What good is life to me?

The following is the D'var Torah I will share tonight at Congregation Beth Aaron, in Billings, MT

I’m going to share with you two stories about events that occurred this week which shook me to my core, making me question my faith and my purpose here on earth.

I don’t usually air my opinions in public, my friend wrote. But what happened this morning was atrocious. On the bus to the old city for work at a Christian-Arab school, we came to a stand-still. After twenty minutes of this, the bus driver came over the speaker and told us that something had happened at a synagogue around the corner, and 4 people were dead (the final count is that 5 people were killed, as well as the two assailants and a police officer).

I changed buses, knowing that I needed to go in the opposite direction and my bus was not going to arrive in time. Arriving in the old city, I waited for a friend so we could walk together into the Armenian quarter. There had been a stabbing a week or so earlier and our defenses were on edge.

I’m going to teach my students, she concluded. My Arab-Christian students. They are still children who need to learn. And when I finish, I will head to my Arabic class.

This statement embodied my experience in Israel. Feeling my heart skip a beat when I awoke to a story of a terror attack, or had a class interrupted by the news alert that Jews had been killed somewhere in Israel was not unfamiliar. But my heart still skipped a beat each time I heard something. My heart skipped also on Monday night, when I heard of these 4 religious men dying in the midst of their prayers on Tuesday morning. Yet my heart  returned to a more normal cadence when I heard that my friend still went to work that day. That she was even more committed to learning Arabic. My friend was giving and grounding herself in the future. She was continuing on with life.

~ ~ ~

“How do you speak to God?” asked one of my fourth graders at the beginning of religious school on Monday. He continued, “how do we know that God is listening? How do we know that God exists?”

Listening to those questions I was floored. My 4th grader was able to articulate one of the questions that confounds the mind of many Jews, many people. As we continued with an impromptu theology discussion, my students asked phenomenal questions. They wanted to know if God exists; why God exists, and how to know. But they also had answers.

These fourth graders, who often blurt out answers without thinking, were thoughtful and each had different specific answers for how to know God was listening: they saw signs, they felt something inside, something good happened. Their answers were as diverse and characteristic of many adults with which I have interacted.

How could my fourth graders, who often cannot spell the word Shabbat or excited, ask such profound questions and excite so much passion in me with a single set of questions? They asked the questions I have had over the years, curiosities about God’s very existence and God’s presence in my own life. 

My passion was ignited, but I didn’t know how to effectively help these students explore God, because I don’t necessarily have the answers myself. How did I ensure that I didn’t squash their curiosity but allow the fire to grow and develop, allowing them to blossom into knowledgable Jews? I saw a future of creativity, of insight, and of Jewish passion, even if I was unsure how to provide it.

Both of these stories impacted me on a visceral level. As with many of us, I am continually in search of meaning. I knew that both of these moments were important to my discovery process. People were dead. God was actively being sought out. I was engaged in the conversation.

Ultimately, and as life often does, both of these events connect us directly back to the tales our Torah weaves. The idea that we are seized by life’s moments so profoundly that they shake us to our core is not lost on the storytellers that crafted our Torah. They masterfully understood that life’s moments affect us and wrote vignettes that exemplify this. Their stories are meaningful because they are deeply human. In this week’s Parasha, a mother is deeply impacted by the birth of her children and then by the decisions she must make about their destiny. 

Contained in the text are two moments when the mother, Rebecca contends with God. In the first, Rebecca is not able to become pregnant and Isaac pleads with God to bring them children. God answers his prayers and Rebecca, for the first time, is pregnant with twins. Yet she is frustrated by the violent struggle the twins are enacting within her womb. Confused and in pain, she approaches God, wondering why this is her lot in life. She doesn’t know that these two boys will one day become fathers of great nations, or that there is a reason for their struggles inside of her. Instead, Rebecca inquires, “If [this struggle] is so, why do I exist.” (25:22)

The second moment where Rebecca is questioning God is when she asks God, “What good will life be to me.” (27:46) This inquiry comes from a place of despair, with Rebecca contemplating the fate of her son Jacob. Rebecca knows that Jacob must be saved from Esau, that Jacob stole the birthright from Esau and Esau is angry, but also that Jacob must get married to fulfill the blessing his father bestowed upon him. Jacob must marry a good woman who will be his partner in carrying out the covenantal blessing.

Both of these moments are also visceral responses to emotional experiences. In fact, they have the same core meaning, asking the questions: what purpose is there in this pain? And if [I] have the pain, why do I exist? In the midst of pain, Rebecca struggles to maintain her composure and blurts out her frustration to God, to Isaac. She desires a solution and gets responses from both God and her husband.

First, God answers her, providing a pithy oracle that Rebecca is carrying two sons, two nations within her womb. Rebecca gains salve for her pain. She knows that something will come from this anguish, that she will have a future. More importantly, Rebecca knows that her legacy will be in her sons, that they will each do something important with their lives. This is the future her womb will bear, which allows Rebecca to continue on with her pregnancy and handle the pain the struggle entails.

The second scenario, where Rebecca implores God: “I cannot bear this, what good is my life if [my son marries a Hitite woman]?” is also followed by a response. The solution is provided by Isaac, who ultimately agrees that Jacob should go to Rebecca’s brother, Laban and find a wife there. Here too, Rebecca feels that her worries have been heard and that there will be a future for her son.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” As Rebecca asks these existential human questions, she receives responses. These solutions allow Rebecca to continue on and feel that she has been answered, that there is a future.

In fact, these solutions provide resolve for the bigger existential questions. The questions being “Why do I exist? and What good is life to me?” These solutions each have a unique trait in common. Besides being one and the same, these solutions offer a future for Rebecca. They offer her an opportunity to see that her life’s purpose is the future, her future, in her sons.

Fast forward to Monday, with the two experiences I shared. We are left reeling after the news of what occurred in Jerusalem, asking these same questions: “Why do I exist? What good is life to me?” I am left struggling with my student’s questions.

Why do I exist? What’s next? These were the questions that penetrated my soul after hearing the news of the attack. I sat dumbstruck, unsure what to do or how to move forward. People were dead and I didn’t know what to do.

What good is my life [if I cannot answer these students]? My fourth graders asked me questions to which I did not have solid answers. I felt unequipped to handle their curiosity, but knew they would not be content with a response of “I don’t know, let me find out.”

In my struggle, I didn’t act like Rebecca and turn to God or a fellow human, but I recognized that the answer had already been provided to me. Each of the unique stories I experienced/witnessed on Monday had ready-made solutions offered, if I was just able to see.

My friend, after seeing the hatred in Jerusalem, continued on. She went to work and her students, determined to teach them. She was demonstrating her commitment to the future, to instilling within young children the importance of what happens next. The solution was in providing for the future, in giving them an education that will allow them to help make the world a little less angry, a little less painful.

My fourth grade class also provided me with an answer. Having asked what good my life was if I wasn’t able to answer their inquiries, I was downtrodden and unsure. Yet from their own wisdom, they demonstrated that no matter what, my purpose is to enable them to continually ask questions. By providing them with the space to inquire and push back, I was allowing them the opportunity to develop a deeper understanding of their Jewish tradition and therefore a deeper desire to maintain connected. I was helping them commit themselves to the future.

My friend and I each found responses to these existential questions in the promise of the future. Rebecca too, found her response in what the future will hold. Each of these circumstances provided unique opportunities to take a step back from the hustle of everyday life and ask the existential questions. From that place of insight, we were and in fact, are able to explore what good our lives can serve, especially when surrounded by pain, suffering, and death.

The good that life holds is manifest in the future generation, in the next group of people who will grow up and live in this world. Rebecca found contentment in knowing that her sons would make something of themselves, and in knowing that Jacob’s destiny would be fulfilled in a positive manner. My friend was able to continue on only by looking at her students and seeing them as a positive light, as something good that will move forward. I recognized that my students were the promise of the future, my legacy that I am leaving each day I teach them.

“Why do I exist? What good is life to me?”

Our lives are full of these existential questions. Our job is to ask the questions, like Rebecca, and also like Rebecca, to look forward to the future. We must see that the future is where our lives are headed, that the next generation is the embodiment of that future.  Even more, we must facilitate the conversations that allows the next generation to grow and discover for themselves the deep meaning that life has. By discovering the power and beauty that this coming generation bears, we will be able to answer these existential questions and find meaning in our lives.

What is your commitment to the future? What will you do to ensure that your life has a purpose, that you are providing for the future?

Why I am a Reform Jew

It's been a while since I've written. A regular update to come soon, as so much has occured (I just attended the Israeli rabbinical ordination, last week I spent 2 hours talking with people in the West Bank....). But for now, just a simple essay we had to write for one of our classes entitled, Why I am a Reform Jew

            Choice. Freedom. Growth. Passion. Adventure. Discovery. Reform Judaism, in its many facets, has afforded me the opportunity to explore both who I am as a professional and as an individual.

            As a Reform Jew, I have the ability to choose what practices work best for me. I can daven with an Independent, Egalitarian Minyan or with an ultra-Orthodox congregation. The doors of any synagogue, especially in Jerusalem, are open to me and offer a unique prayer service. However, my knowledge base was not strong enough to allow me the opportunity to attend my choice of service. Yet, as I explored the customs and traditions that grew from generations past, I became aware of an immense beauty in the amorphous liturgy. Reform Judaism gives me the opportunity to learn from this plethora of institutions, and then truly decide which place works for me. Although I appreciate the traditional Ashkenazi shul, with a high mechitza separating the men from the women of the congregation, that is not the place for me. I like an Egalitarian service, but one that goes through the entire service, reads the entire Torah Portion. I like knowing what the full service looks like, with all the different pieces and parts. The experience of knowledge enables me. Without it, I cannot choose what I want because I am not in possession of all the individual pieces. Reform Judaism allows me to then piece together the aspects of tefillah that most resonate with me and find the passion within myself. I get a feeling of kesher, connection, to the generations.

            Reform Judaism has a huge base in aggadic tradition, looking more to moral and ethical guidelines than to the ones prescribed in the Torah, as supposedly given by Moses on Sinai. The options are endless for how a Jew may choose his or her practice, and my life is no exception. I can dress modestly (which I explored for a short time), I can choose to keep strict Biblical Kosher and wait a certain amount of time before I eat. I can decide that I do not want to touch men until I am married, and then only my husband. And those are just a few examples of outward signs of what Judaism might look like. However, I do not personally choose all of those things. I want to explore them, to potentially understand how those practices might enhance my life, but as a Reform Jew in the twenty-first century, I am able to make a choice. I choose to keep Kosher, but only to the point where I do not mix milk and meat. Keeping two sets of dishes does not necessarily resonate with me. I will wait until the table is cleared to eat dairy after meat, but not an hour or 6. I choose to touch men now, for two reasons. One, that I want to know what I’m getting into before I marry and because it can enhance a relationship or be a significant part in discovering if a connection between me and another person is sound.

The symbolism of how a person interacts with their environment is often a telling way of ascertaining what their beliefs are (especially here in Israel, where a kippah or skirt deems someone as religious). However, as a Reform Jew, my Judaism is fed from within. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I lead a worship service that utilizes guitar, piano, and pure voices. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I see the power the Union has to assert help for the victims of Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast. I am proud to be a Reform Jew when I go to Ethiopia, to Haiti, and see the immense continuing relief work that the JDC engages in on behalf of the Jewish people.

            Education and synagogue attendance may not be the highest they have ever been, but those who are engaged in Jewish education and who attend t’fillot regularly are ones I am proud to be associated with. They are passionate about what they are learning and even choose to pass on the knowledge to others, ensuring that Judaism will live on! I get to be a part of that. Not only that, but the passion and spiritual depth of the youth of this Movement will carry Reform Judaism (and every strand of Judaism) into the next generation. I look forward to the fact that I will one day teach these young people, bestowing upon them the same sense of adventure and love of learning that NFTY and Jewish camping instilled within me. I am a Reform Jew because NFTY and the URJ Camps, specifically GUCI, inspired me and continue to offer so many the opportunity to see Judaism in action, to live Jewishly, even for one month and a few weekends out of the year. The discovery that occurs at camp, helping children understand how special Reform Judaism is, demonstrating to them that Judaism is a living breathing entity that they are indeed apart of; that is my inspiration. Just walk into a chadar ohel after any meal at most URJ camps and the amount of ruach, spirit, is overwhelming. That inspires me and keeps me going, pursuing Reform Judaism and the Rabbinate in particular.

            Not only that, but Reform Judaism doesn’t go away. It isn’t pushy about what people should and shouldn’t believe and allows people to create their own personal path. My congregation at home instituted a program called IJP: Individualized Jewish Path. This project helps individuals or families figure out what their most profound Jewish journey is and what steps they individually need to take in order to see it to fruition. Although the number of individuals who took advantage of this opportunity was not public knowledge, the direct impact was that many more lay leaders emerged within the congregation. People started planning their own personal Mitzvah projects, creating a Mitzvah garden on the synagogue grounds or developing a Mitzvah tree, with different Mitzvah opportunities available for congregants to do. Passion evolved and demonstrated the power of individual choice on a congregational basis. Each time I came home from school, I saw more people at services, more people eager to take control of their own Jewish journey. I am proud to be a Reform Jew because I am both part of that movement and that people. I have seen the inspiration of many a person and been personally instilled with a sense of responsibility for not only my fellow Jew, but my fellow man. I am a Reform Jew because we, as Jews, care about all people and take pride in being both willing and able to help anyone in need. We help those individuals explore their personal connections and aspire to assist them in as sincere and singular a way as possible, in order to allow them to pursue their dreams and desires.

            The path of conversion used to be something that was kept a secret. Not only that, but if you were homosexual, there wasn’t an option to be a part of many congregations. Now, due to the hard work of the then UAHC and the CCAR, both converts and people of any sexual persuasion are accepted into the Reform Jewish world. I welcome everyone to daven, to learn, to engage in Tikkun Olam with me, and cannot be more appreciative and respectful of the stand Reform Judaism takes.

While dating someone who was not Jewish, I began feeling a stronger desire to go to services. I wanted to learn more and be able to engage in deeper discussions about the meanings behind traditions. Even more than that, he constantly asked me questions about a particular practice and what it meant. I would get frustrated, feeling that he should know the answers. Yet, now that he has developed a deeper understanding of the ritual and the tradition, he pushes back and engages in a dialogue all his own.  He encourages me to understand my practice and why I do it, not because he doesn’t understand, but because his practice is so different from my own. Reform Judaism allows us to engage in a dialogue about the future, about him becoming Jewish and what that looks like, of him having a woman help him through the process of conversion. Reform Judaism is the reason he is choosing to be Jewish and therefore I am incredibly proud be find my home here! Although we are no longer dating, he has continued to explore Judaism on his own and hopes one day to convert. I saw first hand the power that Judaism can have in someone’s life as well as how much I personally enjoy teaching it. As a Reform Jew, I have the opportunity to do that!