A Message From Rabbi George Gittleman

It’s hard to beat Sonoma County as a place to live. The environment is stunningly beautiful, it’s reasonably safe, relatively prosperous, culturally adequate and for those looking for more, San Francisco is only an hour’s drive away!

Those are a few of Sonoma County’s material benefits, but what about its soul? How might Judaism judge the soul of a community, city or even country? From a Jewish perspective, the material has its place, but the ultimate judge of a community is not its natural beauty, military might or GNP, but rather how it treats the most vulnerable in society: in the language of the Torah, the widow (almanah), the orphan (yatom), and the stranger (ger). Today we might include the homeless, the mentally ill, the working poor, and undocumented workers and their families.

In evaluating a city, the prophets asked this question: is there tzedek? Tzedek means “justice” in the fullest sense of the word. Is the society fair? Do all people, regardless of their place or status, have equal rights and protection under the law (yes, this was the ancient Israelite standard!). Is the political system equitable? Is the society just? Is the marketplace a reasonably even playing field where no one is exploited (this is where the ancient prohibition against usury comes from) and the gap between rich and poor is not insurmountable (this is the basis for the concepts of sabbatical and the jubilee)?

The other question the prophets would ask is, is there rachmanut — mercy and/or compassion? Does society take care of those who inevitably fall down? In Ancient Israel there were a number of legislated “programs” that together created a safety net for the vulnerable in society. For example, there was peah and leket, the provisions not to harvest the corners of one’s field nor pick up the gleanings, so that the poor could come after and harvest them for themselves. There were also a number of taxes, usually in the form of a tithe, which, in part, went to take care of the neediest in society. And, beyond the legislation itself, there was the ever present commandment to “love the stranger” and to remember that “we too were strangers in the land of Egypt…”

Taken as a whole, one can see that our ancient, biblical ancestors, even before The Rabbis created the Judaism that we know some 2,000 years ago, had a pretty developed sense of both societal tzedek and rachmanut. How about us here in Sonoma County today? How do you think we fare? No doubt, our community has immense material benefits. It’s our soul that concerns me.

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’meh rabbah…so starts kaddish, perhaps the most familiar and least understood prayer in our entire liturgy. What do the words mean? When did Jews first start saying kaddish, and why? Is there more than one version of this fundamental, yet mysterious, prayer? I think the answers to these questions will surprise you.

Much scholarly ink has been spilled arguing over the origins of kaddish. The truth is, we don’t know for sure when, why and under what circumstances kaddish began to be recited. Like many Jewish rituals, the circumstances from which it emerged are lost to the centuries. One interesting fact that you may not know is that part of kaddish is in Aramaic, a sister tongue to Hebrew, which was the vernacular of our ancient ancestors who lived during the time of the Roman Empire. Thus, most scholars believe that some form of kaddish was recited beginning at least 2,000 years ago!

Since kaddish is associated with death and mourning, one would think its message centers around death. In fact, the opposite is the case. Check out the English translation (if you can find one) the next time you recite kaddish. You will be surprised to see that kaddish has nothing to do with death and everything to do with life. Kaddish is called a doxology, which is a fancy term for an extended praise of God. With the basic meaning of kaddish behind us, we can now go explore its likely origins.

Kaddish arose out of the Beit Midrash (the house of study), not the home. After a Torah Sage finished a lecture or study session, the students would rise to praise God. During the mourning period of a scholar or a student, it was customary to study in their honor, and since kaddish was the customary way to end a study session, kaddish slowly became associated with mourning as well as studying. People were reluctant to pass judgment on who was and who was not a scholar; thus, over time, kaddish became custom not just for Sages and their students, but all Jews. Over time, other forms of kaddish found their way into our liturgy. An example of this is the hetzi kaddish (the half or partial kaddish), which functions liturgically like bookends, recited at various times during traditional worship services to let the congregation know that the service is moving from one section to another. That’s a bit of “best guess” history. Now it’s time for the practical!

The Liberal/Non-Orthodox Jewish community recites kaddish under a variety of circumstances — for friends, in remembrance of communal loss, etc. Traditionally, kaddish is saved for a more specific set of mourners. The halakha (Jewish Law) around reciting kaddish is more than this article can handle. Here’s the essence: according to Jewish law, anyone who has lost a parent, sibling, child or spouse recites kaddish every day beginning with the funeral and continuing for 30 days after the death. When a parent dies, the surviving children (traditionally the sons) are to say kaddish for up to 12 months. You can recite kaddish almost anywhere, but according to Jewish law, a minyan, 10 people (traditionally, 10 men) are needed. One also recites kaddish on the anniversary (the yahrzeit) of a family member’s death, and during Yizkor services. That’s enough practical information for starters. (See the short bibliography at the end for further study.)

One last thing — why say kaddish? First, it offers us a chance to connect with our tradition and remember our loved ones. It also gives us a vehicle to mourn, and finally, there is something very Jewish and quite profound about praising life and the God of life even in death. For us Jews, that about sums up what we are all about — life! Death is part of the natural cycle of being. It hurts; we don’t have to like it, but in the end, we don’t fight it either. What do we do? We mourn, we remember, and we affirm life in spite of the pain of living and the inevitability of death.

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’meh rabah, b’almah di-ve-ra khir-uh-teh… Great and exalted is God’s name in the World that God created…

For further reading:

Saying Kaddish: How to Comfort the Dying, Bury the Dead & Mourn as a Jew,
Anita Diamant
(Nondenominational/ liberal/practical overall perspective).

The Jewish Way In Death & Mourning,
Rabbi Maurice Lamb
(Orthodox, very readable, focused primarily on the practical/Jewish Legal aspects of the subject).

Kaddish,
Leon Wieseltire
(Both a personal odyssey, and a serious, if not cumbersome, academic/theological/ historical tour de force. Not for the literary faint-hearted, but worth the trouble).

The presidential primaries are in full swing. Given the number and gravity of the challenges we face as a nation and as the world’s greatest super power, more seems to be at stake than ever before. What does Judaism have to say about the various issues and candidates? How might our tradition help us make the important choices we’ll need to make as we find our way to the ballot box this election season? Our Non-Profit status limits my ability to say much about the elections, but I can’t help but offer a few general and, I hope, helpful observations about how to view this election cycle through a Jewish lens. Please understand these are solely my opinions and do not necessarily reflect the views of Congregation Shomrei Torah.

Economic Justice

When I look at the candidates from a Jewish perspective, one of the first questions I ask myself is what will they do to try and create a more equitable economic system in our country? Judaism, while recognizing the benefits of acquiring wealth, assumes that with greater wealth comes a greater responsibility to share it with those who have less. In fact, the Hebrew word tzedaka, which is often translated as charity, is more accurately understood to mean economic justice. Given the growing gap between rich and poor and the erosion of any real safety net or effective social service network in our country, I’m looking for a candidate who will work to make our economic system more just for more Americans.

Immigration

“Loving the stranger” is a basic precept of Judaism – You shall love the stranger as yourself for you were strangers in the land of Egypt (Lev.19:34). Our tradition judges a society by how it treats the vulnerable, the weak, the insecure. Judaism is also very much concerned with workers’ rights (equitable and timely pay, safe working conditions, etc.)

Of course, respect for the law is also an essential aspect of any Jewish framework, and thus, one cannot ignore the fact that many of the millions of immigrants who are living and working in our country broke the law to get here. When I go to cast my ballot, I’ll be looking for a candidate who can balance din (strict justice) with rachamim (compassion), leading our country to a more equitable immigration policy that respects both the rule of law and the contributions and human rights of the millions of immigrants and their families living and working here.

Health Care

Pekuakh Nefesh (Saving a Life) trumps all other commandments of our tradition (Can’t you hear your Yiddisha Mama saying, “If you have your health, you have everything.”). Given the resources of our country, my Jewish lens sees access to decent, affordable health care for all Americans as a moral imperative. When I go to the polls, I’ll be asking myself which candidate is the most likely to make decent health care available to more Americans.

The Environment

I see this issue as a universal, global challenge. Judaism certainly can and does speak to environmental concerns, but it is not my Judaism but rather my membership in the global human family that will affect how I vote this election cycle. We are on the verge of an environmental catastrophe. Which candidate sees the reality of the crisis we face? Who has the guts and the conviction to lead our country and the rest of the globe to stem the tide of Global Warming, and the host of other serious and pressing environmental issues we face as a nation and as a “Global Village”?

Israel/The Middle East

As complex as the region is, my approach as a Jewish voter will be pretty simple: Who is the most likely to engage the region in pursuit of stability and peace? I will expect my candidate to support Israel and continue America’s longstanding tradition of being Israel’s number one ally in the region, but my Jewish values do not demand that Israel be the single issue that governs how I vote.

What an honor it is to be a part of the dedication of our new sanctuary. How many people can say that they had a hand in the building of a community like ours? This is truly a m’chaiya – something to live for, a dream come true.

The first synagogue ever built was the mishkan…

God commanded the people through Moses to asu li mikdash v’shakhanti b’tokham – make me a sanctuary that I shall dwell amongst them.

The Hebrew is strange – one would expect it to say, “make me a sanctuary that I may dwell in it – b’tohko! It doesn’t say that. God does not dwell in the sanctuary, God dwells in us; the sanctuary is instrumental, a means to the end, providing the space for us to experience the Divine. Dedicating the sanctuary is in essence dedicating ourselves to the highest ideals of our religion, culture, heritage & tradition, the place where God, Y-H-V-H, The Ground of All Being dwells amongst or within us – as a community. What does that mean for us?...Given that it is Chanukah… we’ll explore this question through the lens of this simple yet rich festival of light.

There are two main narratives of Chanukah – the Miracle of the Light & The Fight for religious freedom. The moment most poignant for us this late afternoon is that tense time before the Maccabees lit that single lamp, the moment of decision, “should we light it or not… should we take a leap of faith or not, should we risk failure for the promise of the future?

This is the Shomrei Torah moment…

Shomrei Torah at many steps along the way has “gone for it…” Taken a leap of faith, lit one lamp, with no idea how there would be enough oil for the rest.

The building… We could have never imagined when we started envisioning our own home that we would face such obstacles or be triumphant in so many ways. Countless times we were thwarted…yet over and over again we lit that lone lamp, took that leap of faith not knowing what the future would bring…

Not just the building…Almost every aspect of our congregational life has required some sort of leap of faith…Perhaps the most profound example is the diversity of our community and our unwavering commitment to that diversity:
• 80% of families with children have one spouse who is not Jewish
• 50% of our congregation as a whole are intermarried

The Jewish world has never known such a community but communities like ours are beginning to define the Jewish American experience…

There are risks involved for everyone – Jewish and non-Jewish spouses, their children…the whole community and there are also great rewards… Shomrei Torah is living proof that we can build an authentic, vibrant compelling Jewish community in as diverse a community as Sonoma County! That pregnant moment before they lit that first light over 2,000 years ago was and still is a Shomrei Torah moment.

We are risk takers in pursuit of a vibrant, living compelling relationship to the Tradition and Ethics of our ancestors.

We are God-seekers and God-wrestlers willing to take risks, leaps of faith, in order that our faith, culture and values may endure – not just endure but thrive! So far I have focused on the internal message of the miracle of light and our relationship to it. Let’s move now from inside the sanctuary to out in the world. The Talmud teaches that one is to light the Chanukiah in public view to publicize the miracle, except in times of danger… We’re the synagogue on the hill – we could not be more public! With this prominence comes a responsibility – to be an or l’goyim - A light unto the nations….

There is much to do – our world is broken – Tikkun Olam – seems beyond our grasp… yet, committing ourselves anew, dedicating ourselves to Tikkun Olam is in itself a leap of faith, an act of lighting a small, flickering light in a very dark world.

A little light goes a long way and that is something we must never forget no matter what the issue is – The War in Iraq, the Environment, Immigration – whatever the cause, if it is a just cause, if our Tradition demands that we respond we must be ready and willing to do so – especially up here on the hill!

The prophetic command to be an or l’goyim may seem grandiose. Or, we may not like the responsibility it entails. Let us behave as we do during Chanukah. Let us ma-alim b’kodesh, let us rise in holiness; one candle at a time, one mitzvah at a time, building light upon light, moving from strength to strength.

Now to the other narrative… the revolt against oppression and the fight for religious freedom.

Our tradition has never focused on this part of the story. The Rabbis of the Talmud, who developed the Judaism we know today, were war weary…

We too have every reason to be war weary. Nevertheless, we have a fight on our hands, not against oppression, but against assimilation.

In our Tradition, there is always a tension between the universal and the particular…We must not lose sight of the particular that makes us who we are!

The universal values of our tradition that we cherish – b’tzelem elohim (being created in God’s image), ahavta larekha kamokha (Loving your neighbor as yourself), tzedik, tzedik, tridof (the pursuit of justice)... arise out of our very particular Jewish experience.

In order to thrive as an open, welcoming, progressive, dynamic Jewish community we must constantly affirm, dedicate and rededicate ourselves to what ultimately makes us Jewish.

This is what the Assyrians attacked – our particular, tribal identity
• Kashrut
• Circumcision
• Shabbat
• Hebrew
• Connection to the Land of Israel
• Talmud Torah & of course
• Monotheism in general, etc…

Ritual is important… The universal can only arise out of our very particular Jewish experience. You decide how you want to relate to kashrut but don’t be fooled into thinking it doesn’t matter…Shabbat – as much as we have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept us… Without some sort of Shabbat consciousness ones connection to Judaism is tenuous at best! Hebrew … Hebrew is a struggle for many, and we certainly won’t all become Hebrew scholars. Still, we can’t lose sight of the symbolic and real value of Hebrew as a central historical, cultural, and religious element of Jewish life.

We may struggle with Middle Eastern politics but let us be clear; to be a Jew is to be connected to the land of Israel and the 6 million Jews that live there!

Talmud Torah – the ideal Reform Jew makes informed choices based on a deep knowledge of Jewish Tradition. No excuse for ignorance… We are an educated community often except when it comes to Jewish education! We must move beyond pediatric Judaism to the paradigm of Life Long Learning….

Judaism is a living covenant only if we bring our lives to it…

Dedicating the sanctuary is in essence dedicating ourselves to the highest ideals of our religion, culture, heritage & tradition, the place where God, Y-H-V-H, The Ground of All Being dwells amongst or within us – as a community.

God Said, Asu li mikdash v’shakhanti tocham… We have built a sanctuary. Now let us dedicate ourselves to ensuring that indeed, God does dwell amongst us.

It’s taken a while for the recent oil spill to wind its way into my psyche; 58,000 gallons of crude oil sloshing around in the Bay and up the coast as far as Point Reyes. I think I would have been ok (that is to say I could have ignored longer this ecological tragedy) if the oil hadn’t hit my favorite place in the world, Stinson Beach. For over 20 years I’ve been visiting Stinson Beach; Laura and I were married close to there (Bolinas) and our family spends Spring Break there almost every year. It’s holy ground to us and now it is sullied. And of course, while I lament what’s happened to my favorite spot, thousands of others are decrying the affects of the spill on theirs, not to mention the folks who actually live there year round, the people whose living depend on these environments or the animals dying there from the oil as I write this article!

It would be easy to point a finger far away from ourselves; to blame the crew of the tanker or the Coast Guard or the Oil Companies or any other number of other entities, and I am sure there is plenty of blame to go around, but the thing that is really getting to me right now is the fact that we are more implicit in this tragedy than we realize or want to admit. The fact is that while we may not be pouring crude oil into our respective environments, our wanton consumption of it is having a less dramatic, but equally devastating result on the environment.Just think about all the time we spend in our cars (often alone!) driving all over the place, spewing a constant stream of carbon and other toxic particles into the air.

Beyond our cars, consider all the products we use that depend on oil in some way. For example, before I started writing this, I was mulling over the ideas while soaking in our hot tub which is made out of plastic, a petroleum product! The list of oil-dependent products we rely on is endless, as are the various toxic bi-products being dumped into our environment to keep us/it all going. What this spill has made me realize is that the difference between this most recent accident (and all the others before this) and our wanton consumption is only in a matter of degrees; their negligence is plain for all to see while ours is obscured by time and distance. In each case, the result is the same; environmental degradation.

Nu… what next? The doomsday approach is not helpful. Dr. Martin Luther King did not say, “I have a nightmare!” Rather, he said, “I have a dream”. That is our first step, to take this awareness and begin to formulate a new vision of what it means to be human on earth. We can’t stop using petroleum products overnight but we can at least start envisioning a future without them. We can also start demanding that our government face the music and do the same as well. In addition, we can look to our own Tradition for inspiration and help; Torah comes in many forms and in many colors, including Green.

I was having breakfast a few weeks ago when an old friend of mine blurted out what she called ‘The No-Brainer of Reaching Out.” Instantly I asked if she had a pen, grabbed a napkin, and wrote it down—“The No-Brainer of Reaching Out.” What a great phrase for us at Shomrei Torah, especially as we settle into our new building. It really is a “no–brainer” to pick up the phone and call someone you haven’t seen for a while just to check-in. It’s just as simple as touching base with someone who you know has been on our mishaberakh list for a while. Misheberakh literally means “The One who blesses,” that is, God, and the list includes those for whom we pray during services. You can add someone to the list by simply calling the office.

It’s such a “no-brainer” to say Shabbat Shalom to a visitor and/or to walk up and introduce yourself to people sitting by themselves at services or standing alone at the back of the sanctuary during the oneg. These are all “no-brainers” but they do require an awareness of the other, a willingness to step outside of ourselves a little bit, and some courage. They are all “no-brainers” but they make such a difference to the people we reach out to and ultimately ourselves; we are always enriched when we enrich the life of someone else. These acts of hakhnasat orkhim (welcoming or reaching out to the stranger) are also mitzvot, the fulfillment of commandments, which help define us not just as nice people, but also as Jews.

I don’t remember where I picked up the phrase, “A Hermeneutics of Generosity,” but as complicated as the phrase may sound, its meaning is really simple: see the glass half full! In other words, be generous about the way you interpret (“hermeneutics” means method of interpretation) or see things.

In Hebrew this kind of approach to life is called having an ayin tov, a kindly eye. While this concept relates to all of life, here is one example specific to our community: the new building.

The new building is many things – beautiful, functional, and miraculous, particularly given the challenges we’ve faced and, despite our limited resources, what we’ve accomplished. It is in short, a dream come true, a vision fulfilled. However, Shomrei Torah at 2600 Bennett Valley Road is not perfect. There is a lot we still don’t have that we need, and some of what we do have is not yet working the way we had hoped. Like most things, it represents a negotiated compromise between needs, hopes, dreams and resources. “A Hermeneutics of Generosity” takes into account all that went into the building and focuses on what has been accomplished, not on what’s missing or not quite right. An ayin tov looks to the good and seeks to foster the positive rather than dwell on the negative.

Recently Lisa Langer, the Director of Education for The Union for Reform Judaism (URJ) in our region, came to facilitate a class at our new site. She got a tour from Billie Blumenthal, our Religious School Director, and then came to say hello to me. She hugged me so hard I could barely breath. “George, George, I can’t believe what you all have accomplished! This is unbelievable! You all must be so proud…This is AMAZING!” She didn’t need “A Hermeneutics of Generosity” to see what we sometimes lose sight of when we see “the glass” or in this case, the building, “half empty,” or not enough of what we hoped for…

Two phrases for building community: “The No-Brainer of Reaching Out” and “A Hermeneutics of Generosity.” They’re good for our community; they’re essential for our souls. They are also fundamental to Judaism and Jewish life.

So I was there when Barry Bonds hit the big one. Thanks to the generosity of a member of our community I was sitting, literally, only a stone’s throw away from home plate when he cracked it - going, going, gone! The crowd roared and I roared with them, but even as I stood there--thrilled to be even a small part of history in the making--I hesitated, if not on the outside, inside, for sure. You see, I could not help but ask myself before, during, and after the game; did he really deserve to be the homerun king? Did he really earn it? Or, was he a liar and a cheat? But in spite of my doubts, I cheered. I think more than anything I cheered for the heart of all those fans and the grace they were giving Barry, whether he deserved it or not. Not only the Giants fans, but even the Washington Nationals cheered Barry when he hit the big one. And even more moving than that was Hank Aaron’s generous words of acknowledgment. The truth is, while I really appreciate the grace and class of Hank Aaron, I don’t agree with him in as much as he says he’s moved over for Barry Bonds. Hank Aaron is still my homerun king and this is why: Barry Bonds has yet to do teshuvah of any real kind.

Teshuvah is the classic Holy Day term, the essence of the yamim noraim/the Days of Awe we are about to enter into. Teshuvah is often translated as “repentance,” but it encompasses much more than that. It comes from the root of the verb “to return” (shuv), and connotes a re-orientation back to who we truly are.

True teshuvah necessitates an admission of guilt, accepting responsibility, as well as a commitment to do ones utmost not to transgress again. How I wish Barry would do teshuvah; for himself, for his family, for his team, for his fans, for the game of baseball, and for our country, which so desperately needs a true hero, a person we can all look up to, not so much for their talent, or their wealth, but for their moral fiber: their character, grace, honesty, compassion and guts.

I try to imagine what that night would have been like if, before he smacked that ball out of the park, he had at least begun to take responsibility for his doping earlier in his career. You see, I am sure I was not the only one who was a little hesitant and held back just a little bit because I knew deep down inside it wasn’t quite right. Even so, the crowd was deafening. So, imagine if he had made a different decision that night and shot for true heroism, taking responsibility for his mistakes, triumphing over both the pitcher and his lesser nature: how that crowd would have roared. I for one would’ve yelled my guts out and then some! What a hero he would have been, what a great role model for us all. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Even so, it was a great night, a historic night, a night I will always remember, for what it was and for what it could have been.

I love Harry Potter, the books and especially the movies! I love the escape they offer, and I get great pleasure out of the fantasy that on the periphery of our world, which is pointy and sharp and unforgiving, there lies another realm, equally perilous yet brimming with a wondrous array of possibilities unimaginable for us; invisibility, cloaks, flying brooms, and numerous other magical powers. But, as much as I appreciate this escape into the magical realm of Hogwarts, the thing that is ultimately the most soothing to me is the morally black and white universe Harry Potter and crew inhabits; there is no better villain than Lord Voldermort, and Harry, even when he is going through some teen turmoil, is the paradigm of the good. In this sense, Harry Potter is no different than Star Wars, where Luke Skywalker is the archetypical hero (dressed in white no less!) and Darth Vader, evil incarnate. Given the fact that the world is anything but black and white, and that one of the greatest challenges a thinking person faces is how to live in the “grey,” it’s no wonder Harry Potter is such a welcome break for so many of us. There is nothing wrong with “taking a break” as long as we don’t confuse fantasy for reality.

Judaism’s teachings about human nature are helpful here. According to Jewish tradition, human beings are created with two basic inclinations; the yetzer hatov, the inclination toward the “good,” and, the yetzer harah, the inclination toward the “bad.” Much is lost in translation, but the basic concept is that one of the primary goals of existence is to have ones yetzer tov rule over or control our yetzer rah. The thing is, we need both inclinations to function. In fact The Rabbis of the Talmud tell a story that once, God, at their request, imprisoned the yetzer

harah. One would think that all the problems of the world would be resolved with the shutting away of the inclination to do “evil,” but there was one problem; without these basic human instincts in the mix of existence, life as we know it ended: no babies were born, no businesses were built up, nothing happened. Ironically, in the end, The Rabbis begged God to free the evil inclination so that life, the struggle to balance the multitudinous and often conflicting demands, needs and desires of existence, could resume.

Elul is here, the preparatory month prior to Tishre, the month of the Holy Days, Rosh HaShannah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Simchat Torah. In Elul we are encouraged to do what is called a heshbone hanefesh, an accounting of our soul. What have we accomplished in the year that is almost passed? Where have we failed? What do we hope to carry over into the New Year? What do we pray to leave behind? Often, if we ask these hard questions of ourselves we tend to go into “Harry Potter” mode where the necessarily grey nature of our lives becomes starkly black or white. Whether we are overly generous with ourselves or much too harsh, neither extreme is a true reflection of who we really are or a helpful mode of reflection or preparation for the Yamim Noraim, The Days of Awe, The Holy Days that lie ahead. Harry Potter may be a lot of fun, and thinking in black and white terms may be soothing, but it is in the grey of our lives were we must live if we hope to live a life renewed in the year ahead.