Memory, Gratitude, and the Promised Land – Ki Tavo 5775

Imagine, for a moment, that you are an Israelite.  Your parents, along with their ancestors, were slaves in Egypt.  Nearly forty years ago, God freed them and brought them out into the wilderness.  You were born in that wilderness, and have spent your entire life living a precarious existence: in-between, dependent on God for food, water, and protection; no longer enslaved, but not truly in control of your destiny.

Finally, you are within striking distance of the final destination, the Land of Israel.  The Jordan River flows in front of you, and on the other side you can see hills rising up into the distance

Your leader, Moses, old and weathered, called the entire nation together to hear a series of final speeches, which you have been listening to for the past several days.  He reviewed the history of the previous forty years, taught about God, and listed commandment after commandment.

At this point, it’s enough already.  You’re exhausted.  You’re bored of eating manna for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  You’re sick of living a nomadic existence.  You want to settle down.  You’ve bean hearing about the Promised Land your entire life.  It’s time that someone made good on that promise.

This morning, you roll out of your tent to hear yet another speech.  But today, Moses shifts gears.  He leads you through a mental time travel journey.

‘Right now,’ he begins, ‘you are about to enter the land that God has promised you.  You will settle it, and you will begin to build your lives.  You will construct homes, and you will plant seeds.  When the first harvest comes in, you need to do something.  Gather samples of the first fruits from everything you plant and bring them in a basket to the Priest.  And then, recite the following speech:

My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor upon us . . . and the LORD heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. The LORD freed us from Egypt . . . He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. (Deut. 26: 5–10)

It looks like it’s finally about to happen.

Notice there are three distinct time periods in this narrative: the present, in which Moses is speaking to the assembled Israelite nation; the not-too-distant future, after the Israelites have settled the land and gathered their first harvest; and the distant past, beginning with the first Israelites who made their way down to Egypt and were enslaved.

Present, future, and past – all existing in a single moment.

In the current reality, the Israelites can imagine themselves in the Promised Land.  They can see it, just ahead – across a river and over the hills.

But Moses, who will not be joining them there, is not content to let them simply arrive.  In fact, he knows that if they just show up, the Promised Land will slip through their fingers.  Two more things are needed – memory and gratitude.

The Israelites will not be able to appreciate the full extent of what they have achieved unless they keep the memory of where they have come from alive.  They need to express that memory with gratitude.  Only then can the achievement of the Promised Land be real for them.  So Moses prescribes a thanksgiving offering of first fruits to be accompanied by the performance of a historical narrative.

And here we are, thousands of years later, in yet a fourth time period.

Let’s think about this in personal terms.  Our lives are comprised of a series of journeys with numerous destinations.  We have had struggles on our way.  Successes, failures, disappointments, and surprises.  But hopefully, we have managed to articulate goals for ourselves.  Some of them we achieve.  Others remain elusive.

There are the big life goals: Have close friends.  Fall in love.  Get married.  Have kids.  Have grandkids.  Get a degree.  Build a career.  And so on.

And there are character goals – Be a kind person.  Be a supportive friend.  Be generous.  Contribute positively to the world.  Develop expertise in something.

Often, when we finally get what we want, we find that it is not the same as what we have built up in our minds.  The hype overshadows the reality.  Or, we don’t give ourselves enough credit for our successes.  We are disappointed.

We are asked us to put ourselves into the sandals of our ancient Israelite ancestors.  Partially-redeemed, able to imagine a Promised Land that is full of blessing, but required to recall the past with gratitude before we can fully experience that future in a sustainable way.

Rosh Hashanah is just over a week away.  It is a time when we consider the journeys that we are on.  Where are we headed?  Do we need to perform a course-correction?

Let’s also consider where we have come from.  Who do we have to be thankful to?  What blessings that we had nothing to do with have made our lives and the lives of those who have come before us better.  What can we offer as an expression of gratitude?

Only by taking the time to remember where we have come from, and how truly blessed we are, can we fully appreciate what we have to gain in the future.

Say Something Nice, Even If You Don’t Want To – Ki Tetzei 5775

Like the last several Torah portions, Ki Tetzei is comprised entirely of mitzvot, commandments.  Most of these mitzvot are bein adam l’adam.  They address our relationships with each other: relations between husbands and wives, children and parents, brothers and sisters, neighbors, customers, proprietors, friends in our communities, and those whom we don’t so much care for, the poor among us, citizens, as well as resident aliens.  Several mitzvot address compassionate treatment of animals.

We live interconnected lives, supporting and depending on vast networks of people on a daily basis.  The Torah teaches us that how we conduct these relationships is of ultimate importance.

Being Jewish is not limited to a set of cultural practices and rituals.  Just as important is our system of mitzvot, which is undergirded by an ethical system that treasures the inherit worth and equality of every human being, as well as the accountability that each of us bear for our decisions and actions.

It is just over two weeks until Rosh Hashanah.  We are halfway through the month of Elul, which means that we should be taking stock of our lives, conducting a cheshbon nefesh, a self-examination.  A big part of that self-examination should focus on our relationships with each other.

The mitzvot in the Torah portion deal primarily with specific events that occur between people, including dealing with misbehaving children, divorce, using honest weights in business dealings, fulfilling vows, and so on.  When we take a step back, we see that each individual interaction that we have with one another is a manifestation of our overall relationship.

According to family systems theory, as described in the book Generation to Generation by Edwin Friedman, relationships exist under a condition of homeostasis.  There is a balance between us, with each of us playing a set role.  It might not be a healthy balance, by the way.

Homeostatic relationship systems don’t like to change, but they are dynamic.  If one person in the relationship draws near, the other is likely to pull away, often unconsciously, in order to maintain the balance of the relationship system.

This is the time of year, however, when we have the opportunity to take a good, and hopefully honest look at ourselves and ask how we can be better.  We examine our relationships with the people in our lives: husbands, wives, partners, children and parents, siblings, friends, and coworkers.

But because our fundamental relationships are homeostatic, it is really hard to make a difference.

Let’s think about the following single aspect of our relationship with one person who we care about.  Consider how we speak to that person – specifically, how often we say something positive compared to how often we say something negative.

What is the ratio?  Let’s be honest.  One to one?  One compliment for every criticism.  Three to one?  Ten to one?  Or maybe it’s something like one positive statement for every three negative statements.

It might be difficult to estimate for ourselves, but we have got two weeks before Rosh Hashanah to gather some data.  That should be enough time.

A 2004 study looked at a group of sixty leadership teams at a large information-processing company.  It was trying to determine which factor made the biggest impact between the most and least successful teams.  The conclusion was that the ratio of positive comments to negative comments within members of the team was the greatest determining factor in their success.  They divided the teams into three groups.  The average ratio of the highest performing teams was 5.6 – that is, nearly six positive comments for every negative comment.  The ratio of the middle group was 1.9 – about two to one.  And the ratio of the lowest performing teams was 0.36.  In other words, team members criticized each other almost three times as often as they praised one another.

This should not be surprising to us.  Most people tend to dwell on the negative rather than the positive.  Receive a performance review with ten positive statements and one critique, and the only one we pay any attention to is the negative comment.

This is not only true in the workplace.  The number one determinant in predicting the likelihood of a married couple getting divorced is the ratio of positive to negative comments that the partners make to one another.  The ideal ratio?  Five to one.  For marriages that end in divorce, the ratio is .77 to one – about three positive comments to every four negative ones.

I suspect that the language we use with one another is more likely an indication of the state of a relationship rather than its cause.  But, I also believe that conscious adjustments to how we speak with one another can have a beneficial impact on the underlying health of a family, a marriage, or a friendship.

Make the effort to be more positive, even when it does not feel natural, or does not come easy to us.  In the moment, it will certainly make a difference for the other person, and probably also for ourselves.  Over time, it can also change the relationship itself.

Let me offer a few examples.  It does not have to be complicated:  Start with household chores:

• Thanks for setting the table, doing the dishes, taking out the trash, and so on.

• Thanks so much for working hard to provide for our family.  It must be stressful to carry that burden.

• Wow.  The house was so clean when I came home today.  It was nice to walk in the door to that.

• You really kept your cool when our daughter had her shouting tantrum.  I could not have remained so level-headed.  I’m glad you were there.

• Good job for going to the gym today.

• This morning, you worked hard to get everything done so that you could be out the door on time.  It helped make things really calm in the house, and helped me start off my day on a good note.

Even the superficial things matter.

• I like your shirt.

• Those pants look nice on you.

This might seem obvious, but I wonder if we take advantage of every opportunity to say something nice to the people in our lives.

After all, there is a lot that holds us back.  Anger, for one.  When we are mad at someone, the last thing we want to do is compliment them for doing something nice.  We want to punish them.

We also take each other for granted.  We do not always recognize the stress that another person is experiencing.  We often fail to notice the effort our family member has made to vacuum the house, make dinner, or take the kids to school.

But it is those small statements we make that communicate “I care about you.  I am happy that you are in my life.”  It feels good to receive them, and it feels good to make them.

That is my challenge to us for the next two weeks.  Pick one person in your life.  Count the number of positive statements you say to that person and compare it to the number of negative comments.  Calculate the ratio.  And then find more opportunities to give that ratio a bump upwards.

Pursuing Righteousness at Hanaton – Shoftim 5775

It is not possible for me to cover everything that I would like to share about the past five months in the next few minutes.  Expect it to come out in dribs and drabs over the course of the coming year.

This morning, I would like to describe a bit about the community in which my family and I lived for the majority of our time on sabbatical.

When trying to figure out where we would live, we initially thought of Jerusalem.  It soon became apparent that finding a school that would accept our children for only three months would pose a challenge.  So we started to think of alternatives.  In the course of asking around for suggestions, several people said, “Why don’t you check out Kibbutz Hanaton?”

Hanaton is located on a hill in the Lower Gallilee, about 30 minutes East of Haifa, a few kilometers from the Movil interchange.  It overlooks the Eshkol Reservoir, the major water reservoir serving the North.  It lies between the Bedouin village of Bir al-Mahsur and the Arab town of K’far Manda.

Dana and I had heard about Hanaton.  We knew that it was a Masorti kibbutz in the North.  Masorti is the name of the Conservative Movement in Israel.  It has a guest house that some USY Pilgrimage groups used to stay at for a few days, although neither of us had been there.  But we did not know anything beyond that.

So we started to inquire, including sending an email to a friend who had a friend who lived  part-time on Hanaton.  That friend of a friend sent an email to the Hanaton listserve, and before we knew it, people that we had never met were reaching out to us, offering to answer questions about life on Hanaton, school options, and living opportunities.

We lucked out in finding a basement apartment for rent, and then we started making our plans.

But let’s back up.  Eight years ago, Kibbutz Hanaton, which was founded in 1983 by a group of Olim from North America, was down to about three members, and had hundreds of thousands of shekels worth of debt.  It was on the verge of collapse.

Rabbi Yoav Ende was a recently ordained Masorti Rabbi who had a vision of building an inclusive, open, pluralistic religious community.  He recruited a small cohort of young families who were ready to take a risk and try something new.  In 2008, they moved to Hanaton and transformed it into a kibbutz mitchadesh – a revitalized kibbutz.

Hanaton is not what you are thinking of when you hear the word “kibbutz.”  Kids live with their parents.  Each family lives in its own home, owns its own belongings, and has its own car.  There is no community dining hall.

Collectively, the kibbutz owns a few businesses, the largest being a refet, or dairy farm, which is wisely located at the top of the hill, upwind from the housing area.  This ensures that kibbutz members have a constant olfactory reminder of the shared enterprise which is the kibbutz’s most profitable endeavor.  I like to call that reminder eau de refet.

There is a fantastic boutique winery called Jezreel Valley Winery, a hydroponic lettuce farm called Yarok al HaYam, a ceramics studio, and a horse therapy center.  Most kibbutz members work outside of the kibbutz in just about any profession you could imagine.  There are several nursery schools, and a group is actively trying to establish a grade school on Hanaton.

So in what way is Hanaton actually a kibbutz?  It’s collective in the sense that the people who live there have joined together to build a community founded on shared values of Judaism, pluralism, democracy, and egalitarianism.  Members come from diverse backgrounds: Masorti, Reform, Secular, and Orthodox.  They come from diverse political persuasions.  There are all sorts of family configurations living at Hanaton, including single parents and same sex families.

On Shabbat, the central streets of the kibbutz are closed to automobiles, although not every kibbutz member keeps Shabbat or kashrut.  If someone wants to use their car, they just park it outside the gate.  Friends who identify as secular explained to us that they want their children to grow up with a deep knowledge, learned from lived experience, of what it means to be a Jew.  Friends who identify as religious talk about wanting to raise their children in a pluralistic community.  There are nine Rabbis living on Hanaton, hailing from every single major movement in Judaism.

There is no Mara D’atra, or person who is in charge of making religious decision on behalf of the community.  Questions are dealt with somewhat collectively.

Tefilah on Shabbat feels a lot like here at Sinai – informal, participatory, child friendly, and non-judgmental.  Each week, a different family or group takes responsibility for Shabbat services, assigning services leaders and Torah readers, preparing the D’var Torah, and sponsoring the kiddush.

Now at 70 families and growing, Hanaton recently closed its debt and is continuing to attract members, construct new homes, and build new community facilities.  Because just about everyone there has moved in within the last seven years, the community is comprised mostly of young families, meaning there are kids everywhere.  They are free to roam unsupervised.  That took a little bit of adjustment for our family.  We knew our kids would be safe, because we knew that there would be an entire kibbutz of adults looking out for them.  Needless to say, it was great for them.

The Hanaton Educational Center, led by Rabbi Ende, is also doing fantastic things.  It just graduated its third Mechinah cohort.  Mechinah is kind of like a gap year for Israeli high school graduates before they begin their army or national service.  The Mechinistim come from all over the country.  Like the members of the kibbutz, they arrive from diverse backgrounds.  They take classes in which they discuss Judaism, philosophy, Israel, and Zionism.  They volunteer in the surrounding area.  They build connections with neighboring Arab communities.  And they are adopted by families from the kibbutz.  It is really touching to see how past graduates came back to be with their kibbutz families for Shavuot.

This year, the Educational Center is starting a gap year program for North American students as well.  Having lived there, and knowing Rabbi Ende and the other people who are running the program, I can tell you that it will be an incredible experience.  Let me know if you are interested.

And they have more plans for expansion as well.

Rabbi Ende explained to me that his motivation for rebuilding Hanaton and its Educational Center is Zionistic.  He wants to make a positive contribution to Israeli society, and he knows that the best way he can do this is by focusing not on national or international policy, but rather, on his own community.  He is trying to build a kibbutz that embraces values of Judaism, pluralism, and democracy, and that teaches those values to young Israelis before they begin their army service.  That way, they will bring their increased understanding with them when they defend their country.  The Educational Center also tries to pursue those values in the wider community through programming with neighboring villages, especially some of the nearby Arab communities.

Of course, as everywhere, Hanaton struggles over some decisions, and as a young community, is still figuring out how best to talk about controversial topics without dividing people.

So let me tell you about our first days in Israel, back in March.  We arrive at Ben Gurion Airport, spend our first couple of nights with Motti, Sinai’s High Holiday Cantor, and his family, and then drive up to the kibbutz.  We cannot get into our apartment, so we drop our bags off on the porch of someone who until now we have only met by email.  Then, we do what everyone around the world does when they move into a new home – we go to IKEA.

Wandering around IKEA, our phones start ringing and buzzing with calls and texts.  Apparently, there is a gaggle of third graders outside of our locked apartment, eager to meet the new boy and show him around the kibbutz.  What a welcome!  And that pretty much characterizes our experience for the next three and a half months.

Congregation Sinai is a really friendly community.  When someone new shows up in services, our members go out of their way to welcome them and help them settle in.  We found Hanaton to be very familiar in this regard.

This was not our experience at other synagogues we visited in Israel.  When we entered other communities, people did not generally come up to introduce themselves and find out who we were.  But the members of Hanaton went above and beyond.  People offered us furniture and cooking supplies.  Our kids were welcomed into after school chugim, activities.  We were invited to Shabbat meals.

Dana and I tried to help out wherever we could.  When they found out I played guitar, I was recruited to help out with tefilah in “Shishi Yehudi,” a supplementary religious school program that takes place on Friday mornings.  Dana helped prepare food for the Yom Ha’atzmaut celebration and chaperoned several class trips as the medic.  We helped out with Shabbat services.  It was great for us to be able to participate in community life.  It was also kind of nice, I have to admit, to arrive a little bit late to shul, and fall asleep in the back row.

At the end of our time, the same friend on whose porch we left our luggage hosted a goodbye party for us.  We are so grateful to the members of Kibbutz Hanaton for opening up their hearts to us when they knew that we were only going to be there for a limited time.

In Parashat Shoftim, Moshe presents detailed instructions about how the Israelites are to form functioning, thriving communities once they have entered the Promised Land.  As the opening words suggest, shoftim v’shotrim titen l’kha b’khol she’arekha.  “Judges and officers you shall appoint in all of your gates” – the overall emphasis is on justice, or righteousness.  Indeed, a few verses later, we read the famous words, tzedek, tzedek tirdof – Justice, justice shall you pursue.  From the appointment of judges, officials, and leaders, to the conduct of court cases, to rooting out immorality, to waging war against enemies, Parashat Shoftim  recognizes justice as a goal that must constantly pursued, even as absolute justice remains perpetually out of reach.  It also emphasizes that justice can only emerge when members of a society work together to make these ideals a reality in the messy real world.

This is what we found at Hanaton – a group of people who have moved their entire families into a community in order to pursue this vision of tzedek.  I often found myself thinking that Hanaton is what Sinai would be like if we all lived together in a small community.  It is a nice thought.  We are a community made of members who have come together to pursue righteousness.

Sinai has always been lay led, but it is not easy for a synagogue to function without its rabbi for five months.  From everything I have heard and seen, the Sinai community has thrived.  I am not surprised.  We have an incredible community of knowledgeable, talented, and dedicated members.  There was someone to deliver a d’rash, lead services, and chant Torah every week.  Education programs continued while I was gone.  A group of musicians worked together to lead Kabbalat Shabbat services.  Mourners received the care and comfort that they needed.

I am not going to list the names of the many volunteers and staff members who stepped up these past five months, but I do want to let you know how much my sabbatical enriched me.  It deepened my connection to Israel, and my Jewish identity.  And it was a great experience for my family.  Thank you for making it possible.

Todah Rabah.

Limits on Kings and Presidents – Shoftim 5774

In Hebrew, the name of the United States is not a translation of “United States of America.”  If it were, it would be something like Medinot HaIchud shel Amerika.  Instead, our nation is described in Hebrew as Artzot HaBrit, “Lands of the Covenant.”

While not a direct translation, this name expresses an aspect of our nation that is particularly valued in our Jewish tradition.  What is the covenant of which Artzot HaBrit speaks?  It is the Constitution of the United States of America, the supreme law of the land.

This concept appeals to us because we are the first people in the history of the world to have a document that functions as the supreme law.  Of course, it is the Torah.

Having a written brit, or covenant, at center of national identity is not the only similarity between Judaism and the United States.  Both polities imagine some of the same qualities in the ideal leader.

The Declaration of Independence, after establishing the fundamental human rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” along with the rights of people to reject a government that fails to ensure those rights, lists a number of grievances against the King of Great Britain.

In establishing the Republic, the Founding Fathers wanted to draw clear distinctions between the monarchy that they had rebelled against and the democracy that they were establishing.  They understood the need to have a unitary executive, but they were fearful of the abuses that could ensue if power was left unchecked.

In creating the office of President, the Founding Fathers limited his powers and ensured that he would have to serve the Constitution, rather than the other way around.  That is why, when the President is sworn into office, he promises to “Preserve, Protect, and Defend the Constitution of the United States – so help me God!”

The Federalist Papers were published in the years 1787 – 1788 under the psuedonym Publius.  They were written by Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay to promote the ratification of the Constitution by each of the States.

In Federalist Paper number 69, Alexander Hamilton enumerates some of the differences in power between the President of the United States and the King of England.  He notes that the President is limited to a four year term, while the King serves for life.  The President can be impeached and removed from office, while the King is personally sacred and inviolable.  The President has veto power, but he can be overruled, while the King’s veto is absolute.  Both are the supreme commanders of the military, but the President cannot independently declare war, sign treaties, or raise armies, while the King can do all three.  The President does not have unlimited power to appoint officials, and the King does.  And finally, the President has “no particle of spiritual jurisdiction,” while the King is the “supreme head and governor of the national church.”

At the time, these kinds of restrictions on the power of a national leader were unique in the world.  But the idea of subjecting the leader to a written covenant, limiting his warmaking powers, and otherwise preventing him from self-aggrandizement was not unheard of.  In fact, it bears striking similarities to the Torah’s vision of the ideal king, as presented in the Book of Deuteronomy.

I do not suggest that the Founding Fathers explicitly modeled the Presidency on Deuteronomy’s laws of kings. but there certainly seem to be similarities.  How did this come to be?

In the 18th century, a complete education included learning classical languages like Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, as well as acquiring extensive knowledge and mastery of the Hebrew Bible.  Yale, Columbia, and Dartmouth have Hebrew inscriptions on their university seals, and until 1817, Harvard graduation ceremonies included a Hebrew oration.

For Puritan colonialists, what for them was the Old Testament had great significance.  I think it is safe to say that the Founding Fathers’ critiques of the overreaching of King George and their imposition of limits on the power of the President were influenced, at least in spirit, by the Torah.

This morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Shoftim, teaches us much about leadership.  It commands that judges and officials administer the law justly and impartially.  It mandates the establishment of a higher court that will issue rulings on cases that are too baffling for local leaders.  (The Rabbis understand this as the basis for the Sanhedrin, the court of 71 rabbis, judges, and priests who function as the High Court of the land, with added legislative and executive powers.)

The Torah portion also deals with kings, albeit with ambivalence.  Unlike its treatment of judges, officials, and the High Court, the Torah does not command the appointment of a King.  It is optional.  “If,” Moses tells the Israelites,

after you have entered the land that the Lord your God has assigned to you, and taken possession of it and settled in it, you decide, asima alai melekh –  “I will set a king over me, as do all the nations about me,” you shall be free to set a king over yourself… (Deuteronomy 17:14-15)

So what powers does a King have?  If we go exclusively by what is written in the Torah, absolutely none.  The King only has limitations.  Listen to these restrictions on the power of the monarchy.  Does this fit your image of a King?

• He is not allowed to accumulate too many horses, or send people down to Egypt to get more horses.

• He is not allowed to acquire too many wives.

• He is not allowed to amass too much gold and silver.

• He must have a copy of the Torah, written by the Priests, always at his side.  He must read it constantly so that he will learn to revere God and follow its laws.

• He may not act with haughtiness towards other people.

Nowhere in the Torah are the people actually commanded to follow the king and do what he says.  In the relationship between king and subjects, the responsibility is unidirectional – it is the king who serves the people.

When we think about royalty in pre-modern times, we usually think about the unlimited exercise of power.  The king’s word is law.  He rules by divine right.  The people owe him their total obedience and respect.  He can impose taxes and raise armies.  He gets to live a life of extravagance and pleasure.  As a famous monarch once said, “It’s good to be the king!”

Parashat Shoftim’s model is that of an anti-king.

Not only is he not allowed to build up the army, impose heavy taxation, and live the good life, he is also bound by a constitution – the Torah.  His job is to promote and enforce the commandments, and lead the people in observing the terms of the covenant not with a human king, but with God, the King of Kings.

It is a utopian vision of leadership not so dissimilar to other systems that place a wise, benevolent executive in charge of leading a society in accordance with principals of justice, “the good,” or philosophy.  Think Plato, Aristotle, Locke, and so on.

But is such a utopian vision realistic?  Apparently not.

After the Israelites conquer the Promised Land under the leadship of Joshua, they split up into tribes.  Various local and regional chiefs lead the people through one crisis after another.  Order gradually breaks down over the next two hundred years, and the Israelites have finally had enough.  They turn to the Prophet-Chief Samuel and ask him to appoint a King over them.  Tnah lanu melekh lshofteinu – “…appoint a king for us, to govern us…”  (I Samuel 8:6)

Samuel is disappointed, but God reassures him and tells him to ascede to the people’s request.  Samuel’s reaction is surprising, because the Torah already anticipated the Israelites’ future desire to be ruled by a human king.  Had not Samuel read Parashat Shoftim?

The nineteenth century Polish Rabbi, Yehoshua Trunk from Kutna (1821-1893), points to a subtle distinction between what Deuteronomy allows, and what the people request.  In Deuteronomy, when the people ask to set a king over them, they say asima alai melekh.  Whereas in Samuel, the people say t’nah lanu melekh, give us a king.  What is the difference between setting and giving?

Without going into the complexities, Rabbi Yehoshua from Kutna says that Deuteronomy’s vision of sima, setting a king, implies that he is going to be immersed in the people, and his job will be to guide them in the ways of God, influencing their thoughts and actions, and helping them to focus on the innermost realm of the heart.

When the Israelites in Samuel request n’tinah, to be given a king, they are asking to have a leader placed above them.  What they want are the pomp and circumstance, the external trappings of power that characterize the leaders of all the other nations of the world.

But God does not want Israel to be like the other nations of the world, and certainly does not want its king to fall to the hubris that afflicts so many human leaders.

In telling Samuel to go along with the people’s request, God knows that they are not motivated by the lofty ideals of the Torah, but as the saying goes, “people get the leaders they deserve.”

Samuel warns the people what the king is going to do them.  He will draft your sons into his army and your daughters as cooks and bakers.  He will seize farmlands, vineyards, and orchards.  He will tax you, and consign you to serfdom.  Eventually, you will regret this decision.

But the people insist that they want someone to go out in front of them and lead them to victory in battle.

Things start to unravel almost immediately.  The first king, Saul, turns out to be deeply flawed.  David brings the nation to greatness, capturing Jerusalem and expanding the borders, but not without his share of trouble.

His son Solomon builds the Temple, but violates every single  one of Deuteronomy’s laws about Kings, fulfilling Samuel’s warnings from just three generations ago.  He imposes heavy taxes and forced labor to build the Temple.  He buys horses and chariots from Egypt.  He accumulates vast riches.  Solomon marries seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, whom he allows to introduce their idolatrous foreign practices into the Holy Land.

When Solomon dies, the united monarchy ends as the northern kingdom of Israel breaks off from the southern kingdom of Judah.  The righteous king, as described in Shoftim, is an ideal that turns out to be exceedingly difficult to implement.

The establishment of Israel in 1948 has reignited issues about Jewish power that have not been practical considerations for nearly two thousand years.  Is Israel a nation like any other, or do Jewish history and values make it different?  What should the role of Torah and Jewish law be in a country that is committed to freedom of religion and equal rights?  Who is authorized to interpret Jewish law?  How does Israel maintain itself as a Jewish state and a democracy?  What does it even mean to be a Jewish state?

You might be surprised to know that Israel does not have a constitution.  According to Israel’s Declaration of Independence of May 14, 1948, there was supposed to have been Constitution in place by October 1 of that year.  But the above questions were so difficult to resolve, the question of an Israeli constitution was placed on the back burner.

Because of the international and domestic pressure cooker that Israel always finds itself in, these questions are being dealt with and tested on a daily basis.  Israelis wrestle with the dilemma of creating a society based on the lofty ideals and values expressed in Jewish law and tradition while facing the very real and practical challenges that often are a question of survival.

One of the reasons that Israel is so important to Jews everywhere is because it creates powerful opportunities to put Jewish values into practice on a national level.  That is a possibility that did not exist for nearly two thousand years.  As we see on a daily basis, it is not easy.

We refer to the modern State of Israel in our prayers as reishit tz’michat geulateinu, the beginning of the flowering of our redemption.  The question of whether that is true or not depends on how Israel the country and Israel the people deal with these challenges.  I take it as a positive sign that Israelis, as well as Jews in the Diaspora, are actively engaged in wrestling with the question of how to exercise power in ways that embody the ethical principles of the Torah.

What about turkey? – Re’eh 5774

During my recent vacation, my wife and I spent a lot of time going through photographs from both sides of our families.  Technology allows us to scan and restore old pictures.  So as we went through hundreds of faded images from the past, we asked questions and heard stories from our parents about earlier generations.  Even though many of the stories occurred decades ago, and were about people whom we never met, learning about my family’s past contributes to my own personal story and gives me a greater sense of rootedness.

Something else that connects us to family, tradition, and community, is food.  Family recipes are treasures that are passed from one generation to the next.  Also passed down are types of food that are eaten, and those that are avoided.  Indeed, what we eat and do not eat creates a strong sense of belonging among families and cultures who share those traditions.

This morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Re’eh, includes one of the two presentations of the laws of kashrut.  It presents specific criteria that indicate whether an animal is permitted for Jews to eat or not.  If it walks around on the ground, it must chew its cud and have split hooves.  If it swims in the water, it must have fins and scaled.

When it comes to flying creatures, however, the Torah does not present us with general criteria to determine kosher status.  Instead, it tells us that we may eat any pure bird without telling us what that means.  Then it gives us a list of twenty unkosher bird species, plus the bat.  Three of the twenty forbidden birds are expanded with the word l’minah, “and its variety.”  Thus, we are left with a total of twenty four forbidden species.

Scientists of today have identified approximately ten thousand individual species of birds in the world, so the Torah’s list would seem to be a little short.

The Rabbis of two thousand years ago looked at the Torah’s list, noticed that the two other major categories of living creatures both came with clear criteria, and concluded that they needed to come up with a better system for determining the status of a given bird.  The rabbis proceeded to extrapolate criteria for what makes a kosher bird.  This is what they came up with:

1.  Kosher birds have an extra toe behind the leg, above the foot.

2.  Kosher birds have a crop, which is a pouch for storing food near the throat.

3.  Kosher birds have a gizzard which is easy to peel.  A gizzard is a part of a bird’s stomach where food is ground up by small stones that the bird has swallowed.

4.  Kosher birds are not dores, which means that they do not hold down their prey with their talons while they eat it.

This last criterion is a problem, since it is not a physical characteristic, but rather a behavioral one.  To be certain, one would have to spend all day long observing a particular species to make sure that it never held down its prey while eating.  And so, the Talmud relates that as long as it had the first three criteria, a bird species could be considered kosher.

The medieval commentator Rashi expresses his doubts, however.  It would be too risky to accept a bird as kosher and then have it, a year later, demonstrate this unacceptable behavior.  So Rashi declares that with regard to bird species, there must also be a masorah, a tradition inherited from our ancestors about a particular bird being kosher.  Any bird that does not have a masorah of being kosher is not to be eaten.

This brings us to the bird known as meleagris gallopavo, the wild turkey.  The 1519 conquistador expedition of Hernan Cortes first brought turkeys to Europe.  The meaty bird became an overnight sensation on the continent, and was often served as a delicacy at state dinners.  Its popularity quickly spread, and by 1530, turkey was being raised domestically in England, France, and Italy.

When it arrived in England, it was brought by traders from the Eastern Mediterranean, who were referred to as “Turkey Merchants,” as the area was then part of the Ottoman Empire.  The English thus began to call it “Turkey Bird.”

Almost everyone else in Europe got the bird confused with a species of large chicken that had come from India, and subsequently referred to it with a name that meant something along the lines of “bird of India” in local dialects.  To this day, turkey in Hebrew is called tarn’gol hodu, which literally means “Indian chicken.”

When the Pilgrims arrived in New England in 1620, they brought the turkey with them, unknowingly returning it to its continent of origin.

Jews were presented with a difficult question.  Is a turkey a kosher bird?  For centuries, there was a lot of confusion about the matter.

A turkey clearly meets the first three criteria of the Sages.  It has the extra toe, the crop, and the peelable gizzard.  As for holding its prey down while it eats, who is going to spend all that time watching a turkey?

The sixteenth century Ashkenazi legal authority, Rabbi Moshe Isserles, included Rashi’s requirement that there be a masorah, an established tradition for a bird to be considered kosher, in addition to the physical characteristics.  In subsequent centuries, some rabbinic figures argued that Isserles was correct, some said he was incorrect, and others suggested that he was just misunderstood.

A few rabbis claimed that a turkey was basically a big chicken, and therefore kosher.  (In reality, a turkey is more closely related to a pheasant or a partridge.)

Others, thinking that the bird was from India, claimed that there in fact was an established tradition as to its acceptability, since Jews had been living in India for thousands of years.  One Rabbi even claimed that the tradition extended all the way back to the time of Moses!

Numerous creative justifications were presented over the next several centuries, many based upon completely faulty understandings of the history and taxonomy of the bird.

What is undistputed, however, is that Jews loved eating turkey, so it was a foregone conclusion that it would end up being kosher.

Today, Israel has by far the highest per-capita rate of turkey consumption in the world.  The average Israeli eats 20 kg of turkey meat per year.  Next in line is the United States, at 8 kg per year.

We Jews like our turkey.  Except for one family.

Rabbi Yom Tov Lippman ben Natan haLevi Heller, known more popularly by the title of his book Tosafot Yom Tov, lived from 1579 to 1654.  Although it does not appear in any of his writings, he allegedly rejected the kashrut of turkey as it did not have a clear masorah.  Not only that, the legend goes, The Tosafot Yom Tov left instructions that his descendants should refrain from eating turkey.

Even though he knew that the rest of the Jewish world would be eating it, he thought he was right, and he wanted his family to maintain a higher standard.

When I was in Rabbinical School, I had a classmate and a teacher who were descendants of the Tosafot Yom Tov.  They, along with their families, do not eat turkey on Thanksgiving.  It has become a source of pride, and family identity.

Ironically, the Tosafot Yom Tov has created a masorah for his offspring due to the absence of a masorah about turkey.

While I do like eating turkey on Thanksgiving, there is a part of me that is jealous of those descendants of the Tosafot Yom Tov.  They can point to a masorah, a family tradition, that goes back three hundred years.  That is pretty special.  In my family, we have records of some relatives going back into the mid-nineteenth century, but we do not know much about their lives, and we certainly do not have any family traditions that have been passed down,

This is one of the unfortunate losses that we have experienced in modern times.  The Holocaust dislocated many Jews from their origins.  The incredible amount of movement, which leads many of us to live in different cities from our family members, also has led to the loss of family traditions.

I think that there are a lot of people today who feel dislocated from their past, and are seeking to reesatablish connections to ancestors whose memories they have lost.

People sometimes come to meet with me who have discovered that they might have Jewish ancestry.  Sometimes it is the result of a DNA test.  Other times it emerges in conversations with older family members.  These conversations seem to be part of a larger trend of people in our detached, often lonely world seeking to connect with their past.

It is the same loneliness that inspired me to start scanning all of those old family photographs.

I suspect that for most of us, any family traditions we have only go back two or three generations.

As the Jewish people, however, we share the masorah of an extended family that goes back thousands of years.  We still read the central text of our family.  Many of our mitzvot and traditions are rooted in the stories of our biblical ancestors.  These are stories that we know and share.  The personalities of our forebears, with all of their strengths and weaknesses, have become part of our story.

Some might say that there is much in Jewish tradition that is simply a burden.  But often, it is those traditions that do not make much sense, that require a little bit of work, that give us the strongest sense of who we are.  I imagine that it is kind of a pain for the descendants of the Tosafot Yom Tov to pass the plate of turkey to the next person without taking any, but I bet it is also something of a badge of pride.

Who gives power to succeed? – Ekev 5774

One of the central moral lessons of the Torah is the importance of being aware that everything we have, all the blessings in our lives, come from God.  “The earth is the Lord’s, and all it contains,” says the Psalms.  It is not such a difficult concept to grasp.  We look around us, and we know that the world was here before us, and that we did not create it.

The purpose of so many of our mitzvot is to get us to acknowledge this fact.  Our prayers are filled with descriptions of God as the Creator of the world.  Saying blessings before eating food forces us to acknowledge God as the ultimate Creator before we enjoy the earth’s bounty.  In this morning’s Torah portion, we read v’achalta v’savata uverachta – “when you eat and are satisfied, then you will bless the Lord for the good land that God has given you.”  This is considered to be the origin of the mitzvah of reciting Birkat HaMazon, the Grace After Meals.  While the idea that we should be grateful may seem pretty obvious, we humans still struggle to maintain a regular awareness of our own dependance on God’s Creation.

This morning’s Torah portion, Parashat Ekev, warns us of an even more difficult form of gratitude to instill.  Moses is speaking to the Israelites before they enter Israel.  With God’s help, they will capture the Promised Land.  He tells them that things are then going to go really well for them.  Granted, they are going to work really hard for it, but all that hard work is going to pay off big time.

They will move in and build beautiful, secure homes.  They will plant crops, which will produce more than enough food.  Their flocks will multiply.  They will accumulate gold and silver.  It is going to be a good life.

Moses predicts what the Israelites will then say to themselves:  “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.”  (Deuteronomy 8:17)

It is true.  Those crops did not plant themselves.  The sheep and goats did not milk each other.  We did it.  We worked hard, and now we deserve everything we have earned.

That is the moment when the risk of forgetting is greatest.  When the Israelites say, “I deserve this.,” they will forget all that God has done for them to make it possible.  They will forget how God freed them Egypt, protected and led them through a parched wilderness that was full of snakes and scorpions, and gave them water to drink and manna to eat.

“Remember,” Moses says, “that it is the Lord who gives you the power to get wealth.”  (Deuteronomy 8:18)

From there, it is a slippery slope to idolatry.  The people will abandon God and turn to other idols.

How does a person acheive the American Dream?  Part of the mythos of our nation is that a person can succeed through hard work, no matter his or her religion, ethnicity, or background.  Rather than relying upon the state, the autonomous individual must take charge of his or her own fate.  For a person with the right drive and talent, there is nothing that cannot be achieved.

Let us set aside the question of whether this myth is true of twenty-first century America, because the idea of it is certainly still with us.  The belief that anything is possible, and that a person’s success is determined exclusively by the work of his hands, is one of the distinguishing features of American culture.

In an Op-Ed entitled “What Does it Mean to be White” that recently appeared in the Seattle Times, Professor Robin DiAngelo, who herself is white, suggests that most of us are largely unaware of the extent to which race determines our fate.  She points out that most of us develop our ideas about a subject by taking in information from the particular cultural waters in which we swim.  It is extremely difficult to gain the perspectives of those who swim in different waters.

A 2012 poll by Gallup investigated attitudes about the role of African Americans in the United States criminal justice system.  The question was asked:  “Do you think the American justice system is biased against black people?”  Note that the question is not to determine whether or not it is true, but rather what people believe about it.  68% of African Americans said yes, the criminal justice system is biased against them.  25% of whites claimed to believe that the criminal justice system is biased against blacks.  That is a huge discrepancy that suggests that the cultural waters that black and white Americans swim in are quite different.

This week, we have seen this on display as huge outpourings of anger following the tragic shooting of African American teenager, Michael Brown, in Ferguson, Missouri.

Professor DiAngelo points out that dictionary definitions of the term “racism” tend to focus on explicit attitudes of racial prejudice and the intentional actions that result from them.  Most of us probably think of ourselves as good, reasonable, fair people who give everyone an equal chance.  I am not a racist because I do not engage in actions that are disciminatory towards other people because of their race.

Social scientists define racism differently.  It is a “multidimensional, highly adaptive system… that ensures an unequal distribution of resources among racial groups.”

In other words, regardless of my own personal attitudes and actions, I still might be unconsciously benefitting from a racist society.

I stand here as white, Jewish, and male.  I consider myself to be good and fair.  I do not intentionally discriminate against anyone.  I speak up on behalf of tolerance and equality in conversations.  I consider these to be important values when making voting decisions.  Yet, as a white, Jewish, male living in America, I have benefitted from “an unequal distribution of resources based among racial groups” in astounding ways.

I was raised in a Jewish culture that treasures children, education, and strong family connections.  I have always lived in a safe and supportive, two parent household.  I was raised in a home that valued education, and that paid for that education by sending me to expensive Jewish day schools from third through eighth grade and sent me to an out of state university.  I lived in neighborhoods and participated in social circles that were dominated by well-educated, middle class professionals who were mostly white.  There was always healthy food on the table, and I was encouraged to be involved in organized sports.  I always had access to high quality health care.

I have never encountered a barrier in my life that was placed there because of my race, religion, or gender.

When I put all of this together, I have to admit that have I benefitted tremendously from a life of privilege.  The odds of my being successful in life were enormously high compared to someone who was not born with all of these opportunities.  And I did not do a single thing to earn those advantages.

So who deserves the credit for my prosperity?  I certainly worked hard for it.  I spent a lot of years in college and rabbinical school.  Is it not “the might of my own hands” that has brought me to this point in my life?

Call it blessing, or call it luck – I was born in the wealthiest country, at the most prosperous time in human history, to a family with white skin, into a religion and culture that enjoyed a degree of acceptance that is unprecedented in its history.  What are the odds?

Not high.

With regard to racism, Professor DiAngelo does not suggest that I have done anything wrong in benefitting from these opportunities.  We did not create a system with embedded racism, but we have inherited it.  She concludes, “We must take responsibility to see and challenge it both within and around us.”

She brings our attention to the same issue that Moses brings to the Israelites about to cross the Jordan River.

Moses understands human nature very well.  He understands that it is difficult to maintain a perspective on the big picture.  We tend to be wrapped up in our experiences.  When things are going well, we tend to think that we deserve it.  It is so easy to overlook the many advantages and opportunities, without which we would not have had the ability to work so hard and have that work pay off.  But that is exactly what we are asked to do.  “Remember that it is the Lord who gives you the power to get wealth.”  We must be aware.  We must be grateful.  And we must work to create a society that offers more people an opportunity to succeed in life.

Shut Up and Listen – Ki Tavo 5773

Ernesto Sirolli is an Italian aid worker. In a Ted talk, which is viewable online,*1* he tells the story of his first project in Africa, in the 1970’s. He was part of a group of Italians who decided to teach Zambian people how to grow food. So they went to Southern Zambia to a beautiful, fertile valley that led down into the Zambesi River, and they brought a bunch of Italian seeds, intending to teach the locals how to grow tomatoes and zucchini and so on.
The locals, of course, had absolutely no interest in doing that, so the Italians paid them to come and work. Sometimes they showed up. The Italians were amazed that, in such a fertile valley, there was no agriculture.
Instead of asking the Zambesi about it, the Italians said “Thank God we are here to save the Zambian people from starvation.”
Everything grew beautifully – better than in Italy, in fact. “Look how easy agriculture is,” they told the Zambians.
One night, when the tomatoes were big and ripe, two hundred hippos came up out of the river and ate every last vegetable that they had planted.
The Italians said to the Zambians: “My God! The hippos!”
And the Zambians said: “Yes. That’s why we have no agriculture here.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You never asked.”
Sometimes, it pays to listen.
It is the last day of Moses’ life, and he knows it. The Israelites are assembled before him in the Plains of Moab on the Eastern Side of the Jordan River. This is the next generation, the children of those who had left slavery in Egypt. They have all been born in the wilderness.
Now, they are poised to enter the land of Israel. Moses, knowing the end is near, has been giving a series of speeches to the people. He has reviewed the history of the Exodus. He has presented the laws, including those that will be applicable once they enter the Promised Land. And now, in this morning’s Parshah, he pronounces a series of blessings and curses which will befall them depending on how they uphold the terms of the covenant with God.
Moses turns to the people and says:
Hasket ush’ma yisrael
“Silence! Hear, O Israel!”*2*
This theme of listening has been a recurring one throughout the Book of Deuteronomy. Moses tells the people many to listen times. Our most famous prayer, the Shema, is from the Book of Deuteronomy. So it is not unusual that Moses tells the people to listen. What is unusual is that he tells them to shut up first. Hasket ush’ma. “Silence, and listen…” It is the only time in the entire Bible that the word hasket appears. When a word appears only once like this, scholars call it a hapax legomenon. As the medieval Rabbi and linguist Ibn Ezra comments, “its explanation is according to its context, for it has no parallels [in Scripture].”*3*
We are left with a question: If the idea of listening is so prevalent in Deuteronomy, why, on this single occasion, does Moses feel he needs to first tell the Israelites to be quiet? To answer that, let’s look at what he tells them to listen to this time:
hayom hazeh nih’yeta l’am ladonai elohekha
“Today you have become the people of the Lord your God.
Is this true? Is this day, at the end of the fortieth year of the Israelites’ wanderings, the day that they finally become God’s people? Didn’t that already happen a long time ago – at the time of the Exodus or at Mt. Sinai?
The great medieval commentator Rashi explains Moses’ instructions as follows: “You should consider every day as the day on which you entered into a covenant with [God].”*4*
Moses is not speaking just to the Israelites born in the wilderness. He speaks to all of us. He challenges all of us to treat “today” as the day on which we enter into a covenant with God.
Perhaps that explains why he tells the people to be quiet before he tells them to listen. Back at Sinai, they did not need to be told to shut up. There was a cacophonous sound and light show that overwhelmed the senses – earthquakes, thunder, lightning, fire, smoke, the sound of the shofar. Believe me, they were paying attention.
Forty years later, in Deuteronomy, there is no miraculous revelation by God. There are only words. In order to listen, to really listen, to what Moses is saying, the people must first stop talking. Only then can they, and we, open ourselves up to Torah and become the people of God.
“Shut up and listen!” he says. If we want to be a people of God, we have to stop making noise. We have to stop projecting ourselves and our egos out into the world.
In a world that is full of the noise of our own making, this is an important reminder. We tend to spend a lot more time talking than listening. When we do that, when we shut ourselves off from what the other has to say, we put up barriers. It is impossible to be in a relationship with someone to whom we do not listen.
I did a search online on the expression “Shut Up and Listen.” There were articles that advocated this approach for salespeople. We can be much more effective when we pause to listen to the customer say what the customer actually wants instead of telling the customer what he or she wants. Makes sense.
A self help column spoke about the importance of listening to criticism from other people. Rather than arguing back, it advocated simply saying “thank you,” and trying to really understand the critique. That is an important strategy that can help us learn about ourselves. Also makes sense.
And I found the story of the Italian aid worker in Zambia that I told earlier. The reason that more than one trillion dollars of Western aid money in Africa has done far more harm than good over the past fifty years is that most well-intentioned do-gooders don’t stop to ask people what they actually need. They would do well to shut up and listen.
While all of this may be true, that being quiet and listening may help us improve our sales numbers, or better ourselves, or help impoverished societies, Moses is getting at something deeper. He teaches us that the secret of being in an authentic relationship with another, whether it is a relationship with another human being, or a relationship with God, lies in our ability to shut up and listen.
Silence is more than just the absence of words. To be silent, we have to let go of our defense mechanisms. We have to stop acting as if “the world was created for me” and start acting like “I am but dust and ashes.” When we force down our ego, we create an open space that can be filled by another.
To be in a true relationship is to be in a covenantal relationship, which carries obligations.
The French Jewish philosopher Emanuel Levinas said that we encounter God when we truly look into another person’s face. Our self falls away and there is only the commanding Presence of the Other. Being in authentic relationship with another person is wrapped up with being in authentic relationship with God.
While there are many aspects of silence, it does come down to words. Words are our primary tools for projecting ourselves into the world. What if we only had a limited number of words that we could use each day?
The American poet Jeffrey McDaniel ponders this in his poem, The Quiet World.*5*

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

Just imagine what it would be like.

*1*http://www.ted.com/talks/ernesto_sirolli_want_to_help_someone_shut_up_and_listen.html
*2*Deuteronomy 27:9
*3*Ibn Ezra on Deut. 27:9
*4*Rashi on Deut. 27:9
*5*Listen to author read the poem at: https://myspace.com/jeffreymcdaniel/music/album/the-forgiveness-parade-5886367

Eating the Fruits While One Labors – Ki Teitzei 5773

In January 1914, Henry Ford*1* raised his workers’ salaries to $5 a day.  His competitors were paying $2.25.  He also shortened the work day from 9 to 8 hours.
The popular reason is that Ford wanted his workers to be able to afford to purchase the cars that they were manufacturing.  He wanted to increase demand for his product.
This is a somewhat simplistic explanation.
The real reason was to reduce worker attrition.  It was incredibly expensive to have workers who might or might now show up, and if they did show up, were more often than not drunk.  In 1913, Ford employed 52,000 men to keep a workforce of 14,000.
In increasing the wages, Ford did not just write bigger checks.  Half of the wages were paid as bonuses and were dependent on a number of factors.  Ford had a “Socialization Organization” that sent people to workers’ homes to make sure they were doing things the “American Way.”  No gambling or drinking.  Immigrants had to learn English.  Women could not get the bonus unless they were single and supporting a family.  Men could not get the bonus if their wives worked.
By reducing the workday from nine to eight hours, it allowed Ford to schedule three back-to-back workshifts per day.
But he did not just raise wages to improve efficiency.  Ford had much bigger ideas  He writes in his autobiography:
“The kind of workman who gives the business the best that is in him is the best kind of workman a business can have. …[I]f a man feels that his day’s work is not only supplying his basic need, but is also giving him a margin of comfort and enabling him to give his boys and girls their opportunity and his wife some pleasure in life, then his job looks good to him and he is free to give it of his best. This is a good thing for him and a good thing for the business.”
It worked. The reason it worked for those employees is not because the wages went up and the workday shortened in and of themselves.  It’s that it made working at Ford better than the alternatives.  Morale and loyalty were high because workers knew that they were getting a better deal at Ford than they could get anywhere else.
In 1913, Ford’s workers made 170,000 cars.  The next year, after these changes, they made 202,000 cars.  It went up and up from there.  Ford’s approach was adopted across the American economy, and played a big role in building the American middle class
In recent years, this has fallen apart.  Companies no longer take the approach that they need to invest in their employees the way that Ford did starting in 1914.
Over the last several decades, corporate profits relative to GDP has risen significantly.*2*  At the same time, employee compensation relative to GDP has fallen.  This is reflected in workers’ stagnant wages while corporations earn huge profits.
It seems to me, anecdotally, that workers today do not feel the kind of loyalty to their employers that Ford’s workers did in the 19-teens.
The Torah would seem to support Henry Ford’s ideas.  It is ironic because, in addition to being a business genius, Henry Ford was an anti-semite, publishing a series of articles in his newspapers that were later reprinted in a four volume set of booklets called The International Jew, which fanned the flames of all of the classic stereotypes.  It was admired by Nazis and reprinted in Egypt in Arabic as recently as 2001.
Henry Ford was apparently misinformed about Jewish values.
This morning’s Torah portion states: “When you enter another man’s vineyard, you may eat as many grapes as you want, until you are full, but you must not put any in your vessel.  When you enter another man’s field of standing grain, you may pluck ears with your hand; but you must not put a sickle to your neighbor’s grain.”*3*
This has been understood by our tradition to refer specifically to laborers.*4*  Workers in the field are allowed to eat their fill while they are working.
Why does the Torah require this?  Some commentators say that it is a benefit to which they are entitled – part of a worker’s pay.
The Mishnah asks how much a worker is permitted to eat?  Of course, there is a disagreement.  Rabbi Eleazar ben Hisma says that a worker cannot eat more than the value of his wages.  The Sages permit it, but warn that he should not be so gluttonous as to close the door against himself.*5*
In other words, if a worker is too greedy, his boss is not going to rehire him, or he’ll eat up all the profits, and he won’t have a job for very long.  So he should be smart about it.  To summarize, being able to eat while they work is a benefit to which agricultural workers are contractually entitled.
The Talmud adds that the worker is not allowed to transfer this right to family members.  It is only for the worker himself.
The commentary Torah Temimah explains that if the worker does not have to spend his own money on food while he is working, it will improve his morale physically and spiritually, thereby making him a better worker.  In other words, it makes good business sense.  Like Henry Ford more than 3,000 years later, the Torah recognizes that workers will be more productive when they feel that their basic needs are being met.
A similar rationale, it seems, has led many of the high tech corporations in our area offer all sorts of supplementary benefits on their campuses ranging from free gourmet food, to exercise facilities, laundromats, daycare centers, volleyball courts, and more – anything to make workers stay at work longer and boost productivity.
A medieval work, Meirat Enayim does not think that the right to eat produce while working is a benefit.  If it was, the worker should be allowed to transfer that benefit to his wife, children, or anyone else for that matter.  Rather, says the Meirat Enyaim, it is an act of grace and kindness.
Even though, according to strict justice, a worker should not be allowed to eat the products of his labor, the Torah is telling us to go beyond what strict justice requires.  A worker should not have to spend all day long handling food that he is not allowed to eat.  That would be cruel.  We have to act with compassion and not allow a person over whom we have power to suffer, even if the details of the contract would allow it.  Just because something is legal does not mean that it is right.
The Torah reminds us that there are some things that are more important than the bottom line.  This is such an important lesson in 2013.  We are more removed than ever geographically and socio-economically from the production of the things that we consume, whether strawberries picked by migrant workers in Watsonville, iPhones assembled by 20 year olds brought in from the farms in China, or t-shirts sewed in overcrowded sweatshops in Bangladesh.
Our prosperity depends not just on the opportunity for everyone in our global society to earn decent wages, but also on the compassion that is afforded to those with the least power among us, and the ability for everyone to live a life of dignity.
*1*http://www.forbes.com/sites/timworstall/2012/03/04/the-story-of-henry-fords-5-a-day-wages-its-not-what-you-think/
*2*http://www.slate.com/blogs/business_insider/2013/07/30/henry_ford_s_150th_birthday_his_fight_for_higher_wages.html
*3*Deuteronomy 23:25-26
*4*I got some ideas for this D’var Torah from AJWS’s D’var Tzedek, written by Rabbi Joshua Rabin.  It can be found at http://ajws.org/what_we_do/education/publications/dvar_tzedek/5773/ki_tetze.html?autologin=true&utm_source=education&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=20130812-E-DT
*5*Bava Metzia 7:5

Abortion in Judaism – Shoftim 5772

I imagine you heard about the particularly insensitive, offensive, and misguided comments by Missouri Representative Todd Akin earlier this week.  Just to review, in case you missed it, he said in an interview with regard to his position on abortion in the case of rape that pregnancy in such situations is “really rare” and that “if it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”  He claimed that this was based on something a doctor had said.
These comments prompted a frenzy over the past week, in which the Republican Party denounced Akin and asked him to step out of the race, and individuals and groups throughout the media and across the political spectrum jumped in.  Akin later apologized for his use of the term “legitimate rape,” claiming that he had misspoken, and was really talking about forcible rape.  He also admitted that rape does sometimes result in pregnancy.  But he reiterated his opposition to abortion.
In fact, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists this week stated that, “each year in the U.S., 10,000 to 15,000 abortions occur among women whose pregnancies are a result of reported rape or incest.”  The number that are carried to term is unknown.
Setting aside the Representative’s inflammatory comments, and his apparent ignorance of basic reproductive science, his comments raise questions that Jews often wonder about.
What does Judaism have to say abortion?  Do the circumstances matter?  What about in the case of rape?
This issue also presents an even broader question:  On an issue like abortion, which has come to be such a divisive public policy issue, how should our community posture itself?
Regarding the question of abortion according to Jewish law, the Torah, in the Book of Exodus, presents a legal situation that helps us understand the issue.  If two men are fighting, and one of them accidentally strikes a pregnant woman standing nearby, such that she suffers a miscarriage, the punishment for that man is a fine.  It is not considered to be murder, because the fetus does not yet have the status of being a person.
Based on this, the Rabbis of the Mishnah, two thousand years ago, discuss a situation in which a woman is going through a difficult labor, such that her own life is at risk.  When that happens, an abortion is to be performed because the life of the mother takes precedence.  Once a majority of the fetus’s body has emerged from the womb, however, it is considered to be a person whose life is of equal status.
In Judaism, therefore, personhood begins at birth.  The fetus is not a human being, although it does have some status as a “partial nefesh,” a partial life, on the way to becoming a full human being.  Abortion is permitted at any point during pregnancy in order to save the life of the mother.  Over the centuries, there were differences in opinion with regard to how liberal to be in permitting abortions, but nobody disagrees about that basic principal.
In modern times, medical advances and our understanding of human psychology have required us to address concerns that traditional sources could not consider.
The Conservative Movement’s Committee on Jewish Law and Standards has addressed these questions in several different Teshuvot, or Jewish legal rulings.  A 1983 decision held that “an abortion is justifiable if a continuation of pregnancy might cause the mother severe physical or psychological harm, or when the fetus is judged by competent medical opinion as severely defective.”*1*
Our concern with psychological harm to the mother grants a lot of latitude to a Jewish woman wrestling with this decision.  Certainly in a case of rape, or some other traumatic situation, a woman should be free to make the decision that she feels is right for her.  But because the fetus still has some sort of status as a potential future person, other reasons for a termination might be problematic under Jewish law.
So Judaism’s stance on abortion is somewhat nuanced.  It’s limited permissiveness is not based on a woman’s right to control her own body, but upon the principal of saving the mother’s life.
On a public issue like this one, in which the impact is on the choices available to individual Americans, and in which Judaism has a particular religious position that would guide Jewish women’s decision-making, what should the Jewish community’s posture be?
Is the abortion debate in America something that Judaism ought to have a say in?
It is an interesting question, because Jewish law falls somewhere in the middle between those who think that all abortions should be outlawed and those who hold that there should be no restrictions whatsoever, and that women should be free to choose.
But there are other issues at stake.  Because many, if not most, of those who would outlaw abortions, hold their positions out of religious conviction.  And so what we have is members of particular religious communities seeking to impose their religious beliefs on every individual in the country.  If this were to happen, it would mean that observant Jewish women facing a tragic situation would not be able to turn to our tradition for guidance.  That right would be taken away, and the decision forced on them by a different religion.
The Jewish experience for thousands of years of living as a minority group under the domination of another culture, often a religiously affiliated culture, should make us particularly sensitive to religious coercion.  In the United States, with its Constitutionally-guaranteed tradition of religious freedom, we are free to practice Judaism in a way that is completely unprecedented in the history of our people, which is is why we should be concerned about attempts to restrict access to abortion.
And because the nuanced Jewish position says that we look at each case individually, and the circumstances that each woman is facing, the Jewish community has an interest in the government not placing limits on abortion access.  It should be left as a decision between a woman, her doctor, and anyone else whom she chooses to consult with, whether a partner, a friend, or a religious counselor.
This morning’s Torah portion, Shoftim, is all about the requirement to establish a society that is governed with a concern for justice.  Tzedek Tzedek Tirdof, we read at the beginning of the parashah.  “Justice, justice you shall pursue.”
In ancient Israel, great emphasis was placed on creating a system protected the rights of individuals, that was fair to all, that provided opportunities for people to advance in life, and that did not favor the rich over the poor.
Ever since, Jews have been involved in this pursuit of a just society.  This was true when Jews had autonomy, and it was also true when Jews were living as citizens in the countries in which they resided.
That is why we have a special awareness of how a religious majority can impose its tyranny over other groups.  For that reason, it should be of particular concern to the Jewish community that the government should not be involved in restricting access to abortion services based on a particular religious outlook.  In some senses, it comes down to a matter of religious freedom, as well as to justice.

*1*CJLS Responsa 1980-1990, p. 817.