Tekiah Gedolah

Still recovering from my post Yom Kippur gluttony, I awoke early to read the New York Times and came upon an article on Mark Zuckerberg and Marc Benioff, two Jewish techno-billionaires, blowing the Shofar. The digital version of the article featured a video of the Zuckerberg, in his ubiquitous long-sleeve tee shirt, blowing the shofar at home while an unseen child wailed in the background.  (https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/17/style/marc-zuckerberg-blowing-shofar.html)

Like the Shofars (Shofarim? Shofarot?) used in my synagogue during recent High Holyday services, Zuckerberg’s Shofar appeared to be approximately four-feet long, it’s length far exceeding the length of his left arm which held it in place. At our synagogue, we had four men (although I do not believe any of them were techno-billionaires) with equally elongated Shofars serenading us with Tikiahs, Shivarims, and Truahs from different parts of the sanctuary.  The coordinated blowing was orchestrated to create a dramatic impact on the Rosh Hashanah worship. Unfortunately, it also confused the more senior members of the congregation.  All around me, octogenarians were seen adjusting their hearing aids. 

My friend Sandy turned to me and commented “I don’t remember Shofars being so long”.  Certainly, that was my memory.  Shofars used to be of the 10-inch variety, carved with small notches along their edges. Shofars today all seem to be in the 3 – 4-foot helix variety - far cries from the diminutive size of our youths. 

What also seems to have become elongated is the “T’kiah G’dolah” – the final blast of the Shofar in each cycle on Rosh Hashanah and at the end of Nelah, the concluding service on Yom Kippur.  In my synagogue, it is not unusual for the T’kiah G’dolah to last 30 seconds or more, causing the blower’s face to turn a brilliant shade of red.  I am concerned that one of them will have an aneurysm.

While I recognize that, to paraphrase, Freud, ‘sometimes a shofar is just a shofar’, to my thinking, the growth of elongated shofars and the final blasts of T’Kiah G’dolah, marks the rise of “Macho Judaism”, where men demonstrate their virility and alpha dominance, within the of context our Jewish rituals.  These are, in fact, “the Days of Awe”.

Another demonstration of Macho Judaism seems to be the “Hagbai” clean and jerk.  Each year select men are called upon to demonstrate their vitality by lifting the Torah after the reading has been completed.  The contestants demonstrate their strength and skill by seeing how many sections of the Torah they can unravel before the lift.  I believe the requirement is three, but, this never seems to suffice.  Seven or eight will ensure a positive murmur.  I do admire these kosher strong men but also worry that a slight misstep will require all of us to fast for 40 days.  I have nightmares of unrelenting caffeine withdrawal headaches. During these moments during the service, I was contemplating the need for a new pharmaceutical product “Jewagra”, to enable men to keep their horns and scrolls aloft longer.  Jars of Alex Jones’s “Super Male Vitality” supplements might also do the trick.  I added an additional “Al Chet” (“For the Sin”) for these wayward thoughts. 

My synagogue is fully egalitarian, and women participate in all aspects of the service.  But, in the 12 years I have been a member (and, perhaps, for the 60 years or so I have been attending synagogues), I have never seen a woman called to blow the shofar or lift the Torah.  Women in our country join the Marines, are fighter pilots and serve as police officers and firefighters around the world.  One would think they have the capacity to blow a shofar and lift a Torah.

The High Holy Days have passed, and Sukkot is upon us.  Around the world, Jewish men will be hoisting long stalks of bamboo atop our booths.  At our synagogue, the men will sanctify the holiday with “Cigars and Scotch in the Sukkah”. While I admire the alliteration, as a non-meat eater and non-smoker, I will demure. Don’t get me started on the Lulav.  Sometimes a palm frond is just a palm frond.   

Response to My Uncle Myron on the Book of Job

Monday, September 3, 2018

Dear Uncle Myron,

I read and reread your wonderful essay on the Book of Job several times.  Some personal reflections:

It seems to me that the question is not “why bad things happen to good people”, but “why things happen”.  My mom used to frame this existential dynamic in her own words: “It is because it is”. I never saw these words as defeatist or fatalistic, but rather and acceptance that things just happen.  Life isn’t planned and can’t be predicted. “Man plans, God laughs”.

Like many, I have faced difficult, painful experiences (although not quite Jobian). My father’s illness and death, at a time in my life when I was just beginning to make sense of things, was profoundly painful – and the pain had a half-life far longer than I could have imagined.  Fourteen years after his death, when we learned that Jo was pregnant with our first son, my sadness arose like some mythical demon.  In the moment, it was unrecognizable and undefinable.   As I wrote in an essay 13 years ago, when Jacob was diagnosed with significant developmental challenges: “Compounded by the unresolved mourning for my father and by the memories of ongoing loss, my bereavement over my son’s autism was overwhelming.  It was exponential sadness and I was rendered helpless.’

On the day we buried my father I was engulfed with sadness and pain. And when Jacob was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder the emotional devastation was unbearable.  

In those moments, both upon the death of my father and the discovery of Jacob’s developmental challenges, had I been able to look into the future, and, perhaps, see time and space as God does, I would have seen myself standing under the Chupah with Jo at my side, and Uncle Myron looking at us lovingly.  I would have watched from above as I stood in awe at the birth of my children and at my granddaughter’s Simchat Bat.  I’d picture myself pushing Alya, Nomi and Jacob in a swing, reading them books and playing with them on the floor.  I would have seen Jacob returning from his year in Israel and walking across the auditorium stage to be handed his college diploma. I would have seen myself playing with Bina and experiencing a greater joy than I thought was possible.

Of course, in moments of profound sadness, none of us have the gift of future vision.  But, we can engage in it retroactively; I can look back and see the death of my father and other struggles I have faced in the context of my life and all the blessings I have been given.  I can also look back and understand that these pains and these hardships were essential elements of the framing of who I have become.  In my essay about my dad’s passing and Jake’s autism I wrote: “Time doesn’t heal all wounds, it’s how you choose to spend your time that can heal wounds.  

How many of us are blessed to see our children’s children? Ad kama v’kama (how much more so), our children’s children’s children.  Here is another question: How many of us have had the blessing of being a spiritual guide, a friend, a teacher, a mentor and role model to thousands of people?  How many of us can say that we have made the world a better place?  I’d like to think that I have done a fraction of this – and I’d like to think that I have done a fraction of what you have done. 

Certainly, I was not able to see or comprehend this in the immediate days following my father’s death. But, had I, in those days, been able to see the fullness of my life and the blessings that God would, one day, bestow on me; a wonderful wife, children, grandchildren, dear friends and a belief that I have been a force for good, I might have, in concert with all the divine beings, “shouted for joy” (Job 38:7)

“Then the Lord replied to Job out of the tempest” (Job 38:1).  Each of us will face times when our lives are in tempest.  And in the midst of these whirlwinds of profound sadness and pain, when our lives seem shattered and in turmoil, how will God speak to us?  What will God say? Will we be able to hear God? Perhaps, this is the understated lesson of Job; in the midst of our personal tempest, listen for the voice of God. Perhaps that voice can only be heard, truly heard, out of the tempest.  Exodus 19:16: "And it came to pass on the third day, when it was morning, that there were thunders and lightnings and a thick cloud upon the mount." A tempest, no?

Perhaps it is of little comfort to those who have suffered or who are facing suffering, but, to an extent, I wonder if one can truly feel love and joy in their fullest if they have not also been able to experience pain and heartbreak. Here’s another line I wrote over ten years ago that I like: “I have learned the hard way, but perhaps the only way, that memories, and generations of memories, of life, love and loss can provide us with great potential and great strength.  If we can face the sadness and the hurt that lies in our memories we can also find the passion to pursue and, hopefully, find hope, joy and love”.

This may be my favorite line in your essay: “You may not find an “answer, but you will be comforted to know your question is real, authentic and Biblical.”   “Theodicy, to justify the workings of a good God in the face of evil.  It is an ongoing and ever-renewing problem, with no easy answer.”  Easy answers to difficult and painful questions are rarely satisfying and, most often, not helpful.  It is the hard-earned answer, borne by struggle, by devotion, by wrestling with angels that are both sustaining and definitional.  The path to leading a meaningful life in the context of suffering and pain must be a personal one and each individual’s life answer must be sui generous.  Perhaps the import of the search for answers far outweighs the answers themselves. And perhaps, among all the great lessons I have learned from you, this is the most meaning and impactful.

With love, respect, admiration, and devotion,

We All Need More Bina

"How much better is it to get wisdom than gold! and to get understanding (Bina) rather to be chosen than silver.” Proverbs 16:16

One of my favorite Jewish jokes speaks of the difference between the Jewish pessimist and the Jewish optimist.  Says the Jewish pessimist: “Things are terrible, they can’t get any worse.”  Says the Jewish optimist: “Things are terrible, but they can always get worse.”  Thus, my reaction to the current national and geopolitical dynamic along with growing climate instability is that it is hard not to be a Jewish optimist, comforted, in our uniquely Jewish way, that everything can always get worse.

In an era where there is so much that is troubling and frightening, we all need more Bina. In Hebrew, Bina means “wisdom”, however, in Jewish tradition, ‘Bina’ goes beyond knowing – it is knowledge based on understanding, tempered by contemplation and reflection. It is knowing how to employ all we have learned with thoughtfulness and framed with humanity.  Linguistically, ‘Bina’ is linked to boneh or l’vnot – builders and the act of building.  Thus, we learn that to truly have Bina, our knowledge must be built and built collectively.  Conversely, we cannot build a society and a world of purpose and of values without Bina.

I am struck that, in a number of African languages, “Bina” means to sing and to dance, as well as the quality of freshness.  In Hindi, Bina is a musical instrument.  And, again, in the context of today’s challenges, we all need to sing and dance more and seek the qualities of newness and freshness in ourselves and in others. 

This summer, our family was blessed by the arrival of Bina Mazal

– Jo and my first grandchild, daughter of Keith and Nomi Adams, and niece to Alya and Jacob.

Neith, Nomi and Bina

My daughter Nomi spoke beautifully at the Simchat Bat:

“I can understand her desire to stay in. For her last couple of months in there, she was getting a steady supply of pizza bagels and chocolate ice cream, and the outside world seems like a pretty scary place right now. There’s a lot to be afraid of. I would be lying if I said that I had no worries about raising a child in our current times. There are so many unexplainable things going on that she’s going to want to be explained to her, so many changes we need to work for. But at the same time, that’s what’s exciting about bringing a new life into the world. We have the opportunity to raise a woman who will hopefully be kind and caring, who will work for change, who will fight for what she believes in, and who will love as much as we love her. 

I cannot be more proud of my daughter Alya, who said:

“For Bina, I wish the same things for you that I wished for your mother before she had you. I wish you joy and I wish you love.

I wish you curiosity. The desire to explore the world and to learn new things and meet new people 

Alya and Bina

and hear new ideas, secure in the knowledge that you have this family and home and community always waiting and supporting you.

I wish you grace. In this world of increasing uncertainty and unkindness, I hope you walk through life leaving peace in your wake. I hope you bring light to those around you.

And of course, to echo your name, I wish you wisdom and I wish you luck. The wisdom to listen to all sides and come to the right choice.”

Finally, I share my wonderful son-in-law Keith’s, words: “So, with this name, may our daughter be grounded in her self-determination and may she also find her way to respect and protect our ultimate collective inheritance -- this earth and its inhabitants, one and the same, engaged in a unity for peace.”

Jake and Bina

At a time of great change and challenge, all of us will benefit from curiosity, the desire to explore, and the support of others.  We will benefit from grace and the wisdom to listen to all sides and make the right choices.  We share the responsibility to raise children and to elevate ourselves to be kind and caring, to work for change, fight for what we believe in, and love and be loved. Let us all find the way to respect and protect our ultimate collective inheritance -- this earth and its inhabitants, one and the same, engaged in a unity for peace.

Now is not the time for optimism or pessimism, Jewish or otherwise.  Now is the time for Bina.

My fondest regards to you, your family and your friends for a Shanah Tovah U’mitukah – a happy, healthy and sweet New Year.

Reflections of Jerusalem - 2016

The Road

In the midst of my recent studies at the Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, a dear friend emailed me to enquire about the reaction of Israeli citizens to the UN Security Council resolution condemning Israel’s continued building of settlements in the occupied territories and East Jerusalem, and the United States’ delegate’s failure to veto the measure.  The truth was that I did not have a clue.

For much of my ten days in Israel I was cloistered within the secure walls of the Harman Institute and isolated from all external distractions.  There, using ancient and modern Jewish text sources as our road maps and guided by remarkable educators, we delved into the complexities of Israel, politics, society and culture.

On those days when my wife Jo and I did have opportunities to venture out to the streets of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv we found ourselves being audibly assaulted by the noise of taxi cabs and cars blaring horns at those with the audacity and the incompetence to dawdle at the changing traffic light a millisecond too long.  Israeli drivers all seem to be possessed by the immediacy of getting somewhere fast, and thus, seem to have little sense of the need to coexist peacefully with others on the road. Further, both drivers and pedestrians seemed to be fully engrossed in animated conversations with their smart phones or consumed by some essential message on the screen.  Walking the crowded sidewalks became an exercise akin to slalom skiing as we navigated individuals or groups of Israelis seemingly encapsulated within their individual worlds.   Whether their immersion in digital communications is the cause or the effect, ambulators in Israel seem to have little awareness that there are others with whom they share the sidewalks.

Perhaps this is the best way to describe Israelis’ reaction to the UN Security Council resolution.  Israel has places to go; it is consumed by getting to where it needs to be and encapsulated within its own reality. The machinations of this far-off international body have little valence in their daily lives.  The UN has long lost its relevance in the eyes of Israelis and another anti-Israeli resolution is no surprise. Get out of our way, we are on the move, we have places to go.

Sufganiot

Hanukkah, the victory of Maccabee freedom fighters over the tyrannical rule of the Syrians, is, in many ways, the adopted victory narrative of the people of Israel. Glowing menorahs encased in transparent frames line the alleyways of the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem, creating a warm mystical glow as it reflects off the Jerusalem stones. In the streets and in the cafes and restaurants of West Jerusalem where hip young Israelis linger to drink expressos and café afuch (lattes), sufganiot, jelly donuts, appear to be the currency of Hanukkah. The appellation “Jelly donuts” is a misnomer or misinterpretation as there seems to be no limit to what Israelis will inject into fried dough on Hanukkah; jelly for sure, but also chocolate, marzipan, mocha and hazelnut cream.  The list goes on.  On Hanukkah, a panoply of beautifully decorated sufganiot lines the stalls of Machane Yehuda and the shelves of the bakeries and cafes of West Jerusalem.

If there is a metaphor to associate with sufganiot in Israel it is this: We will take our past, our narrative, and embrace it, embellish it, make it our own. And with great joy and delight, we will consume it; rather than be consumed by it.

Cranes

Everywhere you look in Jerusalem there are cranes, construction sites and detours caused by roads being dug up and widened.  The new light rail on Jaffa Road in Jerusalem is a marvel and a delight.  A comparable system is being built in Tel Aviv and the Jerusalem light rail is scheduled to be expanded.  The high-speed train from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem is under construction.  Scheduled to be completed in 2018, it will traverse the distance between ancient and modern cities in 28 minutes.  It seems as if almost every block in Jerusalem hosts construction of a new, multi-story residence; coming soon, luxury flats beginning at 3,500,000 NIS.

One could argue that Jerusalem has not seen a comparable building boom since the days of Herod’s rule 2,000 years ago. The stones of the Herod’s magnificent temple lie in ruined heaps till today.  What must Israel learn from its history?

Tribes

On a beautiful Thursday morning, Keith, my new son-in-law, and I took a lovely stroll through the remarkably quiet and peaceful alley ways of Yemin Moshe, the artist colony that links the old and new cities of Jerusalem.  As we discussed the diverse tribes of modern day Israel (Hartman speak) Haredim, Religious Zionist, secular Jews, Israeli Arabs, Palestinians, Druse, Greek Orthodox, Armenian, Roman Catholic, Russian Orthodox and then some, Keith, who was visiting Israel for the first time, enquired as to how the different groups related to one-another.  My response was that, by and large, they do not, rather they seem to live in parallel universes.  Walking through the Jaffa Gate and down the stone steps of the Shuk one spies Haredim rushing to daven at the Kotel, Arabs hawking wares to tourists, Christian priests from an array of countries and denominations, all swimming in a sea of tourists.   From my perspective, there seems to be little sense that they are co-inhabitants of the same nation.  Perhaps they are not. 

East Jerusalem

The week of the Hartman Seminar was particularly chilly by Jerusalem standards and the day we took our long Tiyul (excursion) was blustery and cold.  Wrapped in layers we boarded the bus to travel with Yossi Klein-Halevy to trace the steps of the IDF paratroopers, portrayed in his book Like Dreamers, in the battle to liberate the Old City of Jerusalem in 1967.  As I write, I recognize that, in this context, the term “liberate” has significant political implications.  It is certainly not the term the Arab and Palestinian occupants of East Jerusalem and the Old City would choose.  It is not a term acceptable at the United Nations or by the majority of the world’s nations.  However, as a Jewish teenager who followed the Six Day War from a television screen in Bayside, New York, liberation was a deficient appellation for the profound miracle that had taken place.  Fifty years later, the term seems far less unambiguous.  The full title of Klein Halevy’s book reflects an element of this ambiguity: “Like Dreamers: The Story of the Israeli Paratroopers Who Reunited Jerusalem and Divided a Nation”.  One could also add, “caused Israel to become a pariah among many of the world’s nations”, and “challenged Israel’s capacity to be both a Jewish and a democratic state.”

Alighting from the bus, we began our tour directly across from what was, until, 1967, the barrier between Israel and Jordan and now reflects the unseen barrier between West and East Jerusalem.  We followed the footsteps of the paratroopers. We learned that, challenged by the lack of adequate maps, Israeli forces took a wrong turn onto the heavily defended Nablus Road where they faced fierce resistance and suffered significant casualties. 

We boarded the bus and headed up to the Mount of Olives from where Motta Gur, commander of the 55^th Paratroopers Brigade, led his troops through the Lions Gate.  There he spoke words that have become immortalized in Israeli lore “The Temple Mount is in our hands!" (Hebrew: !הר הבית בידינו‎‎, Har HaBayit BeYadeinu!). We ended our tiyul by walking through the Lions Gate, down the Via Delarosa, then a left to the Kotel, the Western Wall, where a small group of Haredi rabbis were lighting a huge Hanukkah menorah.

For most of the participants in the tiyul this was their first foray into East Jerusalem. Terrorism has made East Jerusalem dangerous territory for Jews. For the Hillel veterans on the bus the tour was a return to places we visited freely in our younger days. I still recall walking with my cousin Jeremy (now Rabbi Fenster) to “The Golden Chicken” a Palestinian restaurant on Sal-a-din Street, exploring the streets around the Damascus Gate and visiting the Rockefeller Museum on Sultan Suleiman Street.  We would not consider similar excursions today.

In Jerusalem, there are places one no longer visits. Perhaps this can be said of any major city, anywhere in the world. I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for 4 years in the 1970’s.  At that time, the safety of the neighborhood was measured block by block.

The difference is the underlying nature of the danger. On the Upper West Side of the 70’s it was thievery and greed. In East Jerusalem, it is fierce anger and raw malice. It is hopelessness and despair.

Today in Jerusalem

Today in Jerusalem a Palestinian man rammed a truck into a group of Israeli soldiers, killing four and wounding fifteen.  The attack took place in the Armon Hanatziv neighborhood, near a beautiful promenade that offers a magnificent overlook of the ancient city of Jerusalem. I have walked along this promenade and the lovely garden pathways nearby.  I have marveled with delight at the beautiful and ancient city before me. Generations of my ancestors have gazed at the city from this very spot. “On the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off.” (Genesis 22:4).

A place of such great spirituality and the locus of such pain.  How many have died; how many have suffered for this “City of Peace”? “Most of the slain were peaceful citizens, weak and unarmed, and they were butchered where they were caught.” (Josephus Flavius).

This love, this devotion, this yearning.  This malice, this fury, this vitriol.  Where does it come from?  In the whisper of a prayer; in the call of the muezzin; in the peal of a church bell; in the slash of a sword; in the flash of bomb; in the rumble of a truck.  When did it begin.  When will it end for Jerusalem, the city of peace.

© David Raphael 2017