If you’d like to be included in the book, I’d invite you to submit an essay of up to 500 words explaining your God concept.

I am especially interested in the following: (Don’t feel you have to answer them all)
- Do you believe God either intervenes or intercedes in our lives?
- Do you believe that we can interact with God through prayer, ritual, conversation or otherwise?
- If there is a well known theologian with whom you align or disagree, feel free to reference them.
- Are you comfortable sharing your God concept with congregants or do you tend to keep quiet about it?

So. Here’s mine:

G*d is the power that moves and animates the universe.

The Big Bang occurred 13.9 billion years ago; the Bet that begins the Torah. At that moment everything was an undifferentiated colloid of infinite density and temperature. As the explosion unfolded in the first tiny fraction of a second, the laws of physics and chemistry became manifest and our familiar subatomic particles became discernible and began to move in organized fashion.

Within a few minutes, the elements we know emerged and matter continued expanding endlessly, eventually coalescing into billions of galaxies containing trillions of stars, a few of which spun off planets, until somewhere in the midst of one galaxy, our sun split off this Earth and the other planets. At first, they were still fragments of a star, molten hot nuclear furnaces. Our Earth cooled for a few million years until its crust became a gargantuan landmass covered by a liquid ocean floating above the still-molten core.

Eventually, this Pangaea split off into tectonic plates that pushed continents up out of the sea and made the mountains rise until the perfect conditions of temperature and oxygen and carbon and hydrogen happened to occur so that minuscule proto-life forms emerged. Over millions of years they evolved and organized into cells and then into multi-cell organisms to more and more complex lifeforms until they become recognizable as protovertebrates with bilateral symmetry and highly specialized cellgroupings that evolved into organ systems.

These beings thrive and then die off and fossilize and morph in to beings of greater complexity — fish, reptiles, amphibians, birds, mammals until eventually hominoids emerge. And then here we all are, each doing our own thing, participating the universal explosion/implosion, trying to get to heaven before they close the door.

The power that makes this all happen, that’s G*d.

The power that makes the knowable physical universe possible, that overcomes the alternative of nothingness, is the same power that drives evolution on this one not very distinguished planet out of billions and creates these marvelous beings that we humans are.

Does this G*d have a human-like personality such that if we do certain things like pray or sacrifice goats or do compassionate actions this G*d will be pleased and stick her proverbial finger into the daily causes and effects we see every day? I do not think so. Doing these things may be good for us; doing these things may be good for our community; doing these things may make a good story; doing these things may participate in the G*d process. But G*d has no more first hand knowledge of our poor powers than we might have of an ant colony thriving in a distant corner of our backyard.

Loosely speaking, this is an update of Spinoza.

Seeing as how I have not functioned as a rabbi for many years (see http://www.defrockedrabbi.com) I am not forced to explain or defend these views to any congregants. If I were I would. If I did, my views might have unfolded otherwise. When someone asks, I tell them.

//Introduce special guests attending this morning//

So. Today I am a guest too. I’m the guest sermonizer. I am the guest giver of the D’var Torah.

Can I ask you all a question? I just did. I have a question to ask you all. Have you ever in your life been asked to deliver a Dvar Torah? Raise your hand. Don’t forget, if you had a bar or bat mitzvah, then you might have given a Dvar Torah then, even if that was your only time.

Ever been on a board or maybe even just a member of a Jewish organization, and then one day you get a call from the president, and he or she says, “Hey listen! this week we have a board meeting or a general meeting. And I’d like to ask you to deliver a brief Dvar Torah. Can you do that?” And you think, “Oh oh!!!” Most people would rather swim across a river of dog poop than get up in front of a group and deliver that brief Dvar Torah. Am I right?

With the exception of our guests here today, just about all of you know that I am a rabbi in this synagogue, but I’ve never been the rabbi of this synagogue. I was the rabbi of a synagogue 20-some years ago. But since then, I’ve done other things. You know, I never left the active rabbinate in anger or failure or frustration; I left it to do other things. To follow my bliss. To dive more deeply into some other things.

And every once in a while, someone asks me, “Do you miss not being the rabbi of a synagogue?”; and I usually respond: Well, I don’t miss the politics. I don’t miss living in a fishbowl. I don’t miss people treating me in that weird fashion that we Jews treat our rabbis. (‘oh damn! pardon my French, rabbi’). I don’t miss having to work on Jewish holidays. But do miss have the regular opportunity to deliver a D’var Torah. So I treasure these occasional opportunities when they arise.

Now you all know what a “D’var Torah” is, don’t you? A Dvar Torah is a particular kind of Jewish teaching. It is the most common form of Jewish teaching that most of us ever encounter. A Dvar Torah is when you start with a traditional Jewish text. Usually the text of the Torah itself. Usually from the text of the specific reading from the Torah for the current week. You know, we have this annual cycle of readings from the Torah. And each week’s Torah provides the themes and flavors and teachings and lessons for that week each year for every synagogue around the world.

What do the words Dvar Torah mean? Davar is a word or a thing; word & thing are the same; in Jewish psychology, you say it and it’s real. Interesting psychology. So a Dvar Torah is a word of Torah or a small piece of Torah. I like, “morsel of Torah”; like chocolate chips; on the package it doesn’t say “chocolate chips”, it says “chocolate morsels”. Morsels are small. Rich. Special treat. Is there anyone who doesn’t like cookies made with chocolate morsels?

That’s Davar; what is Torah? And Torah certainly refers to the 5 books of Moshe, the written Torah on our large scrolls that we read from a few moments ago. But Torah is much more. Torah is a process; a dynamic; an ongoing power that begins with The Torah, but flows like a river thru every Jew who ever was. From our most distant ancestors up until today. Through every one of us.

Torah is what makes us who we are. We might not think about Torah for weeks or even months at a time as our busy lives unfold. But in those deeply introspective moments when we think about “Who am I?” or “Why am I here on this planet in this body?” or “Why is my life unfolding in the way that it is?” When we hit those moments of deep introspection, that’s when we become reminded of Torah. Torah is the process that began 4000 years ago. That has animated, motivated our ancestors, through all their wandering and trials and glorious experiences up to the present day. Torah is our record of our encounter with God, and how that encounter has formed us as we are.

Most Divrei Torah (– the plural of Dvar Torah is Divrei Torah, not Dvar Torahs–), Most Divrei Torah are given by rabbis on Shabbat morning. But they can be given by anyone, at any time. That’s why some of our Jewish organizations start out their meeting with a Dvar Torah from one of its members.

The thing I miss the most about not being in the active rabbinate is the frequent opportunity to give Dvar Torah. I miss regular the opportunity to teach Torah, to share it with my people. Here’ my point: Giving a Dvar Torah is a very intense Jewish spiritual experience. In fact, it is one of the most intense Jewish spiritual experiences that there is.

Sometimes people complain: Jewish life as most of us experience it is very dry, very much done by rote. There’s no depth of feeling it, there’s no intense spiritual experience offered in regular synagogue life

When you deliver a Dvar Torah you get to talk to the people about spiritual matters. You get the privilege of having Torah flow through you to the people. There is nothing like it. On one hand, it is humbling when you’re asked to do it. To be recognized that maybe you have something to share that’s worth sharing. And at the same time it’s your chance to open up and say who you really are. Like publishing your web site: “Here I am world! I’ve got something to say! I’m part of this unfolding of Torah. Here’s my experience!!”

Occasionally I get to give one. Like now. Rabbi Taff has another commitment, and I get to fill in.

Most Divrei Torah that most of us hear are given by rabbis. Most of us on one level equate being a rabbi w/ giving Divrei Torah. That’s where we see our rabbis. That’s where rabbis see us; or don’t.

Being a rabbi requires diverse skills. Some at odds with one another. No one can be good at them all. Some rabbis are great counselors; others are great leaders and organizers of people; some are great writers. Almost all rabbis feel the call to do Dvar Torah every week. The irony of it all is that I don’t know many people that have that much to say. Myself very much included. My Divrei Torah are usually well received because I don’t have to give them very often. So I get to save up my insights over months and then when I get the opportunity, I’ve got tons of material.

When you think about it, What makes rabbis different than everyone else? We need 10 Jews for a minion for a prayer quorum. 9 rabbis won’t do. But the person who is designated as the rabbi of a congregation has the right and opportunity and obligation to do a Dvar Torah every week.

But giving a Dvar Torah is very difficult for most people as it’s a skill that needs a lot of development. So on one hand you’ve got a few people (rabbis) that give way too many Divrei Torah and on the other, you’ve got a lot of people that could give a good one with a bit of encouragement and a few hints on how the process goes.

Creating, delivering a Dvar Torah allows you to exercise your inner teacher function. And that’s a very high level of being. When I was younger, I always wanted to be a teacher; even before I knew enough to teach most anybody. Before you can teach you have to experience.
I want to tell you, I am never so alive, so energized as when I prepare for a Dvar Torah. It can be agony. But it’s an agony that I love. I am rarely so excited as when I’m scheduled to give a Dvar Torah. It requires your whole body, your whole feelings, mind and spirit. Just like dance.

So that’s what I want to share with you this Shabbat. Writing a Dvar Torah and delivering it to fellow Jews or any fellow human beings is a gift. It is a wonderful blessing. It is an opportunity to allow yourself to become just a little bit more wise, more self actualized, more of a Jew, and more whole person.

So the next time you get that phone call from the president of your organization, saying, “Hey! would you be willing to give the Dvar Torah at our meeting next Monday?” Here’s what you do. Here’s my recipe for how to write a Dvar Torah. I’ll show you.

#1. Start with your mind as a blank slate. Don’t start out by thinking you know what you want to say. First, clear your mind; take a few deep breaths; relax and meditate; maybe say a prayer or two; and go inside yourself and ask for wisdom; ask for Torah to flow thru you.

#2. Then you read parshat hashavuah, the Torah portion for the current week. That is the oracle, source of deepest wisdom. Read it slowly. Savor every word. And as you do, trust that in there somewhere, its got what you need. Only you have to find it. Look for a question. What grabs you here?

You don’t start with, “Hey! I’m a musician. I want to talk about my music; where is it in the Torah?” No no. no. You clear your mind and let Torah flow through you. If it’s music you’re inspired to speak of, Torah will sing something to you.

The Torah this week is the story of how Jacob/Yaakov cheated his twin brother Eysav/Esau out of their father Ytzkhak/Isaac’s final blessing before he died. This is Yaakov who becomes Israel, the name we are all called. And this story makes our ancestor, our beloved Jacob/Yaakov, this story makes him into a low grade crook. With his mother as his accomplice. So you read the story slowly and you see what grabs you.

You’ve heard this story a hundred times. But this time its going to have something new to teach you. Listen for it:

When Yitzkhak/Isaac was old and his eyes were so weak that he could not see, he called his elder son Eysav and said to him, “My son”; and he answered, “Here I am.”

He said, “See, I am old; I do not expect to live much longer. So, take your weapons, your quiver and your bow, and go out to the field, and hunt game for me. Then prepare for me savory food, such as I like, and bring it to me to eat, so that I may bless you before I die.”

Now Rivka/Rebeka was listening when Yitzkhak spoke to his son Eysav. So when Eysav went to the field to hunt for game and bring it, Rivka said to her son Ya’akov, “I heard your father say to your brother Eysav, ‘Bring me game, and prepare for me savory food to eat, that I may bless you before the YHVH before I die.’ Now therefore, my son, obey my word as I command you. Go to the flock, and get me two choice kids, so that I may prepare from them savory food for your father, such as he likes; and you shall take it to your father to eat, so that he may bless you before he dies.”

#3. What grabs you? Formulate a question.

//Call on a couple of people to share their question//

Why did Rivka say…? Why did Yaakov go along…? How did Yitzkhak not see…? What detail of what happens here determines something down the road as the story unfolds? What hint of something more going on do you perceive? What does the story leave out? Why does the tale unfold as it does?

#4. When you’ve found your question, then you ask, How have others understood this question? You might look up our great sages and Biblical commentators like Rashi or Rambam and see how they understood the verse. You might check the footnotes of our Khumash.

Or you could Google it. There is tons of Torah on the web these days.

So the other day I’m talking to my daughter Lana, and I’m telling her about how I’m figuring out a Dvar Torah about Yaakov and Eysav, and she says she read an article in her Jewish studies class that pointed out how Yaakov never apologizes for cheating his brother or for anything else that he messes up in his lifetime. So this pricked my interest, so I Googled “Torah Jacob never apologizes” and guess what? There it was. I don’t know if it was the same exact article Lana had seen, but it was pretty similar. If you haven’t looked, you’d be amazed how much Torah there is on the Internet!!

#5. So you clear your mind, you read the Torah, you open to a question, you research an answer, and then you let it coagulate within you.

Through your research, you might find that someone else offers an explanation that answers your question. If so, you might want to explain why that explanation is satisfying. Or if none of the explanations you find satisfies you, then you have to come up with something new.

It may take a day or more for this process to unfold. It can be agony. Agony is good. The inspiration comes on its own schedule.

#6. So when you’re ready, then you sit down and write. Work out the details. What question did the Torah ask you? Who else has struggled with this question? What do they offer? Is it enough? If not, here’s how I understand this now. Craft the words. Add a few examples.

And then you’ve got to convey what you’ve learned to others. Craft the gestures, the inflections; add the dance.

And then when the time comes, when you take to the bima, you can let it flow.

If you get an opportunity to deliver your Dvar Torah, whether in synagogue or at your organization meeting, you’re all focused on what you’re saying and on what you’ve learned and on the message that you’re sharing. The experience may teach something to those who hear it.

But inside, know that what you are doing is very intense Jewish spiritual experience. It is transforming you. It is bringing you more deeply into the mechanics of Torah. It is helping you to know yourself better. It is bringing you closer to God.

Shabbat Shalom.

This is my visual aid. (said while taping 4 pieces of paper to the lecturn, each with one large Hebrew letter spelling out the Tetragramaton: Yod, Hay, Vav, Hay) If this were truly a synagogue of the 21st century, I’d have it projected big time in PowerPoint slides. But since this is a synagogue of the 58th century, we don’t do electronics on Shabbat. We’re still stuck in paper.

This week’s Torah begins with a most puzzling statement. G*d continues to speak with Moshe. Last week G*d initiated a conversation with Moshe at the burning bush. And Moshe is incredulous; he doesn’t know who this is that’s speaking to him out of the burning bush; He doesn’t know who this is that tells him he’s got some special work to do. And so Moshe says, “Yeah right! I’m gonna go to all these Israelite slaves and tell them that this Gaaad spoke to me and told me to come rescue you! A nectige tog!! The first thing they’re gonna say is, ‘Who is this Gaaad that you say sent you?’ So what am I gonna tell them?”

And G*d replies from the bush and says that wonderful magical mysterious cryptic line, Aheyeh Asher Aheyeh, I will be whatever the heck I want. Don’t try to define me because you’ll lose every time. And then G*d continues and says this name that sounds kind of like Aheyeh. It starts with a Yah and ends with an hhhhhh sound and no one is quite sure what comes in between. Because that’s the name we never pronounce.

Here it is spelled out: Y H V H.

And then this G continues speaking with Moshe and then the conversation brings us to God’s words this Shabbat: I am Y H V H. I appeared to Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov as El Shaddai, but I did not reveal my name Y H V H to them.

Now this is a very strange statement. Because it directly contradicts two other statements in the Torah where G*d did indeed reveal his name Y H V H to Avraham. Way back in parshat Lech L’ha; several hundred years before. G*d speaks to Avraham and says, “I am Y H V H who brought to out from Ur Chashdeem to give you this land as a possession.” And when G*d speaks to Yaakov when he has that wonderful dream of the angles going up and down the ladder G*d says, “I am Y H V H the G*d of Avraham your father and the G*d of Yizthak, and I will give the land that you’re sleeping on to your descendents.”

Now, I do not take credit for being the first to notice this seeming contradiction in the Torah. As you might guess, our rabbis noticed it thousands of years ago and managed to explain their way around it. What they said was that even though Avraham and Yaakov might have heard the name Y H V H, they did not yet understand its’ implication. You see, the Torah has many different names of G*d. And according to Jewish tradition, each name of G*d expresses certain specific aspects of G*d:

The Midrash teaches that The Holy One said to Moshe, “You want to know my name? My name derives from what I do. Sometimes I am called El Shaddai, sometimes Zevaot, sometimes Elohim, sometimes Y H V H/Adonai. When I judge humanity, I am called Elohim, when I make war against the wicked, I am called Zevaot, and when I give a man a suspended sentence for his sins I am called El Shaddai; and when I have compassion on my world, I am called Adonai.

The patriarchs had spoken with G*d, they were familiar w/ the name Y H V H, but they had not yet experienced that aspect of G*d. The greatest manifestations of divine compassion in the world, the Exodus of Israel from Egypt and the giving of the Torah at Mt Sinai hadn’t happened yet. So the name Y H V H had not yet been revealed.

It sometimes happens in the course of history that the way G*d appears to us changes. G*d doesn’t change. We change. And so as we change, G*d appears different to us.

I want to ask you a question. I want you to try and remember something for me. Something small. Maybe insignificant. Quite possibly you won’t even be able to remember it. I want you to try to remember the first time you heard a certain expression. That expression is “Jewish spirituality.” Can you recall when you first heard it?

When I was a student at the Hebrew Union College a few dozen years ago, that was an expression no one ever used. Never. And all through the dozen plus years that I functioned full time as a rabbi, back in the late 70′s, early 80′s that was a phrase that no one ever used. Back then the Jewish world was very focused on issues: supporting Israel, rescuing Soviet Jewry, social justice here in the US. We dealt with most of the same hard issues we deal with now: strengthening Jewish education at every level, working to help Jews stay Jewish in every way we were able. We might have done a few experiments with making worship more contemporary, more in tune with peoples’ modern sensibilities. But we never did get talk about, “How do we increase the level of Jewish spirituality of the Jews we work with; or of ourselves.”

I wrote a book on the subject. Writing it was one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. It came out about 15 years ago. It’s kind of dated now. But it sold a few thousand copies. Got a dozen wonderful reviews in very obscure publications. It’s out of print now, but copies are still available out of my garage. And used copies can be found on Amazon or eBay for a couple of bucks.

The book was as it’s subtitle proclaimed, “A guide to Jewish spiritual growth.” To my knowledge, it was the first or second modern book that had the phrase “Jewish spirituality” in its title. When it came out, a lot of people furled their brow and said, “What is Jewish spirituality?” Do we have that?

And now it’s 15 years later, and when you pick up the monthly periodical of the United Synagogue, almost every issue features an article that talks about “How do increase the level of Jewish spirituality among our Jews?”

But when you ask almost anyone (not anyone but almost anyone); almost anyone in any official Jewish capacity, rabbis, educators, executive directors, “What do you mean by Jewish spirituality?” more often than not, you still get a furled brow and a puzzled look.”

Well, after many years of study, exploration, writing, writing, I don’t think the question is all that complex. Jewish spirituality is what goes on inside of us whenever we do anything Jewish. It’s pretty easy to sit here on any Shabbat morning and think about what you’re going to do later on in the day or think about what you did last night. Or when we’re reading the Torah, it’s pretty easy to think about just about anything on earth OTHER than the words of Torah.

So many of us grow up learning to do Jewish things by rote. We are taught how to light candles, how to prepare our food, how to celebrate our holidays, how to learn from our ancient texts, how to say the prayers that let us talk to G*d. And we learn to do them by rote pretty well.

Jewish spirituality is the opposite. Jewish spirituality is experiencing any Jewish activity you can think of with your mind and your heart focused on the activity as you do it. With all your heart and with all your soul; “b’khol nafshekha u’vhkol m’odekha.” Even if you’ve never it before. Or even if you’ve done it a thousand times already. Raising Jewish spirituality is about how to do those same Jewish things we do all the time anyhow. But doing them deliberately. With focus. With intensity. With feeling. As though they’re the most beautiful, the most exciting, the most ennobling things you can possibly spend your current moment doing.

Do you want to increase the Jewish spirituality you experience? There any many processes, many experiences out there that can help you do that. My friend Debbie Brown offers a Shabbat morning meditation experience designed to help you open up, to experience your Jewish experiences more intensely.

Here’s another one. Now we’re back to my visual aid. Four Hebrew letters. Y H V H. The ineffable, unpronounceable, mysterious, all powerful name of G*d that implies infinite compassion.

Take a deep breath; and as you do, focus your awareness on the Yod. And hold your breath for just a moment and as you do, focus on Hey. Let go and exhale on Vav, and let your lungs empty out all by themselves. And then relax on Hey. Yod/inhale; hey/hold your breath a second; vav/long exhale; hey; relax into stillness. Now you do it yourself. Let your breathing be long and deep and gentle and let its rhythm spell out this name of G*d for just a few moments by yourself.

Do you know what I’m saying here? You can practice this little breathing exercise any time you’re stuck in traffic. Or any time you’re on the phone on hold. Or any time you’re waiting for anything to be over already.

This is Shabbat. This is our moment each week, to take time out time. To allow ourselves to experience the world just a little bit differently. To experience G*d just a little bit more intensely. To experience the infinite compassion of Y H V H.

Once upon a time, G*d spoke to Moshe. And G*d told Moshe, those qualities of infinite mercy and boundless compassion were not manifest to Avraham and Yaakov. But soon they’ll be manifest to you and to the people of your generation. You will experience the meaning of Y H V H. Your level of Jewish spiritual experience with move up a notch.

It happened for Moshe. Maybe it can happen for us.

Shabbat Shalom.

“This is the saga of Ytzkhak ben Avraham. Avraham sired Yitzhak.” So begins our Torah for this Shabbat.

Now when I was a student at the Hebrew Union College many moons ago, one of the courses we were required to take was something called Homiletics. Do you know voss maint dos Homiletics? Do you what Homiletics means?

Homiletics is the science of writing a D’var Torah, or in simple English, Homiletics is art of writing sermons. Now, one of the most important principles I remember learning in the art and science of homiletics is, “never preach against the Torah’s text.” Never say, “Hey! The Torah is wrong here.” Never say, “I know the Torah says we should do A, but we should do B.” Never preach against the text. Well, every rule is meant to be broken.

Torah introduces this section of tale by saying, “This is the saga of Yitzhkak ben Avraham,” The Torah is mistaken. Dare I say it? The Torah is wrong. It should have said, “This is the saga of Rivka bat Betuel,” Because in fact, this is not really Yitzkhak’s story. It is Rivka’s.

Yitzhak was one of those poor unlucky souls who starts out life as the son of his father and ends up his life as the father of his son. Do you know who Moses Mendolsohn was? Moses Mendolsohn was a German Jew who lived around the time of the American Revolution. He was a great philosopher, a theologian. He was one of the first Jews to confront modernity, the modern age. If you’re listing the top ten Jewish thinkers of all time, Moses Mendolsohn might not make the list, but if you stretch it to the top twenty, he probably would. Now, do you know who Felix Mendolsohn was? He was a very well known composer. He’s not Bach or Beethoven, but it’s not at all unusual for a major symphony orchestra to include his Piano Concerto in G minor in their program. Now, do you know who Abraham Mendolsohn was? No, of course you don’t. Abraham Mendolsohn was the son of Moses Mendolsohn and the father of Felix Mendolsohn. The only other thing that he is famous for is that he was a famous meshumad. Meshumad is someone who leaves Judasim for something else. It means “one who has been destroyed.”

Now Yitzkhak was certainly not so extreme as Abraham Mendolsohn, khas v’shalom. But he was the son of Avraham, the very first human being to discern that God is one. And he was the father of Ya’akov, who became Yisrael, the one who wrestles with God, the one whose name we all bear. But Yitzhak, what did he do? Well, he was bound, almost sacrificed on Mt, Moriah. What else did he do? Well, he became wealthy. G*d talked to him a couple of times. That’s about it. Of the three patriarchs, he is certainly the minor character.

But Yitzhkak’s greatness was not really in anything of his own doing. Yitzhkak’s greatest achievement was to be Rivka’s husband.

Let’s look at this week’s Torah’s back story for just a moment. In last week’s Torah portion, Rivka is introduced. Avraham is old. Sarah has just died. Avraham wants to find a bride for Yitzhak. In true Jewish fashion, Avraham knew that none of the local girls was good enough for his son. So he dispatched his servant to go back to his birthplace, back to Nahor, to find a bride for his son. So the servant accepts the challenge and travels hundreds of miles and arrives at Nahor, and he thinks, “OK, how am I going to find a girl for Yizkhak?”

So he’s parked his camel by the town well; and he gets a bright idea, “It’s the time of day when the girls come out to fill their water jugs. I’ll pick some lovely some lovely damsel and ask her for a drink of water, and if she offers to water my camels as well, then I’ll know this is the right girl.” And no sooner does he think this that here comes little Rivkele out to fill her water jugs, and he asks her for a drink, and she say, “Sure; and let me water your camels too.”

So then the servant gives her a few expensive gifts and just as he finagles an invitation from the girl to meet her family. So as soon as Abraham’s servant is introduced to Rivka’s mishpukha, he tells them all what just happened and they say, “OOOoookay!! But hey!! We won’t want to lose our sister, our daughter quite so quickly; hang out here with us for a few weeks and then take her with you.” But the servant says, “Nope; I’m in a hurry. I promised Avraham I’d get back to him ASAP.” And so Rivka’s brother asks her, “What do you think, Rivka.” And Rivka says, “Give me 20 minutes to pack a suitcase and I’m atta here.”

So what kind of girl is this? She is very kind; offering a stranger to go to the trouble of watering his animals. But she is also someone who knows her destiny. She is someone who knows that when opportunity knocks, you don’t waste time hanging out with your girl friends at the corner Starbucks. She has a certain instant intuition about the enormous gravity of the moment and she responds; she leaves with this stranger to go to a place she knows nothing about to marry a man she knows even less of. She leaves that same day!

So she goes home to meet Yitzhak and they marry and that brings us to this week’s parasha; where the first thing it tells us is that she has trouble getting pregnant; In the Torah everyone has trouble getting pregnant. Especially the women.

But then she does become pregnant and she has a most difficult pregnancy. She is terribly uncomfortable. Week after week. So what does she do? She prays, she meditates, she visualizes, she seeks the fount of her own deepest wisdom, and finally she has an insight. A flash of understanding. Somehow she sees clearly; she knows what is happening:

Two boys are growing within her. Each will be the ancestor a nation. They are struggling with one another inside of her. And she so she somehow knows automatically that their struggles will continue through their lifetimes and for generations after.

So think about Rivka as she digests this knowledge. Every new parent has all sorts of dreams and plans and fantasies and fears about their unborn children. But this is Rivka; who we’ve already seen knows her destiny; knows that she is called for a higher purpose. Knows that when it’s time to act, it’s time to act.

So the boys are born, struggling with each other as they emerge. And they grow; and we know the story, how the older boy Eysav becomes an outdoorsman, a hunter, strong, physical guy. And the younger boy, Yaakov is domestic, a home body; he’s the one with the brains. He reads, he thinks, maybe he writes or he invents a few new and better tools.

And when the moment is right, Yaakov buys his brother’s birthright, his legal right to the greater share of his father’s wealth, he buys it for a cup of soup. Eysav might have been a great hunter, but he wasn’t so smart. This was a bad bargain.

Imagine Rivka when she heard this story. She already knows, her younger son is like her. He’s the one with the brains. He knows he has a destiny. She knows he has a destiny. She sees what’s going on. She’s a mother. She loves both her sons. She loves Eysav dearly. But this is the woman who knows the higher meaning of things. Who knows that when the wheel comes around it only stops on your number once; who knows that the struggle of her boys within her is manifesting itself on this earth.

So she waits until the day when her husband is ill, he’s near death and she hears how he asks Eysav to go hunt up some game and feed him one last meal of fresh meat. And then, she hears him say he will give Eysav his blessing. Why was this blessing so important? This blessing is Yitkhak’s signed, notarized contract that says, “You are my favored one who will carry on the legacy I received from my father Avraham.” You know how if you sign a contract, and you’re taken to court, you can’t say, “Oh gosh! I never read that contract.” If you sign it, it is real. You are responsible. Even if you did not intend to sign it. Yitzkhak is about to sign.

Rivka knows what she must do. She must engineer the situation so Yaakov receives that blessing, that contract, that assurance that the saga of Avraham continues through him. It must have pained Rivka greatly to set up this scene that would cause her son Eysav such pain and humiliation. It must have been agonizing for her to create the scene that would make her husband’s last hours on earth so dreadfully uncomfortable. But she did it. She had to do it. Just like she had to leave her father’s house. Just like she had to realize the truth about the birthright.

Rivka was the one that made it all happen. And we are all the descendents of Yaakov. We are the domestic people; we are the thinkers, the artists, the builders, the writers, the creative people. We are not great outdoorsmen and outdoorswomen. Most of us. Eysav may be our uncle, but we’re not cut from his cloth.

We are so very, very proud of our star Jewish athletes, our Sandy Koufax’s and Mark Spitz’s and Sarah Hughes’s. But most of us are not them. Most of us are more domestic. As a group, we do a lot better at collecting Nobel prizes than we do at collecting Olympic medals.

We survive by Jewish brain power. First and foremost. And we’ve survived this way for 3500 years. No one has survived as long as us. And no one has survived the way we have, moving from one country to next, learning new languages, living in diverse cultures, from North Africa to Spain to England to Poland to Russia to North America. We’ve survived by our domesticity. By our brains. Not so much by our physical strength. And I say this as a onetime midlife marathon runner and wannabe triathlete.

You see, Rivka knew all this. Rivka knew that her legacy would survive with Yaakov, not with Eysav. She was the one who made it all happen.

We pray 3 times each day to our God, the God Avraham, Yitzhkak and Yaakov. It never would have happened without our Matriarchs. They belong in there too. The Amida should include “Elohaynu vaylohay imahoteynu; elohay Sara, elohay Rivka, elohay Layah, veylohay Rakhel” This isn’t really the saga of Yitzhak that we read this week. It is truly the saga of Rivka.

I have belonged to this Conservative Movement congregation for over 22 years. Before that I was ordained by the yeshiva of the Reform Movement, as I served in that movement for a dozen years. And before that I grew up Orthodox. So I am one of those rare people who has earned the right to dump criticism on all three.

This week, the Reform Movement is issuing a new Siddur. It’s a weird book. It some ways it’s the most traditional Reform Prayerbook in a hundred years. But this is already the second reform prayerbook that has added the names of the Emahot, of our matriarchs, to the first paragraph of the Amida. They’ve already been doing that for 15 years. Now it’s our turn. I know, it took the Conservative movement 25 years to issue a modern Torah commentary for use in the Synagogue. I don’t expect a replacement for Sim Shalom in my lifetime. But it’s time for us, at the very least, when we pray “Barukh ata Ad*nai, eloheynu v’eylohey avotaynu”, in our hearts and with our lips, we should add another phrase; we should all say, “Barukh ata Ad*nai, elohaynu vaylohay Avotaynu v’emahotaynu; Elohay Avraham, eloyay Yitzkhak, vayloya Yaakov; Elohay Sara, elohay Rivka, Elohay Layah vaylohat Rakhel;” We praise G*d who is the G*d of our fathers, and also G*d of our Mothers; G*d of Avraham, Yitzkhak and Ya’akov; and G*d of Sarah, Rivka, Layah and Rakhel.

And while we’re at it, here’s another one tho think about: we should be very careful about pronouns we use with G*d. How about this: for every time we refer to G*d with “He,” the next time we use a pronoun with G*d, let’s call G*d “She.”

Throughout most of our history, we’ve had very strong lines between what men do and what women do. We had strong gender-linked roles. Men were the spiritual leaders in the synagogue. Men studied Torah. Women didn’t do those things. Women found spirituality in other ways.

In the last 30 years, that’s changed incredibly. When I was a student at the Hebrew Union College, the very first woman ever was ordained rabbi. Now, over half of all the new rabbis ordained in the Reform movement are women. I do not know the percentage of new Conservative ordainees who are women, but I’ll bet you Conservative will catch Reform within a dozen years. We’re getting there.

Yitzkhak would not have made it without Rivke. Sometimes it happens that the women make it all happen. That’s how it’s been in my household too.

Shabbat Shalom

Back when I was in rabbi school (I know, it’s called ‘yeshiva’), a grad-fellow instructor (who’s name I don’t recall) used to insist that “Barukh” should not be translated as “Blessed,” since the act of blessing implies that the bless-or has a higher status than the bless-ee. The most notable example of bestowing a blessing is a king blessing his subject; subjects never bless a king.

That little gem of an explanation always made a lot of sense to me. As a result, I always cringe when I read any Jewish liturgy that translates “Barukh ata” into “Blessed art thou.” In the first place, there is no “art.” “Art” has not appeared in any declension of “to be” in at least 300 years. But even “Blessed are you” feels wrong to me. The passive voice here weakens the thrust of the sentence: Who is it that is doing the activity described here? Since “Barukh” derives from “berekh” which means “knee,” and “Barukh” is in the passive mode, I’d literally translate “Barukh ata” into “You are the recipient of knee-bending”. But since that passive voice masks the identity of who is doing the deep knee bend, I’d go with an active translation, not quite so literal but much more literate, which would have to be, “We praise you” (with no capital Y required, thank you.)

Recent liturgical publications have thankfully begun to let go of 19th century rendition of the Tetragrammaton into “Lord”. It never sounded Jewish in the first place. Spelling out “Adonai” and pronouncing it on the English side is a welcomed change. Though it rubs some of our most traditional brethren and sisteren as a violation of one of the Ten Words, in fact it is no more such a violation than is the “O Lord” it replaced.

When writing “Adonai our god,” god might not be capitalized. We are identifying Adonai as our god, where god is a generic category of active powers that includes Zeus and Brahma and the rest of the pantheon. However, simultaneously we assert that Adonai is God in the absolute sense, “God” indicating “the ultimate reality of the universe,” implying the others are merely pretenders.

The traditionalist “G-d” always strikes me at overly inhibited, stark and restrained. If we wish to remind ourselves that what we refer to as “God” is unique and beyond all human description and toward which we aspire, then we should do something a bit more joyous, expansive and celestial. Thus I use “G!d”, with “god” a close second.

“Melekh” equaling “king” has already been rejected as overly masculine and hierachical. “Haolam” is indeed “universe,” but it is also “forever.” Thus, “haolam” is the “universe in both space and time.” For “melekh haolam,” I’d suggest “beyond all time and space.”

“Kadosh” means “separate, unique, taboo, numinous.” For most us us, however, ritual mitzvot are the spice, the decorations, the extra-added’s of our time cycles which transform us into something more than we were before with perform them. When G!d “Kidshanu”‘s us “b’mitzvotav,” G!d is leading us to enrich our lives through mitzvot. And I’d rather keep “mitzvot” as “mitzvot” than struggle to find a modern analog to a “commandment” coming from the transcendent beyond with the implied threat of a cosmic zap if we blow it. No different than how we call “Torah” “Torah,” rather than “Law” or “Teaching.”

Therefore, in Internet Haggadah, I consistenly translate “Baruch ata Adonai Eloheynu melech ha-olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzeevanu” into “We praise you, Adonai our G!d, beyond all time and space, who leads us to enrich our lives through mitzvot and directs us” to do whatever.

I thought I was suited quite well, thank you, but as we Jews say, “Humans plan and God laughs.”

This is my site. My pulpit. The one place on Earth I can say what I want. If you do not like it, one click and you are atta here. So if you stay, it is by your own choice.

Since I was defrocked, I’ve have very few opportunities to express all of the truths that seem so self-evident to me. Rabbis have big egos. We see things that appear self-evident, and we feel God demands we express what we see to others.

Godbless the Internet. Here I am reborn.

Are you really a defrocked rabbi?

I was ordained at a major American rabbinic seminary. After finishing a normal college degree, I spent a number of years studying to be ordained. I served as a rabbi in several positions over a number of years.

Rabbi-ing is a multidimentional job. It requires diverse talents. No one does all aspects of the rabbinate wonderfully. I did some parts of the job well; other parts made me, uhhhh, a little uncomfortable. Any rabbi who is honest will say the same.

There is no official means by which a rabbi can be “defrocked” or stripped of his or her title. Occasionally, a rabbi does something quite horrendous and gets caught; as a result, no one will hire him or her. In addition, each of the major movements in Judaism have a rabbinical organization; one can be “kicked out” for not paying dues, as well as getting caught doing something nasty.

No, I’m not really defrocked. I pay my rabbinic organization dues, and I’ve never been caught with my proverbial pants down. But for a variety of reasons, maybe for no reason, I’m no longer employed as a rabbi. Occasionally, I do guest gigs.

When I stopped being employed as a rabbi, I figured that with my experience and training and knowledge, I would never run out of opportunities to let my rabbinic self out of its proverbial bag. You know, being the guest officiant at bris’s or teacher of adult bar mitzvahs. For a while, that was indeed the case. As time went on, I got asked less and less.

So this is my pulpit. Welcome to it.

“So What’s the Whole Story?”

Updates and annotations are indented like this

Rabbis Don’t Get Defrocked, but Some are Unsuited

In June, 1999, my ordination class of HUC-JIR ’74 will celebrate its 25 years as rabbis. Many of my classmates will receive honorary degrees in tribute to long illustrious careers. I do not expect to be among them.

I am a rabbinical dropout. I never made a conscious choice to leave the rabbinate. It just sort of happened.

From time to time, The CCAR Journal publishes rabbis’ descriptions of the particular twists and unusual turns in their rabbinical careers: one individual describes how he became a hospice chaplain, another how she inaugurated a successful outreach program to young couples. Through these articles, the rest of us learn from their experience and enrich our own rabbinical careers.

The particular twist of my rabbinical career is that it crashed and burned. It is no more.

Most Jews assume that if a rabbi changes careers, it must be because “he couldn’t hack it; he got fired because he didn’t visit the president of the congregation’s wife when she was in the hospital, she was too liberal, he got in some kind of trouble, he wouldn’t perform intermarriages.” Or sometimes our Jews acknowledge the emotional drains the rabbinate places on its members and admit that not everyone is meant for it. But I’ve never heard anyone suggest an explanation for leaving the rabbinate that feels congruent with mine: It just happened.

I did not plan it that way. I had hacked it reasonably well. I led a congregation for nearly 10 years. Though my congregation and I had growing pains together, we never had a huge fight. We created a few minor scuffles because an unwritten rule in the Jewish world says you’ve got to have them. When the dust settled, we both got over them quickly. I never got so frustrated or furious at my congregation that I got anywhere near quitting the whole rabbinical world. I never got fired. It just happened.

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I subscribe to a Reform rabbis’ listserv. Occasionally my fellow subscribers delve into a discussion worth diving in to. Last week, the topic turned to the choreography of davvenology. The discussion brought me back to an experience I experienced a while back.

At a point in the rabbinic lifecycle when the energy available towards the spiritual quest was waxing most poetic and the will to experience extraordinary experiences burned ever more brightly, I had the luxury of being without professional bimah responsibilities through an extended time-frame.

Draped in my rainbow-colored tallit with matching rasta-cap converted to kippah and armed with my quartz-crystal-tipped yad, I would attend a traditional/Conservative service most Shabbatot and assume the role of Jew in the pew, needing oh-so-intensely to communicate with the Source of All Being. I would seek out the most inconspicuous spot where I would daven with all of the kavvanah I was capable of mustering.

Having done my formative years in the 50′s when the body and its expressive modes were particularly suspect and repressed, having come of age in the 60′s when the body electric was sung illuminated with day-glo gigawatts, and having sat out too much of the 70′s tabulating credits toward smicha at HUC-Cincinnati, there in the 80′s I was determined to experience the spiritual dance in the palette’s brightest colors.

So each daily prayer, I allowed myself to sway energetically, as I had observed the pale-skinned Telshe Yeshiva bahurim while on a Cleveland Hebrew School field trip with Mar Reisman many years before.

At first my swaying motion was stiff and forced. In time it loosened, as I integrated body-insights garnered from Hatha Yoga and Tai Chi. It led me on an inner archaeologic dig.

Eventually, I rocked as I imagined my mother must have rocked me, peacefully, joyfully, until inwardly reaching bedrock with no boundaries between goof, nefesh and neshama (or id, ego and superego, take your pick).

And then the rocking transmogrified into a different dance. It occured to me that all this davening/shukkling rocking fore and aft was nothing more or less than the dance of procreation, human’s-yesod-to-shekhina’s-malchut in sublimated format, blasphemistically intercoursing in the most secret, the most pleasurable of all intimacies, where the borderline separating I from You becomes most permeable.

And just as I was overcome with this insight and paused to decide whether to grok what I was experiencing or to let go and allow the experience to experience me, the Kedusha prayer crashed the second wave over me. At that apogee of the service, where the angels all chirp cacophonously around the divine throne, we on Earth imitatio dei with three short tiptoe rises, as we ejaculate our spiritual energy and collapse into a heap. Fortunately, the paradim incorporates the female enough that the collapse is only momentary before the dance energy recharges and proceeds, a notch or two more mellowed and subdued but proceeding vigorously until a gentle three-step withdrawal in peace.

Both dogs and cats are wonderful pets. But they differ from one another.

Dogs are loving and loyal. When you return home, your dog does not care if you are Charles Manson or Mahatma Gandi. The dog will wag its tail and lick your face and welcome you, as if you are the greatest thing on Earth. You can train the dog to heal, fetch, roll over, even to be your eyes or legs. But dogs require your attention. Before you leave town for a weekend, you must arrange for a kennel or dogsitter. You must walk them, clean up their poop, and invest energy in training them to be useful.

Cats are independent and mysterious. They come and go when they choose. If you do not provide their chosen food, they may leave. If you are lucky, the cat will come sit on your lap as you read or watch TV. No tricks. But they keep your house rodent-free. And you can leave for days and the cat will not care as long as someone refills its bowl each day. They clean up after themselves, but they might decide your favorite couch upholstery is their scratching post and nothing you can do will ever persuade them otherwise. They are most interesting to watch or to play with, but it’s always on their own terms.

Each species has their advantages and their weaknesses. (Defrocked Rabbi’s home has one of each, by the way.)

The problem is, some people want a cat and get a dog or vice versa. If you want your pet to display boundless affection for you, a cat just won’t work. If you aren’t willing to devote a fair amount of time to your pet, skip the dog.

So there are dog rabbis and cat rabbis. This is not my own insight. (A fellow student from my yeshiva days, Dan Cohn-Sherbok popularized this wisdom.)

A dog rabbi is loyal and devoted. He or she is available 24/7, the ultimate people person, always there to make you laugh or hold your hand when you need to cry. Dog rabbis never miss a bar mitzvah reception. They will shmooze you, shmeichel you, stupp you with goodies til you beg, “Stop already!” But one day you may need some content that’s a little deeper than a fortune cookie. Then you say, “I thought rabbis were supposed to know the nuances of Torah or the depths of the soul.” That’s when you realized, “Maybe I should have gotten a cat.”

Cat rabbis are the scholars. Leave them alone and they are happy. Their favorite spot on Earth is their library. They know that when you really get down to it, most people suck. To cat rabbis, congregants are necessary evils, to be tolerated, suffered maybe. But no one steps out during a cat rabbi’s sermon. People can’t help but replay its highlights to one another all through Shabbat afternoon and even past havdalah. If you want to know about Jewish history or spiritual expression or the meaning of life, you’d better have a cat. But whan Aunt Sadie is in her third course of chemotherapy and she’s tired and depressed and ready to give up, that’s when you appreciate your dog rabbi.

Each rabbi archetype has its advantages and disadvantages. The most common congregation/rabbi problem, however, involves a cat whose dog-skills are minimal or a dog who can’t construct a meaningful paragraph.

So last winter I decided it was time to bring that project from the drawing board to the real world. So I did it. I finished writing it, put it on the web, did a bit of marketing, and then held my proverbial breath as the Passover season dawned.

It got a few reviews and notices in the Jewish and general press. The highlights were reviews in USA Today and my local Sacramento Bee.

On a spiritual level, it was a great success. Over 600 people downloaded it. Since seder size varies from one to several hundred souls, with most in the 8 to 25 person range, and I know it was used in several several-hundred person congregational sederim, I’d estimate that 10,000 people used it. Based on my admittedly limited customer sampling feedback reports, the vast majority liked or loved it.

On an economic level, it didn’t get me rich or anything, but it did provide me with a few weeks’ wages.

It was an exciting ride.

I don’t know yet if the end of this Passover season represents my return to serious blogging. Come back again. Never can tell.