Tisha B'Av and the Brokenness of the World

There's so much going on in the world, and in my heart, that I almost don't know what to talk about. So I'll start with the calendar.

Monday night and Tuesday mark the Jewish holiday of Tisha B'Av. It commemorates, first of all, the destruction of the two Temples in Jerusalem, the first by the Babylonians in 586 BCE and the second by the Romans in 70 CE. In their times these were cataclysms unimaginable in their scope. The second destruction in particular led to a loss of Jewish life which was, in proportion, likely comparable to that of the Holocaust. Beyond that, though, the second destruction marked the end of Jewish sovereignty for almost 2000 years, and the experience of exile.

It's difficult to overemphasize how important these events have remained, how closely they've been held. The weekday Amidah prayer contains prayers asking for the rebuilding of the Temple and the gathering of the exiles, as does the Birkhat Ha-mazon, Grace after meals, so religious Jews would be asking for these things at least 5 or 6 times a day. The custom of breaking a glass at a wedding is to remind us that our joy cannot
be complete as long as the Temple remains destroyed and the Jewish people remain in exile.

The rabbis established Tisha B'Av as a day of mourning, and it is the second sundown-to-sundown fast on the calendar. It is marked by strict mourning practices, many the same as on the other full fast day, Yom Kippur: no food or drink, no sexual activity, no wearing of leather shoes, no bathing or wearing perfume. People sit on the floor or on low benches at services, and the Book of Lamentations is read, recounting in harrowing detail the destruction of Jerusalem. We're meant to refrain from pleasurable activities, including Torah study – the only time in the year that that's prohibited.

As time went on, the rabbis added more significance to Tisha B'av. It was when the Romans crushed the Bar Kochba revolt in 125. It was the day the Jews were expelled from England in 1290. It was the day the Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492. It was the day the Final Solution was approved in 1941. The historical accuracy of these sitings are not important. What's important is that there was a day to commemorate all the evil that has been done to the Jewish people since the time of the Temple.

Modern Jews have always had a ambivalent relationship with Tisha B'av, which I attribute to a number of reasons. First is practical – it occurs in the summer, when most Jews are not that active Jewishly, and it doesn't get covered in religious school. There's also the discomfort with the association of the holiday with the ancient sacrificial system. One of the first changes the Reform movement made was removing the prayers asking for the restoration of sacrifice. The classical Reform movement also had a problem with the idea of the return of the exiles – they wanted to be full citizens in their country of origin, and not be perceived as waiting for the opportunity to return to the ancient homeland.

The issue changed after the establishment of the state of Israel. Why should we continue to mourn for destroyed Jerusalem when Jerusalem is rebuilt​? Why not acknowledge our people's at least partial redemption? Traditionalists would point to the unbuilt Temple. Others would point out that past tragedies are still tragedies even if they are not happening directly to us, and we observe Tisha B'av as a kind of Yohrzeit for all that has befallen the Jewish people throughout the ages, as an act of solidarity with them – of memory. Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, who I really intend to talk about one of these days, suggested that we acknowledge the partial redemption of the Jewish people by fasting for part of the day, perhaps until noon or 3 o'clock.

But I have to say, I'm feeling the brokenness of the world very closely this year. Very closely. The world seems to be falling apart before our very eyes. Syria, Libya, Iraq and the so-called Islamic State, Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Palestine. Death and destruction, fear and hatred, displacement and homelessness, a horrible carousel with, seemingly, no way out. Dissension and anger amongst friends and relatives over Israel's actions.

The response to Israel's actions is leaning heavily into antisemitism, particularly in Europe. Foreign ministers from France, Germany and Italy had to issue a joint statement condemning the actions. “Anti-Semitic rhetoric and hostility against Jews, attacks on people of Jewish belief and synagogues have no place in our society,” it read. So much brokenness.

But I'm most concerned about the level of discourse in the Jewish community. A wave of racism and hostility amongst Jews, both here and in Israel. Anti-war protesters in Tel Aviv set upon by right wing counter-protesters. An Israeli soldier posts a picture saying, “This gun killed 13 children, all you Muslims are next.” Yesterday a friend approvingly posted an article from state-supporting media in Egyptians saying that if Gazans didn't rise up against Hamas then they all deserved to get bombed. Today there was an article in the Times of Israel arguing the halachic (Jewish legal) question of “When Genocide is Permissible.” Later the post was removed and the site apologized, but the question remains whether this was really outside the norm or if it represents an unacceptable exaggeration of an increasingly acceptable dehumanization of the Other in our community.

Please note that I'm not talking about the war itself, or the actions Israel has taken, I'm talking about the terrible passions that are accompanying it. Things happen during wars, temperatures rise, I get that, but where is the Jewish reliance on the rule of law, on ethical standards, that we have been so rightly proud of? If we lose that, what do we have left? We are told that the second temple was destroyed due to “sinat hinam” - the senseless hatred of other Jews. I wonder if, God forbid, we lose the third republic, if the reason will be sinah le'acherim, or the senseless hatred of others. So, so much brokenness.

Even here, in our own community, a person we know, who many of us have been fond of, has been accused of a terrible act. Over the course of the last year, the sweet girl struggling to make a go of it has deteriorated before our eyes into someone we were frightened to be around – for good reason, as it turns out. I don't know the whole story so I don't how this happened, though I know that mental health care is a disaster in this country and now I have seen with my own eyes, we have all seen the line between evil actions and mental incapacity get blurry, and now this girl is lost. Such brokenness.

And lest we forget, California is undergoing a paralyzing drought, June was the hottest June on record world-wide. This is from Mother Jones: On June 28, a fire broke out at a Halliburton fracking site in Monroe County, Ohio. As flames engulfed the area, trucks began exploding and thousands of gallons of toxic chemicals spilled into a tributary of the Ohio River, which supplies drinking water for millions of residents. More than 70,000 fish died.  The earth itself, it seems, is broken.

Sometimes the brokenness gets so bad, it's paralyzing. The Jewish tradition, in its sometimes really profound wisdom, said that at times like this, when the brokenness gets so bad that there seems to be no way out of it, we stop, we take off our shoes, we sit on low benches, we read sad poetry, and we mourn. We mourn for the dead and wounded. We mourn for the frightened population in their shelters. We mourn for the morals and ethics that are the first casualties of war. We mourn for the soldiers, who do what we make them do, no matter how unwise that might be. For the girl whose mental illness proved stronger than she was. We mourn for the fish, for the damaged and battered earth. We just mourn.

And that's what Tisha B'av is. That's why I encourage you to observe it in some way this year. Even if just a piece of it, such as fasting after dinner on Monday, or skipping breakfast on Tuesday, or sitting on the floor, or reading sad poetry. Just so you acknowledge the brokenness.

And you know what we do after that? We break the fast, we put on our shoes, we stand up, and we go on about the work of repairing the world.

Shabbat shalom.  

Tribalism vs. Universalism

I'm writing this with a heavy heart, as warfare between Israel and the Hamas government of Gaza has broken out yet again. I believe this is the fourth time since the Israel's 2005 disengagement from Gaza that hostilities have broken out.

Like many who are concerned about that small piece of land that is home to two peoples, my social media pages have seen a lot of extremely emotional posts about the situation. On one hand are the pro-Israel voices, who essentially say that the Gazans brought this on themselves by electing Hamas and allowing them to shoot rockets into Israel. On the other hand are pro-Palestinian voices, who see this situation as the outcome of 60 years of Israeli occupation and (what they see as) Israel's refusal to negotiate in good faith toward a peaceful settlement. And there are Jews in both camps.

I think this reflects a tension between two strains within Judaism: tribalism – the communal imperative to privilege Jewish peoplehood and self-defense, particularly defense of Israel and its actions; and univeralism - the call, emanating for the prophetic tradition, to live according to our best values, to treat The Other as we would wish to be treated. For the tribalist, Israel's actions are necessary self-defense, however unfortunate; for the universalist, Israel's actions are at best reckless and at worst an abrogation of its, and the Jewish people's, commitment to be a “light unto the nations.”

The tribalist tends to be the one who holds Jewish identity itself the closest, and who might have been told, “Always keep your passport in order, in case you have to leave suddenly,” who prioritizes Israel as the last refuge of an ever-refugee people. The universalist lives in an America where Jews are not only tolerated, but honored – respected by all, at the top of every field. They can't imagine a circumstance in which they would ever have to flee, and to them, Israel's role as potential haven is theoretical at best.

This is an oversimplification, as both tendencies appear in both countries, but we might even say that tribalism is represented by Israel – a fortress mentality focused on self-protection and self-preservation, and universalism is represented by America – where Jews are, and want to be, one people among many.

And for further oversimplification, tribalists tend to be more religious, older, in-married and affiliated with synagogue and Federation, while universalists tend to be more secular, younger, intermarried (or the product of interfaith homes) and unaffiliated. Although we certainly have many people in our LJCC community who value their commitment to Jewish peoplehood, we (I believe) tend to be more universalist - in our commitments, in our beliefs, and in our actions.

I think we're starting to see the tension between the two tendencies near the breaking point. Tribalists can't understand why anybody would question Israel taking whatever it believes are the necessary steps to defend its people, and universalists can't understand how any country – or any religion - could justify some of Israel's actions, particularly when they result, as they so often do, in civilian casualties.

Worse, we may be entering a situation where Israel's actions are serving as a deterrent to people being involved in Judaism at all. If Israel represents Judaism, they say, if what it does represents what Judaism means, then count me out.

I look at that with as much heartbreak as I look at the violence in Israel/Palestine. At this point I feel closer to the universalists of other religious traditions than I feel to the tribalists of my own. I don't want to spend my time defending Israel-right-or-wrong. I want to develop, and represent, and teach, a Judaism that is universal in its commitments, that promotes peace, reconciliation and diversity, a Judaism that is in keeping with what I think are its deepest and best values. A Judaism that calls us to our best selves.

And offer it to whomever wants it.

I hope that includes you.

Remarks at the Interfaith Vigil at LJCC- April 21, 2014

These are the remarks that I made at the Interfaith Vigil at the LJCC on April 21.

Last week, in Jewish homes all over the world, we retold the story of the Exodus from Egypt. We are told that when the seder was being developed, there was a rabbinic disagreement about the meaning of the word “slavery.” Was it, as the sage Rav said, forced labor – not being in control of your own life, your own destiny? Or was it, as Shmuel held, a form of idolatry, the putting in the place of God those things that do not deserve to be in held in such high esteem? Is it physical slavery, or spiritual slavery? As is so often the case, both cases were kept, and both arguments were kept, and both aspects are mentioned in our seders.

Usually when I talk as a rabbi about the spiritual aspect of slavery, I mention those things that constrict us, that prevent our personal or spiritual growth – materialism, or a focus on achievement, or the like. Given the events that took place in Overland Park, this year we are forced to focus on another form of idolatry, an idolatry that has been with us since before the birth of this nation – white supremacy.

Make no mistake – while there is obviously an anti-semitic element to this tragedy, which links it to a hatred that is the world's oldest, and that triggers all sorts of bad memories and feelings and fears in the Jewish community – I believe this could have happened in any number of places where there gather those many whom violent white racists despise - in an African-American church, in a Sikh temple, or in a mosque, or in a car outside a convenience store. Violent white racism is the fever in America that refuses to die.

But look what happened. This person went to the JCC and to Village Shalom looking to kill Jews, but he killed Christians. You know what that tells me? He couldn't tell the difference. This was a person who spent every hour of his day investigation what he thought was the perniciousness of Jews, I'm sure he felt he knew all their features, yet when the moment came, he couldn't tell the difference.

Let me say their name: Dr. William Corporon, Reat Underwood, Terri LaManno. May their memories be a blessing.

They were just doing their thing, like people do all over the place all the time. Forever has there been a tension between this nativism, this violent racism, and it's opposite and antidote: diversity, inclusiveness, tolerance, community, and peace. And that's what was happening at the JCC, that's what was happening at Village Shalom, and that's the response that the Jewish community received from our friends locally and around the world in the aftermath of the tragedy, and that's what's happening here tonight.

Many Christian people have Jewish people in their extended families, many white people have African-Americans in their extended families. In 50 or 100 years it will be nearly as difficult to tell so-called races apart as it is today to tell religions apart. And that's a good thing. And that means that violent white racists are not only losers, but they've lost. Already, they've lost.

But they can still be dangerous, as we have seen. That's why we need to stand with each other, in community. When an African-American is racially profiled, when a Muslim community construction project is opposed simply for their religion, when a gay person is fired for being gay, when a woman is guilty of what happens to her simply because she is a woman – the rest of us must stand in solidarity. My white privilege may allow me to hide when the violence is not directed at me, but I must not hide. Your white skin and Christian identity may allow you to hide, but you must not hide. The answer to hatred is love, the answer to isolation is fellowship, the answer to racism and anti-Semitism and Islamaphobia is diversity and tolerance and inclusiveness, and the answer to violence is peace. The answer to evil is good, the answer to despair is hope, and the answer to idolatry is godliness. And those are all things that the faith community, at its best, has plenty of.

Thank you for being here tonight. Thank you for standing with us. Let this not be the last time we stand together each other's lives, for justice and for peace.

An Insight: It's not "Climate Change" that's the trigger for some people, it's "Interfaith"

I had what I think is an important insight about my organizing work for Kansas IPL. (I just celebrated my second anniversary in this role.) There's been a lingering sense that I/we were "preaching to the converted" because most of my presentations are in the urban areas of Kansas, and there's obviously a large number of people who live in smaller towns and rural areas that I haven't yet reached, and am unlikely to reach with messaging that relies, as IPL's does, on climate change.

My answer to that has been that preaching to the converted is actually a pretty important thing to do. We live in Kansas, after all, where many of the politicians are conservative extremists, where a large percentage of the people is very conservative, and where even the moderate pastors are loath to talk about "political" issues that could cause them hassles with the lay people. So it's not like people are getting a lot of climate change messaging, no matter where they live. Someone coming in and saying to them that climate change is an issue and God wants you to do something about it, can be pretty powerful. At least, I hope so.

But that's not the insight. The insight has to do with the word "interfaith" in the name of the organization, "Interfaith Power & Light." The definition of interfaith dialogue, according to Wikipedia, is "cooperative, constructive and positive interaction between people of different religious traditions (i.e., "faiths") and/or spiritual or humanistic beliefs, at both the individual and institutional levels." It's not a great definition for our purposes because we're not doing interfaith dialogue as such. What we're doing is cooperative interfaith action toward an exterior goal or goals: congregational energy efficiency, advocacy for clean energy, action against climate change, etc.

Now, Kansas is about 86% Christian, but the question is, can people stand to be around, and work with, a worldview that is different than their own? The mutual respect, the development (or realization might be a better word) of shared values, the recognition that people can be as authentically right in their practices and beliefs as you are in yours, and that this makes them neither a threat to be managed nor a soul to be saved, are all vital to the interfaith experience - and to the work of Kansas IPL.

When the organization started we had one fellow on the board who was from a conservative religious tradition (politically and theologically), he was very concerned about climate change and clean energy but a lot of people he spent a lot of time with saw the issues as partisan or hippie and he was very concerned with not messaging anything that would close off the conversation with them. He didn't want us to put "climate change" in the mission statement (fortunately national overruled him on that) or to do any advocacy. Hashing out all those issues took a long time and it kind of crippled the organization for a couple of years.

But my insight now is that it's not the words "climate change" that present the problem - well they do, but not as much as that other word: "interfaith." You may have seen this article, about the Missouri Synod Lutheran pastor who was severely criticized from within his denomination for taking part in an interfaith service in the aftermath of the Newtown. There are many people in this world, and in this country, and I daresay in the state of Kansas, who would agree with those who criticized this pastor.

But as vocal as they can be, I don't think they're the majority, and further, while I would be happy if they did efficiency work on their churches, I would not want them involved in Kansas IPL, even if they wanted to be. Because "interfaith" isn't a strategy, and it isn't a message - it's a deeply held value, central to what IPL is and - more - to the kind of world we want this world to become.

I'm still left with the issue, as I do my work, of how to talk to people who are not coming from the same worldview as mine. Interfaith has a lot to teach me there: honest witnessing, respectful dialogue, and the search for shared values. But, if someone has trouble with the "interfaith" part, then I know that's not fertile ground for us. For it's only in the acknowledgement that there can be shared values, that the search for shared values can begin.

Oped: Don't Roll Back Renewable Portfolio Standards

This piece originally appeared in the Wichita Eagle on February 12, 2013

People of faith are called to be responsible stewards of God’s Creation. That’s why Kansas Interfaith Power and Light is one of a number of business, agricultural, energy, environmental and faith-based groups supporting the most effective state policy we have for the development of clean energy in Kansas: the renewable portfolio standard. Adopted in 2009, the RPS requires that certain utilities generate or purchase 20 percent of their electricity load from renewable sources by 2020.

The RPS is a market-based mechanism that is intended to unleash the development of renewable-energy sources until they are at a competitive par with fossil fuels – and unleash them it has. It has led to an explosion of wind-energy development in Kansas, including more than 2,800 megawatts of installed wind energy equaling about $7 billion in investment since 2001, as well as the creation of 13,000 jobs directly or indirectly related to the wind industry in Kansas.

A report released in August by the American Wind Energy Association showed Kansas leading the nation in the number of wind turbines under construction. Kansas is on track to more than double its installed capacity and ranks seventh in the percentage of power derived from wind – 8.3 percent, equivalent to powering 430,000 homes. Add to this the development of manufacturing that supports wind development, such as the Siemens plant in Hutchinson that assembles nacelles and hubs for wind turbines, and we can see why Gov. Sam Brownback is such a strong supporter of wind. He noted recently: “Wind-energy development has created thousands of construction jobs and hundreds of permanent operation and maintenance jobs in Kansas. And we are nearing 2,000 jobs in wind-component manufacturing.”

The benefits of the RPS include increased diversity and security of our energy supply; reduced volatility of power prices; local economic development resulting from new jobs, taxes and revenue; and environmental improvement as we move away from polluting forms of energy toward cleaner and safer ones.

That’s why it’s so disturbing to see efforts in Topeka to roll back this sensible and successful policy. An effort in the Legislature to overturn the state RPS was rebuffed last session, but the issue has come up again, driven by the huge influence of fossil-fuel money on our political system.
Some claim that the RPS drives up the price of energy, but according to a March 2012 report by the Kansas Corporation Commission, compliance with the RPS thus far has had a “de minimis” impact on rates – in the zero to 1.7 percent range. In fact, by helping to make renewables more competitive, the RPS protects consumers from fluctuations in the price of fossil fuels. That’s why more than half of the 29 states with renewable portfolio standards have strengthened them – on a bipartisan basis.

On behalf of Creation, clean energy and good jobs for Kansans, it’s worthwhile to ask your legislators if they support a policy that helps develop one of the most successful economic sectors in Kansas over these recent difficult years; that provides jobs, economic opportunities, and tax revenue all across the state, including in areas with few other opportunities for economic growth; and that incentivizes the development of clean, homegrown and unlimited sources of energy.

The RPS is good for Creation, and it’s good for Kansas.

Read more here: http://www.kansas.com/2013/02/12/2672370/moti-rieber-dont-roll-back-renewable.html#storylink=cpy#storylink=cpy

Parshat Vayehi

This piece was delivered as a talk at Congregation Beth Shalom in Overland Park on Saturday, December 29, 2012. 

This week's parshah is Va-yekhi, that last in the book of Bereshit. It recounts the promise Joseph made to bring Jacob's body back to the land of Israel for burial; Jacob's adoption of Joseph's sons Ephraim and Menashe and the intentionally reversed blessings his gives them; Jacob's testament to his other sons (one can scarcely call some of them “blessings”), and then the aftermath of Jacob's death. It is here that I want to focus.

Read 50:15

So they're afraid that Joseph is Michael Corleone and they are 10 Fredos. But in case you needed to be told, that's not the case.

Read 16-17

So they lie, basically. Comparison to God misquoting Sarah's words in Gen 18.

Read 18-21

It's interesting to see what is said here, and what isn't said. What do they want? Forgiveness. What does he say in response? 1) I'm not in place of God, it's not up to me to exact punishment, and 2) you meant it for ill, but God meant it for good.

It occurs to me there's a psychological truth here that we need to notice. And let's begin by asking a question. Why is he called by the tradition “Joseph the tzaddik” the righteous one. First he's a callow youth who can't keep his dreams to himself, then he's a bit of a climber, maybe even a schemer, rising to the top of whatever establishment he finds himself in – Potiphar's house, Pharaoh's kingdom – the midrash even says he was basically running the jail when he was there.

Yet here he is, the most powerful man in Egypt, with every reason in the world to stick it to his brothers, yet he chooses not to – why? Joseph chose to believe that his role was divinely ordained – that it was God's will that he end up in his position of power in Egypt, to help his family and the many others that he helped. One cannot reconcile this approach with holding a many-decade-long resentment of the way he was treated way back when. The two cannot be reconciled psychologically. Joseph chose to be psychologically healthy, and the way he had to be healthy was not to obsess about what had happened to him in the past, and who made it happen to him.

It reminds me of Victor Frankl, who survived Auschwitz and went on to develop a long career as a psychologist. In his book, “Man's Search for Meaning” he came to the remarkable conclusion that even in the most absurd, painful and dehumanized situation, such as the one faced by inmates in the camps, that life has potential meaning and therefore even suffering is meaningful. He says that one of the differences between survival and not, and after the war the difference between a life consumed by the demons of memory, or not, is the ability to see meaning in what has occurred.

Extraordinary that the Torah is able to get to this psychological truth thousands of years ago.

In an account of a particularly bad moment Frankl talks about seeing the face of his wife, and he says, “The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in the world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.”

“And Joseph was in tears as they spoke to him.” 

 

Maimonides mentions that there are three steps to teshuvah, or repentance from a sin – 1) recognition that the action taken was wrong, 2) regret, and third, when the opportunity to do the same thing happens again, the opportunity is not taken.

We see all of these in the story of Joseph and his brothers. When in parshat Mi-ketz (Gen 42:21) Joseph, still unrecognized by his brothers, wants one of them to stay while the others go home to get the youngest brother, they say, “Alas, we are being punished on account of our brother, because we looked on at his anguish, yet paid no heed as he pleaded with us. That is why this distress has come upon us.” And then when he plants the cup on Benjamin, he is testing his brothers, and when at the beginning of parshat Va-yiggash (Gen 44:18) Judah pleads for his brother, and offers himself in Benjamin's stead, Joseph knows that they have made full teshuvah.

And that's the end of the matter for him. Any other punishment that the brothers may face will have to come from God. The fact that they held on to their fear of what would happen after their father's death for all those years is what pains him.

What does Joseph not offer them? The one thing they ask for - forgiveness. In fact Joseph never mentions forgiveness in any of his conversations with his brothers. It's often struck me that the ritual offering and accepting of apologies is the most superficial form of reconciliation. What are we saying when we forgive someone? Oh, that's okay, never mind, don't worry about it. Does that accomplish what it's intended to? Joseph recognizes that just as it's not his role to punish, neither is it really his role to forgive. He puts it behind him – that's what allows him to be psychologically healthy, even “righteous” - and it's enough.

Difficult to do, though, on the personal or on the political level.

Some of the people who are the most admirable in history show this same ability to put their resentments to the side. I think of someone like Nelson Mandela, who spent 24 years in prison in the harshest and most inhumane environment and yet came out dedicated not to violent revenge but to a peaceful transition for his nation.

And in fact this tendency was lived out on a institutional by the truth and reconciliation commission in post-apartheid South Africa. Victims of human rights violations during the apartheid era gave statements about their experiences, and perpetrators of violence could also give testimony and request amnesty from both civil and criminal prosecution. Owning up to what they had done, honestly and openly, was the condition of reconciliation. The issue was forgiveness, it was honesty, taking responsibility, and it allowed the society to move forward with a marked lack of expiatory bloodshed.

And it's this approach that is markedly missing in the current situation in Israel/Palestine. If you follow spokespeople of either side in the press or on twitter you'll see a lot of people talking past each other. Each side has a laundry list of wrongs done to it by the other. And each side is right. If a report from human rights watch or some similar organization comes out, the parts that support our side are trumpeted, and the parts that support the other side are either ignored or are seen as evidence of bias or hatred.

One particular attempt to move past this battle of justifiable homicide is in the The Parents Circle - Families Forum (PCFF), a joint Palestinian Israeli organization of over 600 families, all of whom have lost a close family member as a result of the conflict. Sharing their stories, sharing their grief, has allowed them to humanize the so-called other, and to point the way to a resolution of the conflict based not on victory but on reconciliation and mutual respect. They were portrayed in the documentary film “Encounter Point.”

But the other significant dynamic in the story of Joseph and his brothers is that the power relationship is very one-sided. Joseph could do anything he wants to just about anyone he wants, and his righteousness comes from the fact that he doesn't. He chooses not to.

The dynamic between Israel and the Palestinians is also one-sided. Here I'm going to talk about the PA, Abbas' quasi-government, because the situation is Gaza is more complex. But in regard to the Palestinians in the West Bank: Israel has the army, Israel has the economy, Israel has the unquestioning support of the United States. And Abbas' government has done all what it's been asked to do in terms of protecting Israel's security and building the infrastructure of statehood – as the American negotiators and even many Israelis will tell you. But instead of using its strength to pursue reconciliation, Israel keeps pressing its advantage – now announcing plans to build thousands of new housing units in East Jerusalem and in the area between Jerusalem and Ma'ale Adumim called E-1. These provocative gestures threaten both the possibility of a two-state solution and the relationship between Israel and the United States.

This is why I and over 600 of my rabbinic colleagues have signed an open letter sponsored, by Rabbis for Human Rights-North American and J Street, to Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu, asking him to desist from these plans, and to return to the negotiating table as soon as possible, before it's too late.

The letter quotes Pirke Avot 1:12 in telling us, "Be of the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving humankind and bringing them closer to the Torah." But it could just as easily reference our parshah today. Joseph is a man of great power, and a lot of justification for using it unwisely, should he have chosen to. But he recognizes that what's done is done, and that it is neither productive nor healthy to keep stewing on it. Rather, let the focus be on, as the Torah says later, “seeking peace and pursuing it.” Then we and our Israeli cousins will live up to the legacy that Joseph the tzadik, Joseph the righteous one, leaves for us.

Shabbat shalom.

Parshat Breishit: Caring for God's Creation

This article was published in the October 11, 2012 edition of the Kansas City Jewish Chronicle. 

This week's parshah tells of God's creation of the world and of the first few generations of human beings. Although this section has often been used to suggest permission for a cavalier attitude toward the natural world, a careful reading shows the deep responsibility human beings have to care for God's Creation.

The issue is best seen in two different verses describing the creation of human beings. In chapter 1, verse 27 we read: “And God created man in God's image, after God's likeness; male and female God created them. God blessed them and said to them, 'Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it; and rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on the earth.'”

The word for “master” in this passage is kibush, which means “dominate” or “occupy.” This passage seems to say that the sole purpose for the world and all that is in it is for human beings to use as they see fit.

But the issue is not left there, and the passage is balanced by a second one, found in chapter 2, verse 15: “God took the man and placed him in the garden of Eden, to till it and tend it.” The words for “till” is oved (literally, work) and the word for “tend” is shomer (literally, guard). The clear connotation\ of this passage is protection or stewardship.

I don't want to dismiss the first passage for the second, and in fact there's no question that humans have the ability, and even divine permission, to use the resources available to us on Earth for the benefit of human life. But - and it's a big but – we are not permitted to use God's creation in profligate or careless ways. We do not own the Earth – God does; we are God's caretakers, tasked with making sure that the world continues to be able to support our lives and the lives of the other creatures with which we share it.

That's why, over time, Judaism has developed values that support the responsible stewardship of Creation. One such value is baal tashhit (do not waste). Each and every one of us breaks this directive every day. We waste food – Americans waste more than 40 percent of the food we produce for consumption. We waste energy - more than half (58%) of the total energy produced in the US is wasted due to inefficiencies. We waste water – watering our lawns can use almost as much water in an hour as an average family of four uses in one day. The way we transport ourselves, and heat and light our homes, contributes to global climate change, which is causing non-human species to die-off and makes it much harder for many people, especially those in the least privileged areas of the world, to get the resources they need to survive and thrive. In these ways and many others we are failing to fulfill God's instruction to “till and tend” creation.

The Midrash (Ecclesiastes Rabbah 7:13) says, “Look at My works! How beautiful and praiseworthy they are! And everything I made, I created for you. Be careful [though] that you don’t spoil or destroy my world — because if you spoil it, there is nobody after you to fix it.”

The reading this week of Parshat Breishit is a chance to remind ourselves of, and rededicate ourselves to, our responsibility to care for God's Creation.