Theater J and J Street organized several panels that examined the situation through film and performance. Israeli-born storyteller Noa Baum performed her show, A Land Twice Promised, a story of her friendship formed with a Palestinian woman in Davis, California. Their sons become fast friends; the women, more slowly, more deeply.
These mothers exchange their stories as they warm to one another: each coming of age in or near Jerusalem. Surviving the wars of their childhood. Each imbued with a deep fear and mistrust of the other. Their accounts give way to those of their mothers, and others. We heard the Old City fall twice, from different perspectives. (The pregnant implications: can it happen again? Will it?)
Noa is a force. I cannot better describe her. Her performance transports and transforms. After the show, there’s more: she shares her unscripted thoughts. The personal suffering on all sides is immense. It endures, and it shall continue. But it can also paralyze and poison: if the parties conceive of justice as a function of their personal suffering and the memory of their own collective pain, there is nothing for it but more of the same. More »
I don’t like Rosh Hashanah and I don’t like Yom Kipur. There are things I like about them–repentance (see Tshuvot!), shofars (see Where have all the shofarot gone? and Why I used a bullhorn last night) and pomegranates–but I have to admit that I’ve never been satisfied with either, no matter where I’ve been and no matter what my age.
So this year, I’m not going to go the same place twice during the season of repentance.
Though elements of each of these years of RH and YK have been fine, I’ve never been satisfied with the overall experience. Whether it has to do with where I go or with my willingness or unwillingness to repent remains to be seen.
I’ll begin tonight with Erev RH services at Chavurat Lamdeinu, my usual place of davening these days.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll be at a Unitarian Church where a certain gospel music composer I happen to know will be helping to lead a service that will incorporate a number of gospel tunes. As far as I can tell, this service is not listed anywhere online. If you’re interested in going, it’s at All Souls Unitarian Church between on Lexington between 79th and 80th at 10:30 a.m. Let me know if you’re gonna bet there so I can we can say hi.
If the gospel crowd isn’t doing a tashlich thing, I’ll head over to the Brooklyn Bridge or something else equally iconic and do tashlich.
On Sunday, I’ll kick off my ten days of repentance by heading into Manhattan for The New Shul‘s “The House of Awe and Repentance Cafe“, part of their new senior rabbi‘s season of installation festivities. It promises to be an art installation involving a variety of media and exploring the concept of repentance. Or something. We’ll see.
And, finally, for Yom Kipur day, I’ll skew more traditional than my norm for a change. As noted, I’ve skewed to the left before when I tried out the Reconstructionist shul, but I’ve never tried something more traditional than what I’m used to. To that end, I’ll be heading back in to Manhattan for Kehilat Hadar‘s traditional-egal take on YK. As one fellow refugee of the Reform mainstream recently told me, “I like Hadar for YK because that’s the one time in the year when I want to feel as frum as possible.” Yeah. We’ll see how I feel about that when I’m still standing around in services trying not listen to my stomach.
Expect posts throughout this season of renewal and repentance chronicling my High Holidays Sampler Plate Adventure.
Just a reminder that religious fundamentalism isn’t only a problem for villagers in the mountains of Pakistan, or for women on city busses in Jerusalem.
Posted by Ed Brayton at Scienceblogs.com, an account from a U.S. Army Captain about religious persecution by high-ranking Evangelical Christians in the United States military:
…As a Platoon Leader serving in Iraq, my Squad Leaders and I were ordered to attend a mission briefing with the Battalion Command Team’s security squad. The briefing concluded with a Soldier being ordered to lead the group in prayer. I was disturbed because I knew that there were Soldiers on this team who did not share the specific, sectarian Christian religious beliefs being expressed. I was standing at the edge of the formation, and chose to quietly walk away. I was later counseled by my Commander and informed that the Battalion Command Team had heard of the incident and recommended I be relieved from my duties as Platoon Leader. My Commander explained that, by not bowing my head in blatantly Christian prayer with the others, I was sending a message that I “want my Soldiers to die.” These words penetrated my core. What leader can imagine a worse accusation? Who wouldn’t doubt herself or himself when confronted with this message? The threat of being relieved was completely overshadowed and, again, I was an outsider, incapable of leadership because I refused this unconstitutional perversion of Christianity synonymous with the Command. Could I not, would I not be an effective combat ready officer/leader/warrior without first very publicly and repeatedly demonstrating my singular loyalty to Jesus Christ? Could I not lead brave military women and men into combat for my country without being an avowed fundamentalist Christian? I stopped practicing my own religion; I disassociated myself from Soldiers who were similarly persecuted; I lost hope…
Read the full story here. Note both the ubiquity of sectarian religious pressure during the Captain’s military service, as well as the way he was betrayed by the supposedly confidential system for reporting issues like these. For those who have been paying attention to this particular trend in recent American history, this isn’t surprising.
Mikey Weinstein, who forwarded the story to Brayton, is the head of the Military Religious Freedom Foundation. Their work can be supported by donation, by contacting your elected officials, and by spreading the word about this trend of military ‘steeplejacking’. It’s a problem not just for us religious minorities, but for non-fundamentalist Christians as well, and for everyone to whom the First Amendment is important. We can all imagine the danger of a military dominated by “C Street“-style Christianist crusaders.
You may not be looking for the promised land, but you might find it anyway / Under one of those old familiar names / Like New Orleans, Detroit City, Dallas, Pittsburg P.A., New York City, Kansas City, Atlanta, Chicago, and L.A.
-James Brown, Living in America
“We have to be all those difficult things like cheerful and kind and curious and patient, and we’ve got to study and think and work hard, all of us, in all our different worlds, and then we’ll build…”
“And then what?” said her Dæmon sleepily “build what?”
“The Republic of Heaven.”
-Phillip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass
People grapple with how to make something larger than themselves significant in a personal context all the time. Obviously, religion is no exception. And when one tries to extrude one’s own understanding of a concept such as religion onto others, the consequences are disastrous.
That being said, I personally have found it extremely productive to learn more about other people’s approaches to difficult concepts. I struggle to maintain a balance of originality (i.e. not adopting someone else’s viewpoints) and applicability (not becoming so caught up in my own opinions that I become insular and self-centered) in my opinions. I talk to experts, I weigh their opinions, and I try to form my own based on a hopefully well-informed view of the situation.
So it was when I started wearing tzitzit and covering my head after freshman year. I spent time with some Modern Orthodox Jews, I talked to some more Reconstructionist-ish rabbis, I talked to friends and family, and I spent time just thinking about it myself. I ultimately came to the conclusion that it was something I wanted to do, to help provide me with the sense of constant responsibility and Jewishness that I felt I had been missing.
I knew then that that wasn’t at all a final step in my religious deliberations, but I’ve definitely gone in some directions since then that I didn’t anticipate. One in particular seemed to me a good topic for a post; my recent attendance of the weekly Quaker meetings in Northampton. My father was raised Quaker, although his family was Jewish by blood, so the RSoF was always on my radar in a vague sort of sense. I knew that Quakers worshipped in silence, and that one stands up and just speaks if one has something to say. I suppose I had thought a bit about the theological implications of this form of worship, but not extensively. So, about a month ago, I went to a meeting.
I have quite a few Quaker friends, so I had a bit of an insider view on the community from the beginning; I could sort of see it through their perspectives. There were not that many people at the first meeting I went to, owing to a annual meeting elsewhere in the area that drew a lot of regular members, but it was still very interesting. There were a couple “messages” given over the one-hour period. One woman spoke about a trip she took to Austria, and an experience she had in a small village where no one spoke English. She had a hard time understanding the local dialect, but she did know that everyone was very friendly, because whenever anyone passed anyone on the street, they would greet each other familiarly. It took her a while to figure out that what they were saying was Gruss Gott, which translates as “Greet G*d”.
The format of Quaker meetings can be taken in a lot of different directions. Some of my friends informed me that there’s a name for when too many people are giving messages at a meeting. They call it “popcorn”. So there’s a subtle stigma towards talking too much. But my perception was that that’s not because they don’t encourage thought. It’s that they encourage room for thought. The format of the meeting is deeply rooted in the Quaker belief that G@d is within everyone. The meeting is designed to provide space for you to clear your thoughts and share them if you feel that it’s appropriate.
My father remembers the meetings feeling very oppressive as a child. I can see how this would be true. A woman I talked to last Sunday told me about the childcare service the Northampton Friends’ Society provides; they bring the kids in for only the last ten minutes. Clearly, it would be difficult for a lot of kids to sit in silence for an hour. Even for adults, it’s difficult in some ways. But I’m continually surprised at how subtly natural it feels to just be with people. I find it refreshing. As much as I like to think that I’m unflappable, that I’m capable of forming rational opinions and coming to valid conclusions under even the most pressing and stressful of circumstances, I’m not; I’m only human. And since we live in a not-exclusively-Jewish community, my family has sacrificed any kind of Saturday Shabbat worship, instead focusing on being together Friday night. Thus, Quaker meeting on Sunday mornings is ironically enough my Sabbath.
I was taught in dayschool (before I dropped out) and then Hebrew school (before I dropped out of that too) that Go_Od is everywhere. The Friends’ Society embodies that fully and faithfully.
Like the progressive Judaism that I have tried to form for myself, Quaker meeting embraces the notion of humanity, rather than denying it. Instead of condemning personal flaws and limits of ability, it recognizes them and calls on me to work within those constraints to fashion something useful and beautiful.
Remember how I promised more “Lies We Were Taught in Hebrew School” posts? Well, here we go, although this will take quite a different tack than the previous one.
Today, I’d like to take on the institution of marriage. I’ve been thinking a lot about marriage in the last five years or so, although not (unfortunately) because I’ve gotten any closer to it myself. However, between seeing many of my friends and relatives get hitched and watching the national debate over the nature of marriage in politics, it’s been hard to avoid thinking about the subject.
If you want to skip directly to the controversial point of this post, here it is: Rabbis should get out of the marriage business. However, if you read this sentence and then skip straight to the comments to call me a godless lefty pinko homosexual heretic (and, to be fair, you’d be about half-right) you will miss the point. Read on. More »
Full text of Obama’s speech to the Muslim world below the jump, here is the clip about Israel and Palestine. (Note how “Palestine” and not “the future state of Palestine” is used conclusively.) Mr. President, we applaud you.
Below the speech is a letter from Hamas to Obama on the occasion of his visit, delivered via Medea Benjamin of the US-based CODEPINK.
The visit ended with a somewhat strident tone, as Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, chairman of Yad Vashem, criticized the pope’s speech as being “devoid of any compassion, any regret, any pain over the horrible tragedy of the six million victims. Even the word ‘six’ was not included.”
Rabbi Lau also censured the pope’s use of the word “killed” instead of the word “murdered.” Benedict, he added “said nothing about the killers, neither Germans nor Nazis. What bothered me the most was the lack of condolences to the Jewish nation, which lost a third of its sons (in the Holocaust).
“I’m not talking about an apology, I’m talking about empathy… this was more about sympathy to the pain of humanity. This speech had a cosmopolitan phrasing to it.”
The article also notes that Museum Director Avner Shalev registered his disappointment that the speech lacked any “direct reference to anti-Semitism.” Not to be outdone, Shas chairman Eli Yishai took the Pope to task for failing to “rebuke past and present Holocaust deniers.”
All those who are sick and tired of the cynical use of the Holocaust as a political battering ram, click here.
For those Jews of us under 30 years old, fully half of us have only one Jewish parent. Our identities incorporate differences of perspective due to family ties, shared loyalty, and the dubious benefit of suffering from not only anti-Semitism but anti-whatever-else-we-are.
Previously, someone told me I couldn’t be both religiously Jewish and culturally Catholic. Never was there a clearer moment of “who the hell are you to tell me I can’t be what I am,” and I say that with all respect. But it was an example of the confusion towards us mixed.
But not to rely on my own experience, I put the question of identity to my Catholic university friends. Sitting in a Seattle coffee shop with Mary, David and Joe, I posed the question — “Can you be just culturally Catholic?” Their answers varied: Mary is Catholicly religious in a deep and spiritual way, but doubts the divinity of Jesus. David doesn’t believe he’s Catholic anymore because while his theology and values are Catholic, he doesn’t participate in the Catholic community. Joe is a serious agnostic and has left Catholicism behind entirely but would like to raise his kids with something similar, like in the Episcopal Church. I am a Jew but my father’s family is Catholic.
Each of them agreed, to different extents, that they were “culturally Catholic.” Their values and early religious schooling was in Catholic schools and the four of us attended and were highly influenced by the open theology of our Jesuit Catholic university. For better or for worse, we were influenced by the most severe doctrines yet are inspired not by Jesus’ message and his many saints, but by so many humble and serving adherants and priests.
I am a Jew. But part of me is Catholic: certain values, certain approaches to God, and certain Biblical quotes, not to mention certain aunts and cousins. And whoever wants to rag on Catholics can meet either my hunger to shame the prejudiced or my foot to the face. Nothing is more hypocritical than Jews who like to tell other Jews who is and is not a Jew, or who can’t have what identity. Considering especially how throughout Jewish history, Jews have been outsiders precisely because we suffered dual identities — French and Jewish, German and Jewish. (Not unlike orthodox and modern, Reform and halakhic, I might add…)
So if you’re a half-Jew/whole-Jew from an interfaith, multifaith, mixed, dually-loyal, or other less-than-pure background and want to explore faith, observance, discrimination, and our changing place in the North American Jewish community, then please join us in Philly for a workshop designed by fellow mudbloods below.
Here’s to freedom from those who oppress us, tell us we cannot be Jewish, or have no idea what they’re talking about. Hag Pesach sameach!
Half Jew/Whole Jew A workshop for adult Jews from interfaith families
Sunday May 17
10 am – 5 pm
Gershman Y, Philadelphia
The Jewish community has a wide range of reactions to intermarriage, and a wide range of programs currently reaching out to interfaith families. But what about us Jews who already did grow up in an interfaith family? Our goal in this workshop is to understand our own and each others’ experiences more fully, and also ultimately to make recommendations to Jewish leaders on issues of intermarriage, interfaith inclusivity, and outreach. This workshop will take place in Philadelphia. There is no cost. Travel stipends may be available.
When I was in high school, one of the stops on USY‘s Israel tours was The Propaganda Center. I’m fairly certain that wasn’t actually its name, but I defy you to google “Israel propaganda center” and come up with anything useful. Regardless, this place was supposed to teach us about spotting bias in the media. Although I went there twice during high school, I don’t remember the specifics — some of it involved seeing how Hitler’s media peeps used images of Kosher slaughter to make Jews look like devil-worshippers with bloodlust. What I do remember is that even though I was already aware that pretty much all media had some sort of bias, watching the folks at The Propaganda Center poke holes in actual news stories forever changed the way I read the news about Israel (and much of the news in general).
About a month ago, I had a similar experience that has changed the way I read the news, only this time it was in book form. Reading Blind Spot: When Journalists Don’t Get Religion was an experience of consciousness-raising. The anthology, edited by Paul Marshall, Lela Gilbert, and Roberta Green Ahmanson, takes contemporary newsmedia to task for misunderstanding and sometimes simply missing critical stories because of an epidemic of ignorance about religion in the world’s newsrooms. Some of the stories analyzed are what you’d expect: Iraq, Iran, terrorism, etc… but perhaps the most interesting chapters cover the ways a misunderstanding of religion crippled the reporting of George W. Bush’s reelection, the hooplah surrounding The Passion of the Christ, and faith-based humanitarian programs. (The best “fun fact” I took away from the book, however, relates to the 24-hour cable news stations. Turns out they get higher marks than most other news outlets. Since they have so much time to fill with only so many stories happening on any given day, they’ve taken to exploring many more angles for each story simply out of necessity. That doesn’t make them any less annoying.)
Naturally, I approached the book searching for bias. After all, this could have easily been a conservative screed against the Liberal Media Elite. And to be fair, there’s a little of of that in evidence. But part of the book’s point is that religion doesn’t always equal conservatism, and that outlook is a huge part of the problem to begin with. So, for example, when religious liberals and religious conservatives banded together to champion human rights legislation (such as the International Religious Freedom Act of 1998, the Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000, the Sudan Peace Act of 2002, and the North Korean Human Rights Act of 2004), the remarkable alliances at work were overlooked in most press. This does everyone a disservice, especially the end-consumers of the news who end up with a flattened and inaccurate view of the world.
The book avoids one of my pet peeves (whining about a problem without offering a solution). The final section of the book is called “Getting it Right,” and includes an article about some notable exceptions to the trend, and another with recommendations for the future. Of course, some of the recommendations, which include something akin to an affirmative action program to place more religiously connected people in newsrooms, may not be so realistic in these end times of traditional media. But at the very least, those writing the news should be aware of their own blind spots and look for collaborations that will enrich their understanding of the stories of the day. Even the most casual observer of world events can see that the place of religion in shaping our day isn’t getting any smaller, so we owe it to ourselves to meet the challenge of understanding head-on.
“You call the mosque ‘the cross-less church’?”
“Sometimes…”
“What do you call a synagogue?”
“Synagogue. I don’t want to offend anybody.”
Not just one of my favourite shows on television, Little Mosque on The Prairie is a sitcom about the fictional town of Mercy, Saskatchewan and its residents, including the small but vibrant Muslim community. Since the pilot episode, it’s been clear that there are Jewish parallels. There was a great episode where the imam goes homes to Toronto and is interrogated by his parents about what he’s doing with his life, why he hasn’t married yet, and why he has to be so Muslim. Watching the episode with a bunch of MOT during Sukkos, we all felt they could have been Jewish.
If you’re in Canada, it airs on CBC. If you’re in the US or elsewhere, there are websites that let you watch online. And stay tuned: Fox bought the rights to the show and will be remaking it (something about how Americans wouldn’t watch a show set in Saskatchewan; even though it shows in the original version in Dubai, Finland, Turkey, Israel, France, and Switzerland).
What follows is from a joint press release by the Jewish Council on Urban Affairs and the Council of Islamic Organizations of Greater Chicago, “under the aegis of JCUA’s Jewish Muslim Community Building Initiative.” The JMCBI was created in late 2001 in response to increasing hate crimes against Muslims subsequent to the September 11th attacks. It has since grown into a project with a long-term, consistent focus on improving Muslim-Jewish understanding and respect.
(and you thought New York and Boston were the only places folks reacted to the violence in and around Aza by getting together to speak out for *peace*)
Joint Statement: Chicago Muslims and Jews Speak with One Voice on
Peace and Justice
We are representatives of Chicago’s Jewish and Muslim communities who have come together with shared values grounded in our respective faith traditions, in light of the recent events in the Middle East and the tragic loss of innocent life, to reaffirm our friendship and our mutual commitment to the preciousness of human life.
The Jewish and Muslim communities have lived peacefully side by side in Chicago for many years. Our respective communities have worked together in partnership to fight injustice, racism, poverty, and indifference.
From this position of solidarity and renewed friendship:
• We condemn anti-Semitism and Islamophobia.
• We affirm the preciousness of human life and the safety and security of the people in Gaza and Israel. The life of a Palestinian child and the life of an Israeli child are equally precious.
• We condemn wanton violence, human suffering, and targeting of innocent civilians.
• We pray for a Middle East where Israelis and Palestinians are safe from all forms of violence.
• We pray for continued friendship, and the growth and development in our understanding of one another.
• We pray for an end to the conditions that produce hopelessness.
• We commit to communicating and listening to each other throughout these difficult times.
• We commit to respecting each other even when we disagree.
• We commit to our ongoing relationship, not contingent upon agreement.
• We commit to supporting each other and protecting each other from hate and aggression.
• We embrace the message of hope, peace, and justice for all our communities.
We urge that as our respective communities gather for demonstrations, that the language and symbolism in our signs and chants, while protected by our precious right of freedom speech, do not cross lines and demonize the “other” or incorporate elements of anti-Semitism or Islamophobia.
We believe that these times must serve as a reminder for all of us, individually and institutionally, to redouble our efforts to build bridges with people of all faiths, races, and classes. Only then, will we stand—in all our diversity of opinions—as a united front against hatred, injustice and brutality, locally and abroad. Finally, we pray that our respective communities will be inspired to exemplify the Prophetic values of justice, compassion and courage in working together to bring a lasting peace to our community here and to our sacred region of the world.
It’s written mostly by Department Chair Nancy Fuchs-Kreimer (and is a follow-up to her previous blog: Leadership for a Multifaith World) along with Program Manager Melissa Heller. It is set up to be a posting place for articles, sermons, resources, events, and ideas. My favorite part – the multi-faith calendar! How handy is that!?!?!
A mishmosh of a few things that have come across my screen (and my life) in the last few weeks…
• In a December post about the remnants of historical cultural exchange in contemporary Judaism, I talked a bit about Brown professor Michael Satlow’s take on the development of Jewish civilizations. He’s now got a blog which features, among other things, a podcast called From Israelite to Jew(archived here and syndicated through iTunes). If you’ve always wanted to ponder the career of Ezra while you complete your spinning routine at Crunch, here’s your chance.
• February is Jewish Disability Awareness Month, and the Reform Movement’s Religious Action Center’s RACBlog has a great post by Rabbi Lynne Landsberg with some resources to help us think about how we can be more inclusive of difference in our communities.
• Speaking of inclusion, two weeks ago I attended an incredible event cosponsored by Keshet and the Interfaith Coalition for Transgender Equality called An Act of Faith. This article from Bay Windows (a Boston-area newspaper focused on the GLBT community) gives a sense of the event, but I have to say, it was really inspiring to see such a large number of people of faith (from quite a few different faith communities) come together to work towards equality for a group that is usually at worst disparaged or at best overlooked. There’s an important bill coming before the Massachusetts state legislature this year to ensure gender identity and expression can’t be used as a basis for discrimination for housing, employment, etc, as well as writing gender identity language into the existing hate-crimes laws. There are already (or, perhaps I should say, only) 13 states plus the District of Columbia that ensure these kinds of protections for transgender people. If your state isn’t one of them, think about getting in touch with ICTE or the Massachusetts Transgender Political Coalition to learn about how you can bring this campaign to your state.
• Finally, the Chicago-based duo Stereo Sinai caught my attention with their tagline “Biblegum Pop.” I will admit to being a little disappointed to discover that their songs are more Lisa Loeb than Leslie Gore, but taken on their own terms the songs are really lovely. The pair (individually known as Miriam Brosseau and Alan Jay Sufrin) got their start with the lullaby “Gideon’s Song,” a setting of some verses from the book of Judges, which they wrote as a gift for their Rabbi’s new baby named Gideon. Realizing they were on to something, they have continued to record and perform together. Their songs are streaming for free on their website or available for download, but don’t look for a CD — the band has taken a position that it’s more environmentally friendly and economically conscious and artistically valid to release songs individually and exclusively in digital format. I will resist letting my cynical nature take over and wonder if that commitment would hold up in the event of the offer of a record deal and merely lament the creeping demise of the album format. I’ll spare you the rant about how placing songs in context can enrich their meaning and your enjoyment — my high school students already got that one this week.
I write this with full respect for the care, thoughtfulness and intentionality that Rabbi Haskel Lookstien brought to his decision to represent the Orthodox Community in prayer at the National Cathedral, and, at the same time, with appreciation for the complexity of that decision. I understand the need of the RCA to explain that Rabbi Lookstien is not representative of all Orthodox Jews- and am proud of the Orthodox International Rabbinic Fellowship, for their defense of his right to make independent Halachic decisions. These and these are the words of a living g-d.
His decision, as well as my experience, standing in a prayerful moment in Harlem, listening to a Christian invocation for our new president and knowing that it did not speak for me, as a queer person, or as an Orthodox Jew, has led me to reflect a bit on the difficulties of religious pluralism, and on my own sense of exclusion from that national moment of tremendous joy.
At the time, I turned to a Jewish woman, next to me, and we had a brief conversation about the appropriate Jewish response. Was it a shehechiyanu? baruch Hatov v’Hameitiv? personal, unscripted prayer? silence? all of the above? My own religious experience was private, a moment of gratitude to my maker, who blessed my country, and allowed me to witness this day.
It was only later, this shabbat, that I took part in a moment of communal prayer in honor of our new president. It was at a Shul, where the Rabbi spoke about the importance of prayer, and of supporting our new president, his advisors and our nation, through the prayer for our government that we recite every week. It’s power came precisely from it’s habitual recitation, it’s meaning from the awareness of the changed world within which we recited it, and from the faith in one, undivided g-d that the synagogue space, and that community, represented. Our language, and the shape of the space we stood in, reflected our unwavering fidelity to a Halachic tradition that is older than any of us, and that shapes the way in which we allow ourselves to pray.
I don’t think I could have had that moment in a non-denominational service. To go, I would have had to violate the Halacha that I believe would prohibit me from attending. My prayers would not have been true to my convictions or to my religious practice- and while my presence might be seen as exhibiting acceptance of the multitude of other religions represented, it would, in fact, be a rejection of my own way of life and manner of prayer. I feel fortunate to live in a country that does not force me to make that decision, but instead, allows me to live and believe in my distinct way. I love this country most when I feel that it has room for each of us- that I live in a nation of people who are free to choose when, where and whether to pray, in our own particular ways.
The JTA reported today that the Rabbinical Council of America (which represents Modern Orthodox rabbis) has determined that one of its members violated its rules by attending an interfaith service in the National Cathedral as part of the Inauguration yesterday:
A Rabbinical Council of America official told JTA that Rabbi Haskel Lookstein, the religious leader of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York City, broke the organization’s rules by participating in the service Wednesday at the National Cathedral on the morning after Barack Obama’s inauguration:
“The long-standing policy of the Rabbinical Council of America, in accordance with Jewish law, is that participation in a prayer service held in the sanctuary of a church is prohibited,” the RCA said in a statement. “Any member of the RCA who attends such a service does so in contravention of this policy and should not be perceived as representing the organization in any capacity.”
The RCA said that Lookstein’s participation was problematic both because the service was held in the sanctuary of a church, which Orthodox Jews are prohibited from entering, and because it was an interfaith prayer service, which the RCA discourages for fear that such participation could allow missionaries to legitimize their argument that Jews can indeed embrace Jesus.
I’m staggered and speechless but in the end, not surprised. I know all about the goy-phobias of traditional Judaism and this one is nothing new. I’m just thinking that this is so very sad, coming on the heels of yesterday’s incredible sense of national coming-together. I don’t know how any Christian could interpret this kind of attitude as anything other than flat out xenophobia…
The panelists will be: Aisha Taylor, ED of the Women’s Ordination Conference, an org working for the ordination of women as priests, deacons and bishops in the Catholic Church; Pat Dunn, managing editor of Muslim Wake Up!; and Renee Septimus, a teacher and writer on Judaism and women’s spirituality.
It should be a pretty excellent program. The only problem? In today’s Brave New Economy, the pressure is on to sell a certain number of tickets by Jan. 18th in order to guarantee that the event will go forward–budget constraints and all. So if you’re interested, get your tickets now, here. If the event is indeed canceled, you’ll get a refund, so it’s a no-lose situation.
And either way, get the book, which is a great look at the state of women’s issues in Catholicism, Evangelical Christianity, Islam, and Orthodox Judaism–common threads, different/similar questions, and a whole lot of interesting.
OK, I admit it: I love to listen to Christmas songs this time of year.
I’ll leave it to you to determine if that makes me a bad Jew or a worse rabbi, but what can I say? I’ve got a major weakness for the ol’ seasonal standards.
Now I’m not talking about Christmas carols or overtly religious hymns (nor do I mean X-mas novelty kitsch like “Barking Dog Jingle Bells” or “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.”) No, I’m really, truly a sucker for those aching, melancholy Christmas ballads.
I’m sure you know the ones – they actually come in various sub-genres. There are the “It’s Christmas and I’m Sad Because We’ve Broken Up” songs (i.e. “Christmas/Baby Please Come Home” or “All I Want For Christmas Is You.”) Then there are the “It’s Christmas and I’m Not Able To Make it Home” songs (i.e. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” or “White Christmas”) and there’s the “This May Be the Last Christmas We Ever Spend Together” songs (i.e. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”)
Is it perverse or at all sacreligious for a rabbi to be confessing his love for songs such as these? I dunno, don’t you think there’s something of a Jewish quality to them? Maybe it’s their quasi-exilic yearning (not to mention the fact that most of them were written by Jews anyhow.)
So that’s my seasonal guilty pleasure confession. And lest you judge me too quickly here, just take the test yourself. Check out James Taylor’s version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” as sung by Sarah McLachlan. (Man, that last line gets me every time…)
The following is a guest post by Mark Snyderman.
And, finally, for Yom Kipur day, I’ll skew more traditional than my norm for a change. As noted, I’ve skewed to the left before when I tried out the Reconstructionist shul, but I’ve never tried something more traditional than what I’m used to. To that end, I’ll be heading back in to Manhattan for 
According to YNet, 
About a month ago, I had a similar experience that has changed the way I read the news, only this time it was in book form. Reading 
There was a great episode where the imam goes homes to Toronto and is interrogated by his parents about what he’s doing with his life, why he hasn’t married yet, and why he has to be so Muslim. Watching the episode with a bunch of MOT during Sukkos, we all felt they could have been Jewish.
usually at worst disparaged or at best overlooked. There’s an important bill coming before the Massachusetts state legislature this year to ensure gender identity and expression can’t be used as a basis for discrimination for housing, employment, etc, as well as writing gender identity language into the existing hate-crimes laws. There are already (or, perhaps I should say, only) 13 states plus the District of Columbia that ensure these kinds of protections for transgender people. If your state isn’t one of them, think about getting in touch with ICTE or the 
I will admit to being a little disappointed to discover that their songs are more Lisa Loeb than Leslie Gore, but taken on their own terms the songs are really lovely. The pair (individually known as Miriam Brosseau and Alan Jay Sufrin) got their start with the lullaby “Gideon’s Song,” a setting of some verses from the book of Judges, which they wrote as a gift for their Rabbi’s new baby named Gideon. Realizing they were on to something, they have continued to record and perform together. Their songs are streaming for free on their website or available for download, but don’t look for a CD — the band has taken a position that it’s more environmentally friendly and economically conscious and artistically valid to release songs individually and exclusively in digital format. I will resist letting my cynical nature take over and wonder if that commitment would hold up in the event of the offer of a record deal and merely lament the creeping demise of the album format. I’ll spare you the rant about how placing songs in context can enrich their meaning and your enjoyment — my high school students already got that one this week.
OK, I admit it: I love to listen to Christmas songs this time of year.
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