Listen to Your Heart

How much did the Mishkan (Tabernacle) cost to build? Gold, silver, copper, all sorts of colorful tapestries, craftsmanship.

While we cannot calculate it exactly, we do know the amount of each material used. That’s a start. Based on today’s prices, their current value is a little more than $42.2 million. The construction of the Mishkan was the first Jewish capital campaign in history. It was extraordinary successful. In the end, the nation raised too much money! (Halevai!)

Such a large campaign requires givers. A special type of giver. Not only givers of the of the head or hand but also of the heart.

”V’yikchu li terumah mei’et kol ish asher yidvenu libo tikechu et terumati – Take gifts for me. You shall take gifts for Me from everyone whose heart is moved.” (Shemot 25:2)

There was a mitzvah for all to give to the Mishkan project. It was, however, not an ordinary gift. Participating in the project was not meant to be a chore; it was a privilege. The Hebrew word “terumah” has the root of “rom,” which means elevated. Giving to the holy purpose was not lessening one’s net worth. Giving for a holy purpose is a net positive. In addition, the ideal is for people to want to give. “Yidvenu libo,” people’s hearts were to be generous. Don’t give begrudgingly while thinking how much it’s costing the bottom line. Be inspired to give because, at the heart of the matter, we gain by giving.

There is the act of giving and there is the heart of giving.

Why do people give?

Researchers have studied why people donate. The reasons for charitable giving fall into three broad categories. There is the “purely altruistic” – I donate because I value the social good done by the charity. The “impurely altruistic” – I donate because I extract value from knowing I contribute to the social good for the charity. And the “not-at-all altruistic,” I donate because I want to show off how rich I am.

We can understand giving. It makes sense. It is a response to a need. This is the giving of the hand, the act of giving. Then, there is terumah and nediv lev, generosity stemming from a heartful and soulful motivation to help others and elevate the world around us.

Researchers found that many people are aware that they should donate to the causes that have the highest impact, but facts and figures are less attractive than narratives. In a series of experiments, people were much more responsive to charitable pleas featuring a single, identifiable beneficiary than they were to statistical information about the scale of the problem being faced. Further analysis showed that advertising which emphasized the proven effectiveness of the charity does not increase giving.

In short, when it comes to charitable giving, we are often ruled by our hearts and not our heads.

The Mishkan, the first national Jewish project was a lesson in giving with the heart. We each give what we can. At the same time, we should try to give with empathy, sensitivity, passion, and heart. Such an approach turns our giving into much more than a donation. It’s an elevation.

Sometimes, people give almost exclusively with the heart. Rav Sholom Schwadron, the Maggid of Jerusalem, would tell the story (printed in The Maggid Speaks) of a Yerushalmi Jew by the name of Rav Yudel Holtzman.

He was a very poor man and had no children, but his heart would break for another man's troubles. He insisted the charity collectors always some his home. No matter how desperate his own plight might have been, he always found a way to help others in need.

One time, the neighborhood tailor, a very poor man himself, needed an operation. The considerable cost of sixty pounds was well beyond his means. The charity collector made his rounds on the tailor’s behalf and came to the home of Rav Yudel. As he explained the plight of the tailor, Rav Yudel sat dejected, constantly interjecting "how terrible, how awful. I wish so much that I could help but I really can't. You know how little money I have. All that I give comes from ma'aser (giving one tenth of one's earnings to charity).

“How then am I usually able to contribute? Being that there are so many people in need, I borrow against my future ma'aser account. Against money that I hope to earn. But now, what can I do? My policy is that I don't borrow against my ma'aser when I'm already a full year overdrawn against that account. I've already reached that point. I'm sorry. I feel so bad for him. All I can do is wish him a refuah sheleimah."

The charity collector understood fully and left Rav Yudel's home. He had walked only half a block when Rav Yudel came running after him. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Come back! Hashem has inspired me with a great idea!" Puzzled, he returned to Rav Yudel's home.

Rav Yudel began to speak excitedly. "I have a plan to enable me to help him. You go to one of the larger gemachs (interest free loan funds) in Yerushalayim and tell them to lend you twenty pounds in my name. I'll pay it back. You see, I realized that I spend half a shilling on wine for Kiddush every week. Jewish law permits Kiddush to be recited over challah on Friday night. If I make Kiddush on challah every Friday night, I'll have the extra money to repay the loan!"

For the next fifteen years, Rav Yudel made Kiddush over challah until the loan had been repaid.

One times, after telling the story, Rav Sholom was approached by a young man. "I'm Rav Yudel's nephew. I was at my uncle's house many times and it always seemed strange to me that he recited the Kiddush over challah. Now I know why.”

That is terumah and nediv lev, listening to and giving from the heart.

The Torah teaches a subtle yet substantial lesson when it comes to giving. We need to give from the heart. We don’t just give to fill a technical need. We don’t just give because it is a mitzvah. Ideally, we give because we feel the need ourselves and respond to it.

We are living in times when more listening to the heart is needed. With short attention spans and tempers, it is easy to see others in very utilitarian terms. “What do they want? What do they need? What does that have to do with me?” We need more lev, more generosity of spirit, more patience, and more listening to our hearts when engaging with others and seeking ways to elevate them and, by extension, ourselves.

We can pray for those who are ill or are suffering from difficult times.
We can give tzedakah.
We can learn Torah in someone’s memory or in the merit of better things to come.
We can increase our performance of mitzvot and acts of kindness.

May we find ways to give with our hands while always listening and responding with our hearts.

Standing Judaism & Sitting Judaism

To sit or to stand for the reading of the Ten Commandments?

The story is told of a congregation in which – surprise, surprise – there was a difference of opinion. When they read the Ten Commandments, half the congregants stood up while the other half remained seated. The half that was seated started yelling at those standing to sit down, and the ones standing yelled at the ones sitting to stand up.

The new rabbi was at a loss. Both views are found in the traditional sources, but a shul should have one minhag, practice. What to do? In consultation with representatives of both camps, he decided to consult with the oldest living congregant, 103 years young and a member for 80 years. While homebound for the last few years, he was still quite “with it” and received visitors at home. So the rabbi, a “stander,” and a “sitter” made their way to Mr. Gross, agreeing they would abide by his recollection of the synagogue custom.

When they arrived, one of those who stood during the Ten Commandments immediately declared, "Isn’t the minhag in shul to stand for the Commandments?” Mr. Gross answered, “No.”

The representative of the sitting camp jumped in, “See! I old you the custom is to sit!” Mr. Gross countered, “No, that’s not the custom.”

The rabbi, whose head is now spinning, tried to get a word in edgewise. “Mr. Gross, what is the custom of the shul: to stand or sit during the reading of the Ten Commandments? The shul is being torn apart arguing about this issue.”

Mr. Gross excitedly rose in his chair, "THAT is the tradition! We argue about it!"

We Jews are good at arguing, but the question is a good one: Should we stand or sit when the Ten Commandments are read from the Torah? I think the answer is really both.

The standard Ashkenazi practice is to stand for the Ten Commandments, while Sephardim sit. Rambam felt it in appropriate to stand for just one part of the Torah. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein defended the practice of standing as trying to recreate the drama of the Sinai experience. So, at the end of the day, some stand, some sit, and we all argue.

There is a deeper way to understand the difference between standing or sitting for the Ten Commandments.

The Talmud (Megillah 21a) discusses the topic of standing or sitting for Torah reading. In addressing the fact that Moshe sometimes stood and sometimes sat, Rava explains that Moshe studied easy material while standing and difficult material while sitting. What does one’s position have to do with the level of the material? Easy material can be internalized on the fly; difficult material needs more concentration.

We can apply this reasoning to the discussion of sitting or standing for the Ten Commandments. Are they easy or hard? Both. There are two aspects of Judasim.

In the aftermath of God presenting us with the commandments, the Jews are frightened and overwhelmed. Moshe tries to allay their fears. It will be alright because “God has come only in order l’nasot you.” (Shemot 20:17) What does l’nasot mean?

While the simple meaning is “to test,” Rashi translates the word as implying a sense of greatness. The root “neis” is used elsewhere in the Bible to mean a sign or banner. Moshe reassures the Jews that the Sinai experience is a credit the nation. The Ten Commandments represent success and a path to greatness. “The whole world will admire you for your newfound mission. Nothing can stop you now!”

Ramban says Rashi is “einenu nachon not correct.” Nasot is not a badge of honor. Sinai is, in fact, a test. It is where faith was forged and commandments were issued. How should they act the day after the divine revelation? What happens when God’s presence is not so clear? Moshe told them not to be afraid of these questions which have no answers. The Sinai experience is not replicable, the same level of revelation is not accessible, and the emotion of the moment is not sustainable. The Ten Commandments foreshadow a Jewish life of complexity.

According to Rashi, the Ten Commandments are “easy.” The fact that we have Torah and Mitzvot is a point of pride and inspiration. According to Ramban, the Ten Commandments are “hard.” Judaism is complicated. That’s the way it is intended to be.

In the Jewish community today, there are those who faithfully accept the Torah as is, and “just do it” no questions asked. This Rashi approach may appear simplistic, but it can be very satisfying to accept one’s Jewish mission with pride, like the banner of a champion. This type of Judaism can be accepted standing up as there is no need to exert energy to grapple with anything.

There are Jews who are more prone to ask questions and focus on a Judaism that seems to challenge the word they wish to live in. This path is fraught with risk as it may lead people to question past the point of observance without ready answers. We need to sit down to fully absorb the complexity of Judaism, seek answers, or just learn to live with questions.

The interplay between acceptance versus seeking meaning is a critical issue facing modern Jews.

Sometimes, I long for the simplicity and innocence of a Judaism I can stand for without any difficulty. At the same time, a Judaism which can force me to stop, sit, and grapple with unresolvable questions resonates as more authentic. Some “stand” and double down on observance and barrel forward without questioning or examining their faith. Others let the questions overwhelm to the point of remaking Judaism in their own image. What we need more of is the ability to “sit” with our Judaism and embrace faith while grappling with complexity. Asking the tough questions makes Judaism vibrant and attractive – even when the answers are hard to find or do not satisfy.

Do we stand or sit for the Ten Commandments? The real answer is both.

Today, we need to foster both the acceptance of the Torah as our Divinely commanded mission while wrestling with a meaningful Judaism that remains both true to tradition and relevant for the times. If it doesn’t sound easy, whoever said it would be?

What's the Deal with Bokser?

Monday is Tu B’Shvat, the 15^th of Shvat, and the New Year for Trees. Technically, the date is significant for determining the tithes of fruit trees. At the same time, the day is also imbued with deep spiritual and mystical meaning relating to trees, fruits, and the land of Israel. Nowadays, Tu B’Shvat is celebrated by partaking in the fruits of Israel, planting trees in Israel, appreciating and protecting nature, praying for a nice etrog, or doing nothing at all.

According to the Talmud, Tu B’Shvat marks the beginning of the transition from winter to spring. Considering that we’re looking at single-digit temperatures this weekend followed by a Monday high approaching 50, that sounds about right…

Who’s familiar with bokser (dried carob)?

My teenage daughters stared back at me glassy-eyed when I asked them the question, but I have vivid memories of bokser from my Day School days. Until recently, I think many students partook of this classic Ashkenazic Jewish “delicacy” to connect with the fruits of Israel on Tu B’Shvat. Capturing my experience exactly, one writer describes her Tu B’Shvat treats as “a baggie with a small box of Sun-Maid raisins, some almonds in their shells, and a piece of what looked like petrified wood, the mysterious-but-not-in-a-good-way bokser.” She tried to make the most of it and “pretended to think the bokser was a special treat. At first, I thought I was just missing something - that I didn’t understand how good it was, and I kept gnawing at it like a rodent, hoping to be enlightened to its appeal.” I think you get the idea.

Bokser joins the list of Jewish delicacies that, these days, we seem to be able to live without. Longtime staples like p’tcha, lungs, sweetbreads, and, for the younger generation, even gefilte fish! I think it would help us to understand the meaning and, yes, maybe even the continued relevance of bokser.

Back in the day, bokser was available to Jews living far from Israel. As anyone who’s tried it knows, it is indestructible! This meant that a Jew anywhere in the world could taste a food item with a tangible connection to Israel. Rabbi Berel Wein recalls:

“The bokser was hard as a rock and tasteless as wood. Yet I noticed that my parents, Jews of an earlier generation who were born before there was a State of Israel or a time when free and open worship was really allowed at the Western wall without Arab or government interference, ate their pieces of bokser slowly and with great affection. Only later in my life did I realize that eating that piece of bokser validated their hope and belief that the land of Israel would yet flourish and grow under Jewish sovereignty and that the vineyards and orchards of the land promised to us by our prophets would become abundant reality.”

Over the last 50 years, we have, thank God, witnessed Israel flourish. There are many fresher and tastier fruits we can enjoy year-round. Thanks to technology, we can connect to Israel on a daily basis, and we can travel there whenever we wish. It makes sense that bokser has fallen out of favor, and we enjoy other Tu B’Shvat fruits. At the same time, we shouldn’t give up on bokser. It connects us to the mindset and behavior of our ancestors, who could not connect to Israel as easily. It is helpful to remember there was a time when the closest we could come to Israel was bokser. Familiarity with bokser means appreciating the spiritual and emotional story of our connection to Israel. Our spiritual identities are built upon the awareness that Israel is a work in progress. Whatever issues we have today, at least, we have more than bokser!

Bokser is actually the perfect food for conveying such a complex message.

According to the Sages, carob is a soul super-food. The Talmud (Ta’anit 23a) tells us that the carob takes 70 years to mature and bear fruit. From bokser, we learn the importance of patiently investing in the future and being in it for the long haul. In an age when everyone wants immediate gratification, bokser reminds us that the fruits of our efforts will only be enjoyed by generations yet to come. In addition, carob appears in the Talmud (Ta’anit 24a, Shabbat 33b) as the miraculous food of Sages. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson explains that bokser reminds us to recognize that God can and does perform miracles. (Maybe even bokser can taste good!)

I am not going to eat bokser this Tu B'Shvat. (Although if someone brings me some, I’ll partake for old times’ sake.) All of us, however, should appreciate the message of bokser: of maintaining that special love and spiritual connection for Israel, of patience and confidence that our efforts will ultimately pay off, and of God’s role in miraculously sustaining us in a beautiful world.

I guess we can say bokser can inspire and uplift even if it tastes terrible.

Jewish Time

What happens when a German Jew (known for punctuality) marries a Chasidic Jew (who believes “there are no clocks in heaven”)?

The wedding starts EXACTLY one hour late…

This quip is but one example of the cultural phenomenon associating “Jewish Time” with being late – maybe a little and maybe a lot. That’s the definition of “Jewish Time” that you’ll find online in the Urban Dictionary.

Jewish Time, though, is real.

In halakhah, we encounter the concept of sha’ot zemaniyot. These Jewish hours are calculated by dividing the minutes of daylight by 12. This means that in the winter, hours are less than 60 minutes, and, in the winter, Jewish hours are more than an hour long.

In Parshat Bo, we encounter the mitzvah of Jewish Time:

“Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lachem rosh chadashim – This month will mark for you the beginning of the months.” (Shemot 12:1)

Before any instructions regarding the first Pesach, Bnei Yisrael are instructed in the importance of time. They need to appreciate that, as free individuals, their use of time is now up to them. Slaves don’t have the ability to use their time the way they please. Free individuals do. Appreciating the power and value of time is a necessary precept to internalize before going free.

Jewish Time – our entire calendar of days flowing into months, years, generations, and millennia – is lachem – unique to us. Jews have a lunar calendar. We have holidays and observances which depend on how the calendar is implemented and followed. We are careful about sunrise and sunset, and when the stars come out. We observe Jewish birthdays, mark Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, yahrzeits, and other major milestones.

Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lachem – Jewish Time shapes the Jewish experience because Jewish Time is much more than chronology. In Judaism, the past, present, and future are linked to form one continuum of experience.

Think about Eliyahu HaNavi (Elijah the Prophet). According to tradition, he makes several “appearances.” Eliyahu shows up at the Seder, which is about the Jewish past. He attends every Brit and “shows” up in the present. Eliyahu will also “arrive” just before Moshiach, heralding the Jewish future. (He’s a busy guy!) In truth, all these epochs blend together to form the canvas of the Jewish experience. We have a past, but those facts and events come alive and are much more than history. All of these moments will then contribute to the Jewish future.

Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter, the first Gerrer Rebbe, suggests the concept of Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lachem - Jewish Time - is a call to to infuse newness and freshness - hischadshut – into Jewish life. There is a mitzvah to recreate and build upon the past. In every generation, new ideas and situations present themselves that require us to use the experiences of the past to meet the needs of the current generation. We need to be a part of that process. 

Today is International Holocaust Remembrance Day. Historian Jenna Weissman Joselit discusses the day, comparing and contrasting it with Yom HaShoah, observed on the Jewish calendar on Nisan 27. She notes the distinction between history and memory. History is about facts, figures, names and numbers. Memory is more. It also includes the personal experience of how history was lived She suggests International Holocaust Remembrance Day recalls the history of the Holocaust. Yom HaShoah honors the memory of the Shoah.

I would say International Holocaust Remembrance Day marks a moment in time while Yom HaShoah allows us to encounter the Holocaust in Jewish Time.

Ha-Chodesh ha-zeh lachem – Jewish Time - is the foundation for the mitzvot which follow. It demands that we always meet the challenge of the times. We cannot change, but we can remain fresh – b’chol yom yihyu b’einecha k’chadashim – each day should be viewed as new and not merely as the next day forward.

Jewish Time is living a life that combines old with new, young with old, and traditional with trailblazing that Judaism thrives.

What Jewish Time is it?

Let's Talk About God

“And the Egyptians shall know that I am Hashem” (Shemot 7:5)
“So you (Pharaoh) will know there is none like our God” (8:6)
“So that the Egyptians will speak of My name throughout the land” (9:16)
“So that Egypt will know that the earth is the Lord’s” (9:29)

Noticing a trend? 

The plagues affecting Egypt had a purpose. Pharaoh and his people were being taught a lesson: God rules the world.

This week’s Haftorah notes the lesson is meant to be internalized by Jews as well.

“The Jews will dwell securely in the land…and know that I am Hashem their God” (Yechezkel 28:25)

The Haftorah concludes with the words, “And they shall know that I am the Lord. (29:21)

There is a not-so-subtle lesson that creating God awareness is an important part of the religious experience. There should be a loud, public affirmation of belief in God.

How’s that going?

A bookkeeper named Roy Torcaso, an atheist, refused to declare that he believed in God in order to serve as a notary public in Maryland. His case went all the way to the Supreme Court, and in 1961 the court ruled unanimously for Mr. Torcaso, saying states could not have a “religious test” for public office.

But 53 years later, Maryland, Arkansas, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas still had articles in their constitutions saying people who do not believe in God are not eligible to hold public office. Pennsylvania’s Constitution says that no one can be “disqualified” from serving in office on the basis of religion — as long as they believe in God “and a future state of rewards and punishments” (a reference to heaven and hell).

The bans are legally unenforceable, but for some secular Americans removing the bans is a priority. Todd Stiefel, the chairman of the Openly Secular coalition, said:

“If it was on the books that Jews couldn’t hold public office, or that African-Americans or women couldn’t vote, that would be a no-brainer. You’d have politicians falling all over themselves to try to get it repealed. Even if it was still unenforceable, it would still be disgraceful and be removed. So why are we different?”

I am sure you’re not surprised to hear that politicians are in no hurry to take the lead on this issue. Who wants to be known as the crusader to excise God?

How about Judaism? Does Judaism require an affirmation of God?

Judaism requires such an affirmation in only one situation – conversion. It is strange that our religion, based on God, makes almost no demand to declare that belief. We don’t require any discussion about faith nor encourage public articulation of the relationship with God. We do so at our own spiritual peril.

The Pew Forum's U.S. Religious Landscape Survey conducted in 2014 found that 62% of the US population is absolutely certain in their belief in God. (That’s down from 71% in 2007.) Another 20% are fairly certain. (Up from 17% in 2007.) That’s 82% overall. For Jews, the percentage of those with absolute faith is 37%, while another 27% are fairly certain. (Down from 41% and 31% in 2007.) That’s just 64% total, significantly less faithful than the average American and adherents of other religions. (I guess we are a stiff-necked people.)

The late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, reflecting on his years of visiting students on college campuses around the world, once commented, “I ask students what they are. If someone says, ‘I’m a Catholic,’ I know that he’s a Catholic. If they say, ‘I’m a Protestant,’ I know that she’s a Protestant. If they say, ‘I’m just a human being,’ I know that’s a Jew.”

What happened to our faith?

Times have changed. Until the modern era, there were fewer choices. The Enlightenment brought new ideas and additional opportunities for religious expression. One could voice skepticism and even disbelief and still find one’s place in society even outside the Jewish community. While faith remains the foundation for Judaism, demanding affirmations runs the risk of alienating many whose faith has been shaken by contemporary conditions.

Today, God also gets a bad rap due to the seeming inconsistency between faith and behavior. An interesting statistic is that states with the highest proportion of believers rank very low on many of the standards of societal health. In addition, we encounter terrible actions performed in God’s name. It is not easy to believe when the results and actions inspired by faith can be so horrible.

“You will know there is none like our God”

How do we bring God back to the appropriate place in Judaism?

“Speak my name throughout the land.”

One way to strengthen faith is to talk about God. Speak about it out loud.

I am often surprised at how comfortable other religions are in speaking about God out loud. I realize that some segments of the Jewish community are more comfortable in saying “Baruch Hashem” all of the time, but standard Orthodox practice doesn’t provide the best opportunities for speaking about God out loud. We need to create these opportunities. Here are two possibilities.

1)  Elevate our prayer experience.

Several years ago, I attended a prayer breakfast in honor of Reverend Martin Luther King’s birthday at Cardinal Timothy Dolan’s residence. These guys don’t mess around. It was called for 7:30 am. I got there on time, and the place was hopping. The prayers that were offered were chosen so as not to offend any of the participating religions. After each prayer was offered, the congregation was encouraged to recite out loud, “For this we offer our prayer!” I looked around. The rabbis were somewhat perplexed by this. We pray out loud, but usually not in English. We hide behind the Hebrew or the text of the Siddur.

We engage in prayer, but do we internalize prayer? Does the Siddur speak to us? We need to add relevant expressions of faith into our conversation with God - even if not as part of the formal worship service. We don’t have to change how we pray, but we can express our faith more powerfully by, at times, using our own words of prayer and add more God to the religious lives of our community. We need to let the spirit soar a little more.

2)  Speak aloud about God.

Rabbi Eli Mansour, a rabbi in Brooklyn, has the practice of asking everyone around the Shabbat table to share an event from the past week when God was present in their life. You can imagine it is not easy, and some have difficulty being specific. There are also answers like, “I didn’t fully prepare for my test, but then the teacher was sick and we didn’t have it.”

The rabbi’s young daughter never participated. One week, she said she had a moment to share. She went on to tell how one night that week, they were traveling home from Manhattan to Brooklyn. On the road, one lane was moving faster and the other one slower. They were stuck in the slow lane and got home 45 minutes later than planned.

The people around the table asked, “Where’s the story? Where is God in that?” She replied, “Hashem wanted us to get home later that night.”

I don’t know if that is what God wanted or not. I do know, though, that talking about Hashem in appropriate ways with our children or with adults is a way to ensure a more concrete connection to God which has spiritual and religious benefits for one’s Judaism.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, "God will return to us when we let Him in - into our banks and factories, into our Congress and clubs, into our courts and investigating committees.”

This is really an interpretation of the famous story of the Kotzker Rebbe, who asked his students, “Where does God exist?” “Everywhere,” the surprised disciples answered. “No,” the rebbe answered. “God exists only where people allow God to enter.”

Let us allow God to enter our hearts, our homes, our conversations, and a world very much in need of God’s presence.

I Have a Name; I Have a Lovely Jewish Name!

 If you’re thinking the subject above sounds like an Uncle Moishy song, you’re right!

Sefer Shemot is usually translated as the Book of Exodus. Literally, however, it means the Book of Names. The book begins by listing the names of the twelve children of Israel.

Names take on deeper significance with the rabbinic tradition that one of the reasons the Israelite nation was worthy of redemption is “shelo shinu et shmam –they did not change their names.” What exactly does this mean?

Names are taken very seriously in the Jewish tradition. A child is formally given a name that is used for religious purposes like being called to the Torah or a religious document. Even if we have a secular or legal name, it is our Jewish name that, in a sense, defines us.

I still remember Rabbi Avi Weiss coming to speak in the “Survey in Practical Rabbinics” class during my first year of Rabbinical School to discuss “The Synagogue as an Outreach Community.” He began by introducing himself and asked the students to do the same. He asked the student in front of him, “What’s your name?” The student responded, “Jeremy.” Rabbi Weiss then asked again, “What’s your name?” The student, somewhat perplexed, answered again, “Jeremy.” Rabbi Weiss asked again, and the student was very confused. Rabbi Weiss then said, “What’s your REAL name?” This time, Jeremy understood that Rabbi Weiss was making a point about the importance of the Jewish name and answered, “Yonatan.”

The Jewish name we are given may carry forward the legacy of a relative or lay out a blessing or aspiration for the lives we will lead. Our Jewish names are the reflection of our true selves. They distinguish us from the rest of non-Jewish society.

Rabbi Moshe Schick was a famed 19th-century Hungarian Orthodox Rabbi. He had a tradition about how his family came to have the last name Schick. When the government decreed that all citizens use last names in addition to first names, his ancestors refused to be assigned a secular or foreign name. They chose Schick since its Hebrew spelling – שיק, shin, yuf, koof – are the first letters of the words “sheim Yisrael Kodesh – the Jewish name is sacred.” To this day, while there is nothing wrong with secular names, some Jews only use their Jewish names. They signify strong Jewish connection and pride in the face of the outside world.

But what exactly is a Jewish name?

The first person given a name in Sefer Shemot is Moshe. Is that even a Jewish name? He was named by the daughter of Pharaoh, and his name comes from an Egyptian word! The Talmud has rabbis named Alexander and Antigonus. There is even a medieval Tosafist named Rabbeinu Peter!

A Jewish name is more than nomenclature.

The Midrash (Tanhuma Vayakhel) teaches that each person has three names:

1) The name given by parents
2) The name given by fellow human beings
3) The name that one acquires for oneself

Our parents choose a name for our birth certificates and at the Bris or Baby Naming. We go through life with that name or some variation used by the people we meet. The most important name, however, is the “name” we make for ourselves. How are we perceived and received based on how we act or what we do? THIS is the true definition of a Jewish name.  

What does it mean that the Israelites didn’t change their names? What was considered a Jewish name? Moshe didn’t have a Jewish name! The Israelites maintained their identities as the children of Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. They survived the slavery and were able to be redeemed because they never forgot who they were despite the oppression of Egypt.

It may be a nice idea to only use Jewish names. It is absolutely necessary, though, for us to be known as Jews based on our behavior. Whether a Jew’s name is Moses, Peter, Cynthia, or James, we must live up to our Jewish reputations in how we act and how we are perceived by others.

What are we doing to live up to our Jewish names in our personal actions, religious lives, and interactions with other people? We may have been given legal names and have names on our IDs, but the most important and never-changing name is the one we earn through living Jewishly.

What’s your REAL name?

The Law of Return & Who is a Jew?

 

There has been a lot of heated discussion about Israel’s Law of Return. Passed unanimously by the Knesset in 1950, it explicitly stated that "every Jew has the right to come to Israel as an oleh, immigrant."

This moment of unanimity was short-lived. Let the arguing begin!

What happens if someone is born Jewish but identities as a Christian? That was the case of Brother Daniel in 1962. Oswald Rufeisen was a Polish Jew who converted to Catholicism during the Holocaust. He later became a Carmelite monk and saved many Jews. When Brother Daniel applied to immigrate to Israel under the Law of Return, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that he was ineligible because the Law of Return does not include Jews who practice another religion. While technically and halakhically Jewish, sometimes, as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein wrote (Leaves of Faith: The World of Jewish Living, p. 67) there is such a thing as a “Jew without Jewishness.”

Next, in 1969, came the case of a child born in Israel to a Jewish Israeli father and non-Jewish mother. In the Shalit case, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that that the child could be registered as Jewish in Israel’s Population Registry. Since this ruling ran counter to the traditional Jewish legal definition of a Jew - someone born to a Jewish mother, controversy ensued.

 This led to the 1970 amendment of the Law of Return, which expanded the right of return to include the child or grandchild of a Jew, and the spouse of a child or grandchild of a Jew. For the purposes of this law, “Jew” was defined as someone who has a Jewish mother or who converted to Judaism and is not a member of another religion. By including the children and grandchildren of Jews, the 1970 amendment is reminiscent of the Nazis’ Nuremberg Laws. Any person who would have been targeted by the Nazis for being Jewish deserves the right to come “home” to Israel.

 

The saga continued. Since the 1970 amendment, the ultra-Orthodox parties in Knesset have advocated limiting the Law of Return to Orthodox converts. What are the standards to be used in deciding someone’s Jewish identity? Who decides what constitutes a proper conversion? Only Orthodox converts? Who decides what is considered “Orthodox?” What happens when patrilineal descent is used by Reform Jews in determining Jewish status?

 

In 1988, Yitzhak Shamir tried to convince the ultra-Orthodox parties to join his coalition by offering them the prospect of amending the Law of Return to include only those converts who converted to Judaism “according to Jewish law.” The leaders of Jewish Federations in America understood this as delegitimizing the non-Orthodox branches of Judaism. They threatened that American Jewish support of Israel cannot be taken for granted, and Shamir withdrew his offer. Then in 1989, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that anyone who converted to Judaism in a non-Orthodox conversion outside the State of Israel is included in the Law of Return. Orthodox leaders, particularly the Israeli rabbinate, were outraged at the Supreme Court’s ruling.

 

The mass influx of immigrants from Ethiopia and the former Soviet Union kept the Law of Return and “Who is a Jew?” issues high on the agenda. Were these immigrants halakhically Jewish? Did that matter? What about the non-Jewish relatives who qualified under the Law of Return? There are currently hundreds of thousands of Israelis who are not halakhically Jewish. This compounds the issue and arouses increased enthusiasm to amend the Law of Return, which, in turn, leads to even more anger and controversy. This week, the heads of top international Zionist groups sent a joint letter to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, warning him against any attempt to alter the Law of Return to restrict immigration to Israel by descendants of Jews who are not themselves Jewish.

 

“Who is a Jew?” is not a new issue.

 

Yosef brings his sons, Menashe and Efraim, to be blessed by Yaakov before he dies. Yaakov explains that the boys will be considered among the twelve tribes. Yosef brings them close, and Yaakov says, “Mi eileh – Who are these boys?” Yosef explains that these boys are, in fact, Menashe and Efraim, the sons “asher natan li Elokim ba-zeh - God has given me here.” Yaakov then blesses the children. (Bereishit 48:5-9)

 

Why doesn’t Yaakov recognize Menashe and Efraim? How do we understand Yosef’s response?

 

The Midrash explains that Yaakov wasn’t sure Menashe and Efraim were spiritually worthy. In a sense, when Yaakov asked “mi eileh,” he was asking “Are they Jewish?” To confirm the boys’ status, their mother is called in to show her ketubah, marriage contract. With the question resolved, Yaakov can then bless the boys.

 

Yaakov is the first person to be bothered by the question of “Who is a Jew?” He is not satisfied with knowing the boys are Yosef’s children. He needs proof that they are Jewish.

 

Now, this Midrashic take on the blessing of Menashe and Efraim may seem similar to the view of those who wish to limit the Law of Return to Halakhic Jews. At the same time, it also tells us something very important about Jewish identity. It is possible for one’s Jewish identity to be hidden or go unrecognized. At such moments, Jews might rightly be asked “Mi eileh – Who are you?” In these moments, it is important for Jews to demonstrate they are part of the nation.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik describes two components of Jewish belonging. There is the acceptance of Jewish law, and the acceptance of Jewish identity and a willingness to be part of Jewish history. The Rav called these, respectively, brit ye’ud, the covenant of destiny, and brit goral, the covenant of fate. Destiny is what we do. Fate is what happens to us. Today, many Jews – while not halakhically Jewish or Jews who follow halakhah – still want to be part of the Jewish nation. Do we circle the wagons and cut off Jews who don’t fit into the classic mold? Can we find room in Jewish tent for those who identify as Jews even if they do so in a non-traditional fashion? 

This question is why the Law of Return such a political hot potato.

From a technical perspective, changing the Law of Return will have a limited practical impact. Tens of thousands of Jews have made aliyah from the US in the past decade – and only sixty-seven of them did so under the grandparent clause, according to research by Dr. Netanel Fisher. The battle is one of ideology.

Yossi Klein Halevi, in his powerful op-ed in the Times of Israel, notes that there are two competing visions for Israel. Is Israel the state of Judaism or is it the state of the Jewish people? In the former, there is only room for a Jewish definition based on Jewish law. For the latter, there is room in Israel for those who identify (or have been identified) as Jewish in a broader sense. The more traditional approach sees danger in any definition outside of Halakhah. The other approach is trying to address a very different Jewish reality, one in which the majority of Jews are non-Orthodox and more and more Jews today aren’t halakhically Jewish.

Mi eileh? Who is a Jew?

I imagine that we’ll keep fighting about this issues the way we have since 1950. At the same time, especially in an age when many are removed from traditional Judaism, we need to make room in our nation for all. I believe we need more engagement and education. We need to talk about what it means to be a Jew today – what it means to be a Jew in the Diaspora and what it means to be a Jew in Israel. Can we find a way to keep the Law of Return the way it is while also addressing the growing population of non-Jewish Israelis? Can we find a way to make Israel a Jewish State for competing visions of Judaism? That is the Zionist dream, and, as Herzl famously stated, “Im tirtzu ein zo agadah – If you want it, it is no dream.”

Let’s resolve that we’re all Jews so that, like Yaakov, we can all come together in blessing.