Israel again. People are engaged once again.  I heard MKs talking about creating a state based on values and a Knesset where, behind the scenes, people of different parties study together and have coffee together. I heard everyday people who are doing inspiring things:

•  university students living with and organizing impoverished Jews and Arabs to advocate for better town services; 
•  owners of Café Yael, a “social business” in Sderot that trains at-risk youth and offers them job skills and support to create a foundation for their future;
•  Bambi Sheleg, a prominent settler-turned journalist creating a magazine, Eretz Acheret, (another land) that “goes beyond the headlines” and documents the diversity of Israel’s population;
•  Dov Lipman, an orthodox rabbi who made aliyah to Israel from Baltimore and is serving in the Yesh Atid party as a bridge between the ultra-orthodox and the secularists, and others.

You might be wondering what people were saying about Secretary of State John Kerry’s efforts to renew the peace process. In early July, most people had not seen any progress that was worth putting their faith into these talks. But MK Tzipi Livni, who is Israel’s Minister of Justice and lead negotiator to the upcoming talks, insisted that an agreement is necessary for Israel’s future. When asked, are you optimistic, she said, “Yes I am, because I have no choice.”

In addition, she made an assertion that Jews outside of Israel should pay attention to. She told this pluralistic group of rabbis, serving many different kinds of Jewish communities in America, Canada, South America and Europe, that the dialogue with World Jewry needs to change. Specifically; it should include a discussion of values. Livni added, “What good is a homeland that doesn’t allow for this dialogue?”

Contradictions, dialogue, debate, paradox. Those are hopeful words, words that honestly describe the human condition in our post-modern age. They speak of respect for differences and appreciation of nuance. They are ideas that our own polarized American democracy could also find useful.

Rabbi Barbara Penzner