Responding to Sandy Hook

December 22, 2012

            Eight days have passed. There still are no words to describe the sense of loss and emptiness, of unimaginable pain, and there never will be. A hurricane or tornado takes lives, and words like ‘tragedy’, ‘random’, ‘negligent’ and ‘inexplicable’ spring to mind. Drought gives way to famine somewhere in the world, and we speak about government corruption and ineptitude. Monks set themselves on fire in Tibet, and we speak about desperation and admire their struggle against an oppressive, persecuting regime. Civilians die in Syria, and it’s far enough away that we see their deaths as the devastating but necessary cost of their fight for freedom against a butcher, son of butchers. All these are tragedies, but tragedies that almost have a purpose. But this, this has no purpose. And it’s happened before, and it will probably happen again.

            The day of the Columbine shootings, Rick Barger, the Lutheran minister in Littleton, Colorado, spent the day as a victim’s assistant. His was the first face many of the students saw as they fled the building. Thirteen years later, he still carries those teens with him. He was interviewed frequently by the press in the early days following the shooting, and, whenever people asked about where God was that day, he would say, “God took a bullet and died in halls of Columbine.” [1] That the murdered in Sandy Hook were so young, and their deaths so brutal, makes it worse.

            Though we sometimes express it in different language, Jews and Christians share the belief that each and every human being is created in the image and likeness of God.[2] The phrase, ‘image and likeness’ is more ancient than the Torah and more potent than even our sages suggest. In recent years, scholars have discerned that, ‘Image and likeness,’ is the Akkadian way of describing a manifestation of God in this world. They used the phrase to describe the icon or statue of the god placed above an altar. The innovation of our Bible is to apply that phrase, image and likeness, to each and every human being.[3] Suddenly we understand why the first commandment in the Torah is p’ru ur’vu – be fruitful and multiply. Bring children into the world, nurture children, teach them, raise them to attain their destiny, and you have made God that much more real, that much more present. No other mitzvah gets the same amount of attention; story after story in Genesis and the first part of Exodus emphasizes the point that people of faith are to value having and raising children above almost everything else. One message of the Binding of Isaac, as it is written, is that even God, who requires all sorts of sacrifices on the part of the faithful, will never, ever ask for the death of our children. If you think you’re hearing God ask for the death of a child, the Torah tells us, you are the one who is mistaken.

            So, yes, as President Obama said on Sunday night, America finds the presence of God among those adults who heroically gave their lives to try to protect the children at Sandy Hook Elementary and among the emergency workers and first responders who put their own needs aside to deal with the carnage and serve the living. Yet as after every pointless, violent death, after Sandy Hook, we are also experiencing a diminishment of God’s presence. Our sages teach in the Talmud that one who saves one life is as if he has preserved an entire world; but who causes one life to be lost is considered as if he has destroyed an entire world. These children and their teachers haven’t been called back to God; God didn’t need any more angels, nor was he protecting them from a worse future; I can’t imagine a better place for a six-year-old than a first grade classroom. Rather, they are dead because they were in the right place, at the right time, when a man came by with big guns that held far too many bullets and committed a heinous mass murder.

            I hope you’ve joined in the international effort to try to console the bereaved. Vigils and prayer services are important ways to support those who are struggling to survive traumatic loss. By all means sign condolence cards that are circulating online, send flowers and contributions and acknowledge the grief of the bereaved. Nihum aveilim – comforting the bereaved – is a central practice of hesed, of love, and an important mitzvah. It brings strength and reassurance to those who receive comfort, reward to those who give it and hope to its witnesses. Please, please comfort the grieving: just don’t stop there. Confronting this event forces us to look inwards as well – although the details of his story are still emerging and probably will never be completely clarified, the one thing we know about Adam Lanza is that he, like us, was a human being. And that should be terrifying.

            Many in recent days have pointed to the breakdown of mental health care in the United States during and since the Reagan years. Many of us know of parents who wrestle with the challenges of raising children who have psychiatric disorders that predispose them to violent and abusive behavior. The resources for education and healing simply aren’t available… at least anywhere outside of the prison system. I believe I heard Alan Chartock this week crack that the core of the problem might be that mental hospitals don’t have alumni associations to fund them.[4] Families in this congregation have been affected and continue to be affected every day by people with mental illness – few of whom are as dangerous as Adam Lanza turned out to be – but all of whom require more care than is easily available to them.

            Valuing care for those who live with mental illness requires a significant amount of compassion - sharing in the suffering of another. That’s a hard thing for many people to do with respect to people with mental illness. Our tradition offers us a way to access that compassion by placing all of us on two continua: one regarding the yetzer hara, the other regarding the yetzer hatov, both innate forces in every single individual’s personality. The yetzer hara is what motivates each of us to serve ourselves – it is selfish, demanding and wily, tricking us into choices that benefit only ourselves even when we think we are being generous and fair. And its counterpart, just as innate though it usually emerges later, is the yetzer hatov, the part of our psyche that motivates us to serve each other and the greater good. The relative strength of each varies from person to person, yet, those engaged in the spiritual life seek to teach the yetzer hara boundaries and nurture the yetzer hatov in themselves, their students and their loved ones. Each yetzer grows only to the extent that we exercise it, and each becomes less powerful as we hold it back.[5]

            We find that place of compassion when we realize that a person whose yetzer hara is dominant and yetzer hatov is deficient should not be ostracized. Rather that is exactly the person who might benefit most from repeated, sensitive attempts to grow in character. Although some small percentage of human beings might be incapable of getting there, there are many people for whom such learning is difficult but not impossible. Although our sages affirm that it is the individual’s responsibility to choose life, each of us has innumerable opportunities to influence that decision in others. People who live with mental illness – diagnosed and undiagnosed, managed and unmanaged, medicated and unmedicated – are not that different from the rest of us; neither we nor our society are exempt from responsibility.

            The scarcity of effective mental health care is, however, just one of two themes that has captured attention in the wake of the murders in Sandy Hook. Reasonable people are looking at this as the latest in a disturbing series of incidents of gun violence against the public. And in particular, we are frustrated with the easy availability of assault weapons, whose sole purpose is to enable people to kill other people, as quickly and as conclusively as possible; the accessibility of guns and ammunition, without background checks, on the web and at gun shows; the lack of computerized tracking of gun purchases; and the prevalence of high-capacity magazines in civilian homes and hands. In the context of biblical values shared by the vast majority of Americans, this risk to walking image-and-likenesses of God, is perplexing.

            But in the context of American democracy, the veneration of the second amendment and of guns is completely incomprehensible. Frontier fantasies aside, Americans don’t actually live in John Wayne movies. We don’t resolve disputes by pulling out guns; may the biggest gun win. We live in a country with laws. We resolve disputes by going to court and arguing about them, then abiding by the judge’s ruling, which, in turn, we have a right to appeal. We deal with policy issues by electing representatives to local, state and federal government office and holding them accountable. And we rely, at least in theory, on the democratic principle of one person, one vote – not the violence principle: biggest gun wins argument.

            In many quarters of our country, gun culture has strayed into idolatry. I’m not referring to people who keep one handgun in a secure gun safe to use in self-defense (though that’s probably not a rational decision, given the statistics), nor to most of the people who hunt or shoot for sport on gun ranges. However the positions taken by the NRA, the Gun Owners of America and similar groups on the primacy of the Second Amendment over every other freedom – including, apparently, the inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness – are the very definition of idolatry: the supplanting of our core values by trust in the gun.[6] Read Wayne LaPierre’s statement carefully and parse out his argument; you will find that he and his organization put their faith in guns. You won’t find that in Jewish scripture. You won’t find it in the Gospels or the Pauline letters. And it’s not the American way either.

            I actually understand how people could stake out a religious and ideological position to trust in guns; I don’t think they are monsters or aliens. Life is anxiety-provoking and unpredictable, especially when you meditate on the horrors that people commit against each other and the many ways we have created to exterminate ourselves and each other. There are many ways to cope with that uncertainty, and among the most tempting is to think there is a way we can defend ourselves against all threats and exercise complete control over our lives. There’s a reason biblical teachings on idolatry often employ the language of seduction – full control over our lives is tempting, desirable and ultimately an illusion.

Some people, overwhelmed by anxiety and fear, and seeking control, want to carry their guns everywhere – on their commute to work, to defend against an imagined road rage incident; at the office, in case a coworker gets out of control; into government buildings and courtrooms, lest a lunatic show up; and into churches and schools so that those who would think about acts of violence there will be guaranteed to get shot down first.

But just because so many have chosen this path doesn’t make it right, smart or wise. Its fallacy is in its false distinction of self from other; who’s to say that the other is the threat, and that I am not? Furthermore, no gun, no matter how powerful, works as a foolproof amulet against evil forces. Only as worshippers of idols do we, in our anxiety, turn to weapons as a sure defense against the chaos. As Americans, we ought to believe that the democratic process helps more than guns do; as people of faith, we turn our hearts to prayer, our minds to the yetzer hatov and our hands to mitzvah and acts of lovingkindness.

            We will have many opportunities to study and explore many facets of this issue over the next few months – among them will be a service in commemoration of the national Sabbath against gun violence on January 5. And we already have innumerable opportunities to take action. Hugging our children and then getting on with life without hearing some call is just not acceptable… The paralyzing illusion of powerlessness a manifestation of the yetzer hara. We need to put that voice in its place and listen instead to the yetzer hatov that insists that gratitude for our lives, there but for the grace of God, demands that we give freely of ourselves. Acting to transform our community and our society is what will bring us the greatest joy.

Please raise your hands: who contacted President Obama, Vice-President Biden, Senator Kerry, Senator-elect Warren, Representative Neal or a state legislator this week? I’ll ask that question again next week… One letter won’t be enough to keep our government, prone to inaction and gridlock, moving in the right direction. Is there anyone here who won’t write another letter in the week to come, to help keep up the momentum, attention and energy? President Obama said that the public would have to keep on top of these issues in order to keep Congress in motion; we can do this – it’s never been easier to write a Congressman than it is today. We must stand up for the principles we share, for the values that make us Jews and unite us as Americans and, in so doing, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity.

            As we reflect on how we go about finding tranquility in our unpredictable world, we hold in mind the blessing of the psalmist:

            Happy are they who find refuge in You, pathways in their hearts.

            Though they pass through the Valley of Tears,

            They regard it as a place of springs,

            As if the early rain had covered it with a blessing.[7]

            With God’s help, may our tears mingle with the tears of all the bereaved to nourish the growth of a better world.

***

I then read a prayer written by Rabbi Naomi Levy and recited the names of those murdered on Friday, December 14, in Newtown, before we continued with prayers for our country and peace.

---

[1] Rick Barger, Book Review of Jim Atwood, America and Its Guns: A Theological Exposé, The Alban Institute, 2012. www.alban.org.

[2] Genesis 1:27.

[3] See Benjamin Sommer, The Bodies of God and the World of Ancient Israel (New York, Cambridge University Press, 2009).

[4] Dr. Alan Chartock, CEO of Northeast Public Radio, local NPR station for the Berkshires.

[5] See Rabbi Ira Stone’s commentary on R. Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto, Mesillat Yesharim (Philadelphia: JPS, 2010).

[6] For more on guns and idolatry, see Rick Barger’s article and the book it reviews, cited above #1.

[7] Psalm 84:5-6.

After the Fire

I want to take a moment to thank those who have helped us out in our time of loss and need. We're just starting to figure out how to move forward, and the support of our community is sustaining, energizing and inspiring. Your embrace sustains us.

I've decided to share my sermon from last Kol Nidre in this forum; the resonances with what has just happened to us are both bizarre and meaningful.

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 There is a traditional blessing for children offered each Yom Kippur. Offered ideally with personalization to each individual child but even on its own, it cannot fail to bring tears to the eyes of a parent. The centuries-old blessing is as follows:

May your eyes look straight ahead,

Your mouth speak wisdom,

Your heart meditate with awe and wonder,

Your hands busy themselves with mitzvoth,

Your legs run to do the will of your father in heaven,

And may you be inscribed and sealed for a good, long life

Among all the people of Israel.

This blessing of the body and soul is usually accompanied by the priestly blessing – following the midrash, I propose the following rendering:

May God bless you with all that you need and protect you from anyone or anything that might take it away from you.

May God bring you enlightenment and favor in the eyes of everyone you meet.

May God transform your face into the face of the Divine, that you may bring peace to yourself, your family, your community and your world.

The sentiments of these ancient blessings, still evocative and moving, offer a language for our greatest hopes for the next generation. When life conforms to those aspirations, we receive it as a blessing, say a heartfelt thank you and give tzedaka as an expression of gratitude. But the very need for a blessing belies the fact that life, all too often, falls short of those dreams. Even for the best of us, there is sometimes no way around misfortune.

A story is told of a man, who, one year, in the hour just before Kol Nidre, was found crouched over, weeping on the floor of the synagogue. The beloved rabbi of that synagogue, none other than Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, greeted the man, who, through the tears, told him his story: “Until a few weeks ago, I had all good things, and now I am in a terrible state. Rabbi, I lived in a village, and no hungry person ever went from my door unfed. My wife used to bring home poor travelers and feed them. And then God comes along and takes my wife and my house! There I was with six small children, without a wife, without a house! Now you tell me, Rabbi, can I forgive God?”

As the weeping man continued to lament his mounting losses – his beloved, generous wife, the mother of his children, his home, his possessions, his security, his future, the man snarled the following words: “And I had a thick prayer book, and all the hymns were in it in just the right order. And that burned up along with everything else. Now you tell me, Rabbi, can I forgive God?”

Levi Yitzhak remained silent, then after a few moments, directed his students to look for a prayer book for the man, and when they found one, they brought it to the man for inspection. The weeping man looked carefully at the book, checking each page to make sure that it was exactly how it should be, as the rabbi looked on. Finally, the rabbi asked, in a soft, gentle voice, “Do you forgive Him now?”

“Yes,” said the man.

At that moment, Levi Yitzhak ascended the bima and began the prayers of Yom Kippur.

Even after soul-shattering loss, the weeping man found healing in being listened to and in the words and feel of the prayers of his ancestors in his hands. One small hint that there was still order in the world ended this round of the emotional spiral of grief and began again the discovery of faith and hope. The most important question of the weeping man turned out not to be exactly, “Can I forgive God?” to which the unspoken answer was, “It’s not up to God – it’s up to you.” Instead the Rebbe heard the question of the weeping man as, “Having lost so much, how can I move forward?” The rebbe and the community provided the answer, not as much through words as through presence and support.

          Even when our suffering is not quite as extreme as that of the man huddling in the corner of Levi Yitzhak’s synagogue, some of us find ourselves offering songs of alienation, frustration, betrayal, anger and despair. I hear these notes sounded in many a hospital room, in homes where shiva is being observed, when someone comes to my office suddenly in dire straits. Some of us enjoy lives without these emotions for years on end and are surprised when finally besieged; others have lived in light of them for decades. We have a lot to lose. Loss of a loved one, good health, a job, a home, a future, a marriage, youth, or a dream… Any loss can elicit another verse of the song of grief. Usually the community, given the opportunity, responds in chorus by listening and offering an embrace. Still, grief comes in waves, and healing takes patience, hope and time.

         

Many of the prayers of Yom Kippur speak about the experience of living through the suffering of self and others. In just a few minutes, for example, we will be singing one of the most heart-wrenching poems of the High Holy Day season, one that tackles the question of the origin of the trials we face.

כי הנה כחמר ביד היוצר

We are like clay in designer’s hand,
As he wills—to contract, as he wills—to expand,
So are we in your hand to lovingly define

The poem, with its many stanzas and metaphors, yields multiple interpretations. Some focus on the way the poem presents human beings as dependent on a divine Designer and hoping for only gentle shaping. Still others note the division of responsibility between Designer and clay – God and individual. Like a loving parent, the designer skillfully shapes and molds, expands and contracts, lengthens and cuts short. At the same time, the composition and consistency of the clay make a big difference in the quality of the pot that will emerge.

          Yet there is a third force involved in pot-making besides clay and potter. M.C. Richards points to it as she writes, “The potter does everything that he can do.  But he cannot burst into flame and reach a temperature of 2300 degrees Fahrenheit for a period varying from eight hours to a week and harden plastic clay into rigid stone, and transform particles of silica and spar into flowing glaze… He can only surrender his ware to the fire, listen to it, talk to it, so that he and the fire respond to each other’s power, and the fired pot is the child.”

Richards reminds us that the significant relationship that yields a pot has not two parties but three: clay, potter and fire, each essential to the finished product. We are the clay. The potter, the Creator, shapes us in God’s image with love but cannot complete the task. It is, instead, life in the blazing fire of this world hardens us and takes the final role in the transformation of clay into pot. We have control over neither Creator nor fire. And so, the practice of Yom Kippur, while encouraging us to reflect on our origins and our journey, focuses our attention on how we respond to our God-given nature, as well as the things that happen to us. It challenges us to develop our character so that we can better survive the fire and emerge transformed in the image of our Creator.

There are many ways in which our tradition conceptualizes this journey. Our prophets, our sages and in many cases our closest friends and wisest family members phrase it differently. As we studied on Rosh Hashana, our literature is replete with questions that spur discussion of how the clay can become the best possible pot or vase: “What does Adonai your God ask of you?” “Who may ascend the Mountain of Adonai?” “What will we be asked on the Day of Judgment?” Humbly we note that none of the short lists that result speak about daring one-time achievements; rather all are inventories of how we should live with some combination of character traits that include but are not limited to a strong and keen sense of justice, personal integrity, careful speech, fairness in relationships, humility, openness to insight and hope.

          Among the most pointed guidance about how to live comes by way of Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, the 18^th century teacher who advocated character development as key to Jewish living. Like the poet of the mahzor, Luzzatto teaches life’s central challenge by way of a mechanical metaphor. He holds that we naturally connect with the transcendent like iron to a magnet but that sometimes encounter barriers that interfere with the attraction. Sometimes those barriers come from outside– things that others do to us or that happen to us – and sometimes they are barriers we leave up or even erect ourselves. Luzzatto’s advice is clear yet nuanced: “An individual should prevent his soul from being held captive by things which hinder the realization of nearness to God.”

Luzzatto reminds us that sometimes we get stuck in the wrong places, places that keep us from recognizing just how close we are to connection, hope and faith. Luzzatto isn’t telling us not to feel those emotions – such advice would be counter-productive, never mind insensitive. Instead, he is encouraging us not be held captive by them. Pain, anxiety, suffering, anger, sadness and despair separate us from each other and interfere with our sense of connectedness. They are ever-present, a product of human nature and the lives we lead. They are barriers that rise and fall, thicken and thin over the course of our lives. But they are not necessarily the limit of our destiny. How we prepare for, interpret and ultimately respond to these barriers, however, is entirely up to us.

The Book of Elijah (23), a tenth century collection of midrash, reiterates this message to keep our head in the game, to actively set our course and not just roll with where life takes us. It reminds us to always see ourselves as heirs to our biblical ancestors, who, in the face of adversity or perhaps because of it, continued to do good deeds and engage with God. No matter what challenges arise, no matter how much primordial chaos enters our lives through our exposure to fire of this world, every one of us is ultimately called to internalize and reiterate a central message of Torah: For my sake was the world created. Although we are entitled to time to heal and figure out how to recover from setbacks, we are not to acquiesce and surrender to the current of our lives.

This midrash, like the prayers of this sacred day, motivates us to think about the extent to which we allow our kishkes to lead us through life, even when there are better choices. Do we stay remain behind barriers like sadness, righteous anger, betrayal and alienation, or can we transcend them? When we enter the fire, as we must, are we oblivious to or even complicit in our own destruction? Or will we, over time, be transformed into vessels more resilient, more empathetic, and ultimately more inspiring?

To accept barriers as our destiny and then deny responsibility for that choice, says the midrash, is to walk the path of the fool. Yet, as author Dani Shapiro reminds us, there is great potential in keeping our wits about us, in choosing our path even as we live in the fire. She tells the following story:

My Aunt Shirley lives in a stately home on a tree-lined street in Brookline, Massachusetts, where the phone never stops ringing. She is a mother of four, grandmother of sixteen, great-grandmother of forty-five and counting. Recently widowed, she had just put her home on the market when, during a visit to a daughter in Chicago, a pipe burst, flooding several floors full of antiques and artwork. A significant part of that elegant home had been —turned, in her words, into “a barn.” So she had just begun the process, arduous for anyone much less an octogenarian, of filing insurance claims and rebuilding her home.

“Come in, darling!” She swept me into what had once been her living room. “It’s a mess, isn’t it? But look how lucky we were. None of Uncle Moe’s books were damaged.”

I looked at her. “Lucky?” I thought, “This wouldn’t have been my definition of lucky.”

“I was just writing a letter to the insurance company,” she went on to say. “I wanted to let the president of the company know how wonderful his people have been to me.”

I watched my aunt, beautiful, beaming, lit from within.

          Life happens; be it flood or fire, bereavement or betrayal, trial is an inevitable part of being a human being - a pot in the hands of the potter, hardened in the kiln of this world. What happens to the formed lump of clay, how it will respond to the flames, relies some on the practiced technique of a loving potter and some on the nature of the flame. But so much depends on the character of the clay, though sometimes it feels like nothing more than dust mixed with water.

          Let’s get our part right this year.

Let's Be Stubborn?

The post-golden calf conversation between Moses and God ends with a promise from God to walk with the people and forgive them, though they have committed a grievous sin. But Moses, in soliciting the Divine Presence, uses an argument that might work one of two ways. The verse is Exodus 34:9:

ויאמר אם נא מצאתי חן בעיניך א-דני ילך נא א-דני בקרבנו כי עם קשה ערף הוא וסלחת לעוננו ולחטאתנו ונחלתנו:

(Moses) said: “If I have gained Your favor, Adonai, pray, let Adonai go in our midst, (כי) this is a stiffnecked people. Pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for your own.”

The Medieval Spanish commentator Ibn Ezra renders the problematic preposition כי twice over: “Rabbi Marinus teaches, ‘even though they are a stiffnecked people.’… But by my reckoning, … ‘I admit that it is a stiff-necked people, and you will forgive.’” The second approach, disconnecting the phrases from each other, gives no moral valence to being stiff-necked. However the New Jewish Publication Society translation of the Torah picks up on the first approach – Moses’ argument is, “Even though they are a stiff-necked (i.e. stubborn, tenacious) people, please walk in their midst.” For Ibn Ezra, being stiff-necked is clearly not something the Israelites would have posted on their J-Date profile. Indeed that very phrase, kishinu oref/we have been stiff-necked, features prominently and repeatedly in the list of transgressions in the confessional prayers of Yom Kippur.

            However, Ramban, commenting on this verse, takes an opposite tack. He writes, “The meaning of this verse is as it is written: God will walk in their midst because they are a stiff-necked people.” For Ramban, Moses is presenting the Israelites’ stubbornness as something attractive to a prospective deity. What’s so alluring about their behavior? Avivah Zornberg (The Particulars of Rapture, Ki Tisa) suggests that the Israelites dancing around the calf are not so much forgetting Sinai as remembering the style of hundreds of years of worship and divine service they’ve witnessed and participated in for generations. If the Israelites as a people are so tenacious about maintaining their ancestral ways, argues Moses, then once they figure out the whole monotheism/Jewish worship idea, they are never going to let go of it.

            Is Jewish stubbornness a virtue? Has it served God well in the covenantal relationship with the Jewish people? Listen to Martin Luther rant about Jewish tenacity in his anti-semitic screed, On the Jews and their Lies.

It is not my purpose to quarrel with the Jews, nor to learn from them how they interpret or understand Scripture; I know all of that very well already. Much less do I propose to convert the Jews, for that is impossible…

They have failed to learn any lesson from the terrible distress that has been theirs for over fourteen hundred years in exile. Nor can they obtain any end or definite terminus of this, as they suppose, by means of the vehement cries and laments to God. If these blows do not help, it is resonable to assume that our talking and explaining will help even less…

We propose to discuss their argument and boast, and prove convincingly before God and the world - not before the Jews, for, as already said, they would accept this neither from Moses nor from their Messiah himself - that their argument is quite empty and stands condemned.

Apparently Moses, as understood by Ramban, was quite right to suggest that our tenacity would make us particularly suited to and passionate about the way of life we know as Torah and Mitzvah.

Being stiff-necked, it turns out, is both something to regret on Yom Kippur and something to celebrate about our people’s culture and character. Our inherited resistance to new ideas protects us from the fad of the hour or the year; yet it can also impede our taking the next step. When we get stubborn in foolish ways, we end up building golden calves, ‘sacred cows’, if you will, that then impede us in small-minded ways from reaching our potential. However, when we get stubborn about the right things, we give life to our people’s tradition of the search for meaning even as we embrace our own potential. We’ve heard the fourteenth century sage Ramban tell us that our tenacity is precisely why God chose us to receive the path of Torah, why God chose to walk in our midst after the Golden Calf incident. Once we sink our teeth into something, when times get challenging, we hold on tight.

It’s important to check in now and again – as individuals and as a community – about what we choose to be stubborn about and what we’re just giving in for want of energy or passion. Are we sufficiently stiff-necked about being a supportive, tightly knit yet welcoming community? About being treating each other with decency and respect? About providing a quality Jewish education for the next generation? About living not just for our own comfort but also in the service of the other, and of the greater good? The places we’re most stubborn say a great deal about who we are and what we care most about.

Over the coming few weeks, you will begin to hear about a number of areas of communal life that will benefit from a good infusion of stiff-necked people (or, if you prefer, a solid dose of Jewish tenacity). We’re going to have to talk about invigorating minyan after two regular attendees (one of whom drove others to services) passed away this winter and another has been injured; about finding ways for intensive Jewish education to persist in Pittsfield even as the community’s day school is in financial straits; about redoubling our efforts to support the Jewish Federation of the Berkshires and thereby head off damaging cuts to services provided; about those who are able transcending what’s comfortable and embracing new leadership roles in our community.

The people of Knesset Israel and the Jews of the Berkshires have repeatedly accomplished important goals by coming together in creative, focused ways to build community. We didn’t get this far by impulsively letting go of what’s most important to us. Let’s challenge ourselves to be stiff-necked and stubborn in the right ways, so that we can continue to welcome God’s presence into our midst.

New Introduction to Judaism Course Beginning This Spring at KI

What is essential to understanding Judaism as an adult? Are there particular concepts, values, facts and events? Are there particular books an educated Jew ought to know of, to have read in part or in their entirety? How does an individual become comfortable in synagogue services? At a seder table? At a celebration of Israeli culture?

            Knesset Israel’s Introduction to Judaism course will consist of 21 classes, each with a particular theme, encompassing themes of Jewish identity, sacred books, Jewish time, Jews in America, ethics and values, lifecycle and medieval and modern Jewish history. This accessible course is especially suitable for interfaith couples looking for understanding, individuals considering conversion and inquisitive people who have not participated in Jewish education since childhood. The class assumes that most participants will be new to Jewish education and welcomes all who are interested in broadening their Jewish experience as adults.

Taught primarily by Judith and Rabbi David Weiner, classes will incorporate dynamic activities to pique participants’ interest and maximize their learning. While some will choose to register for all 21 classes, each class will be open to the community for general enrollment. Classes will meet on Sunday mornings, 10:10-noon and babysitting will be available from 10-12.

            The Sunday morning schedule will be as follows:

           

8:45-9:30 a.m. – Pathways of Prayer Learners’ Service (Library)

            9:30-10:10 a.m. – Breakfast (Social Hall)

            10:10 – Introduction to Judaism Class (Social Hall).

Class will vary in length but always end before noon.

           

If you are interested in signing up for part or all of the class or have questions, please contact Chris Kelly-Whitney in the Knesset Israel office. Upon registration, participants will be offered a reading list to enhance their experience of the class, as well as access to class materials via the congregation’s website.

            Registration in advance of class is required so that we can prepare appropriate lessons. Substantial work and time is going into the preparation of materials for this course. Knesset Israel suggests a donation be made by students – $10 for each session per household or $100 for the series.

Class Schedule (Subject to Change)

Date	Title
April 22, 2012	Introductions/Jewish Perspectives on God
April 29, 2012	Tanakh - Bible
May 6, 2012	Ancient Jewish History & Literature
May 20, 2012	Rabbinic Literature in its Historical Context
June 3, 2012	Halakha: An Overview of Jewish Law/Shavuot
June 24, 2012	The Jewish Calendar
July 1, 2012	Shabbat: A Palace in Time
July 8, 2012	Prayer: Structure, Nature & Music of Jewish Worship
July 15, 2012	The Services of Shabbat: Making Sense of the Siddur
July 22, 2012	Medieval Jewish History
July 29, 2012	Anti-Semitism, The Shoah (Tisha B’av; no breakfast)
August 5, 2012	Zionism & The Modern State of Israel
August 12, 2012	Jewish Values Roundtable I
August 19, 2012	Kashrut, Medical Ethics, Jewish Values Roundtable II
August 26, 2012	Days of Awe
September 9, 2012	Jews in America/Four Streams of Contemporary Judaism
September 30, 2012	Women & Judaism/Season of Joy
October 14, 2012	Lifecycle: Early Life, Midlife
October 21, 2012	Lifecycle: Late Life, Jewish Thoughts on Afterlife
October 28, 2012	Passover: As if You Came out of Egypt
November 4, 2012	Hannuka, Conclusions