Post by Rabbi Neil on Nov 29, 2019 19:04:57 GMT
I belong to a Facebook group called The Secret Cabal of Jews Who Control The World. That’s honestly true. Please don’t tell anyone, though, because it’s obviously a secret! Of course, it’s not serious, but is in fact a page for Jews to call out conspiracy theories about Jews that they see online. Sometimes it’s a very funny page and sometimes it’s really disturbing the kind of nonsense people spout online about Jews. But where do such conspiracy theories come from? Partly, they come from the early anti-Semitism of the Church, especially during the Middle Ages, when Christian clergy would blame the Jews for Deicide, which basically meant that they were the worst people in the world. Deicide isn’t just an accusation about killing God but it’s also subconsciously an accusation about agenda. It suggests that the Jewish agenda is different to the agenda of the rest of the world, perhaps maliciously so. That idea that the Jewish community seeks to overturn the agenda of society is, I think, in part true, though, except not in terms of malice. I think that to be a Jew means to seek to overturn society, to rebel against the dominant social narrative, to have a different agenda. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all, and I certainly don’t think it’s malicious. I do see how that could be threatening to some other people’s way of life, and that’s actually rather the point.
For over two thousand years, the Jewish community has held onto a vision of the future predicated on the belief that universal peace and unity is possible. Those in this world who do not work towards such a goal, those who invest in themselves and in their own personal gain, are obviously threatened by that. Those who are invested in a society predicated on division and especially of oppression, whether physical, emotional, socio-economic or any other form, obviously feel like the Jewish vision of universality and equality is threatening to their way of life, as well they should.
Of course, the original vision of the Messianic Age wasn’t totally universal as we would understand it today. For example, it assumed that everyone would flock to Israel to follow the Jews and to worship the Jewish God. That doesn’t sound very universal at all - in fact, it sounds disturbingly particularistic. If one stuck to that vision literally in today’s multicultural society, it would be problematic. But if as Reform Jews we believe that Judaism can develop then we necessarily must hold that our vision can develop. The ancient Rabbinic vision of the Messianic Age was as inclusive and universal as the Tannaim and Amoraim, the earliest Rabbis, could imagine given the social constraints of their patriarchal and particularistic society. It was always a vision of a better world, but it was framed in the context of the society in which it was found. So, we take that vision and ask ourselves – given that society has now developed, given that the Jewish community has developed, what does it mean for us to hold an inclusive and universal vision today?
It means that every time we give voice to that vision, we are engaging in an act of rebellion against a society which demonstrably has a different vision. The way that we give voice to that vision is prayer, and that means that prayer is an act of rebellion. This once again speaks to the theme of the sermons this year of changing the world one prayer at a time. When we pray, we have to believe what we pray. One reason for the keva, for us having fixed prayer, is that it clarifies and establishes the communal vision. The High Holy Days are not a season for rebuking ourselves, they are a season in which we improve ourselves and help to improve society, all in synch with our communally stated vision. A lot of our prayers reflect on the present, as a way of checking in to see if we are still living our lives along the lines of our vision. Some reflect back to the Jewish mythic past to ground that vision in our early community. There is an alternate reading on page 51 which is quite extraordinary, it’s just that we never read it because we’re so busy reading the traditional t’fillah at that point. That reading, that English piyyut, to use the term I mentioned on Rosh Hashanah morning, includes the sentence, “We pray for the winds to disperse the choking air of sadness, for cleansing rains to make parched hopes flower, and to give all of us the strength to rise up toward the sun.” Our vision is for global sadness to be blown away and for hope to bloom. We don’t just hope for that, our prayers set the vision and then motivate us to act to create such a world. Changing the world one prayer at a time. So our prayers rebel against the status quo, against an uncaring, self-centered society of winners and losers.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel described Shabbat as a sanctuary in time. Sometimes I wonder if prayer is a Sanctuary in being, if it is a personal space that we have to build in opposition to a society that urges us to build finances, power and status, and that simultaneously seeks to wear us down so we learn our place specifically so that we do not become agents of change. We build it to protect ourselves from the negative influences of society that guide us to seeing other people as potential competitors in an almost Darwinian struggle for survival, influences that guide us away from seeing the divine in everything and everyone around us. Prayer is not just rebellion against the future vision of society, it is rebellion against our society’s current message on how we should spend our lives. We step out of society when we pray, and into the community of prayer. At the start of tefillah, we step backwards and then step forwards in order to step into a deliberate prayer space. I wonder if we could also view it as stepping out of society and into the community at prayer.
We build our Sanctuary-In-Being by first laying the foundations, which is stepping outside the rush of the world and creating time to stop and reflect. We build that Sanctuary according to a design, which is the conscious decision of what form our prayers will take before we pray them. We build our Sanctuary-In-Being by gathering together the right materials – prayers, readings, songs, silence. That is no small task. We have to make decisions as a community whether the design and materials of our Sanctuary-In-Being are going to be the same as for other communities, and why. Will we build according to an ancient and trusted model that helped our people survive through countless generations, or is contemporary society so profoundly different to ancient times that we need a new way of building for us to stand the test of time? We may find that we have to rebel against the traditional structure in order to build for the future. That act of rebellion can be terrifying, theologically, spiritually and communally, but it can also be liberating and empowering…. indeed, it certainly should be.
And yet, maybe the idea of building a Sanctuary-In-Being is the wrong metaphor. Maybe we should be planting. Maybe we should be choosing the seeds, nourishing the soil, watering, tending and caring, and letting something grow from our efforts. Maybe another way to look at prayer, instead of as a Sanctuary-In-Being is as an Etz Chayyim, a Tree of Life. Maybe prayer doesn’t always give us the safety of a building, but it can give us the grandeur and awe of growth and beauty, and in time and with patience can certainly grow into something that dominates the landscape around us. Prayer as a tree reminds us that we need prayer, that our lives depend upon prayer breathing life into us, and that without prayer our soul slowly suffocates. Whether we see prayer as a Sanctuary-In-Being or as a Tree of Life, as a match that sparks the soul or indeed as any other metaphor, the point remains that prayer is and must be an act of rebellion. If nothing else, since prayer must inevitably change us if it is sincere, it is an act of rebellion against ourselves. It is the inspiration that pushes us forward, that rebels against our own status quo even before we can challenge that of the world around us.
Prayer is an essential part of bringing holiness into our lives. Holiness according to Jewish tradition is an act of separation, of creating something special and distinct from everything else. That does not mean to disconnect – in fact such a thing would be totally contrary to Judaism. It means to take a step back, to reflect, to see where the world is fractured, and then to act to heal that which is fractured. Our Rabbis say that the name Avram, the person from whom all Jews are spiritually descended, comes from the root meaning to cross over. The first Jewish act – his first act recorded in Torah and then embellished in midrash – was to step outside society, to step outside of his comfort zone, to rebel against the status quo. When we gather to pray, then, let us gather to rebel against the status quo in ourselves and in our society, not in order to destroy but in order to build up. When we gather in prayer, let us rebel against spiritual demands from the past and let us instead create a service from our hearts that respects the past while speaking to the present. If we can do those things, our prayers will truly help to make the world a better place for us and for everyone else. Let that be our goal, and let us say, Amen.
For over two thousand years, the Jewish community has held onto a vision of the future predicated on the belief that universal peace and unity is possible. Those in this world who do not work towards such a goal, those who invest in themselves and in their own personal gain, are obviously threatened by that. Those who are invested in a society predicated on division and especially of oppression, whether physical, emotional, socio-economic or any other form, obviously feel like the Jewish vision of universality and equality is threatening to their way of life, as well they should.
Of course, the original vision of the Messianic Age wasn’t totally universal as we would understand it today. For example, it assumed that everyone would flock to Israel to follow the Jews and to worship the Jewish God. That doesn’t sound very universal at all - in fact, it sounds disturbingly particularistic. If one stuck to that vision literally in today’s multicultural society, it would be problematic. But if as Reform Jews we believe that Judaism can develop then we necessarily must hold that our vision can develop. The ancient Rabbinic vision of the Messianic Age was as inclusive and universal as the Tannaim and Amoraim, the earliest Rabbis, could imagine given the social constraints of their patriarchal and particularistic society. It was always a vision of a better world, but it was framed in the context of the society in which it was found. So, we take that vision and ask ourselves – given that society has now developed, given that the Jewish community has developed, what does it mean for us to hold an inclusive and universal vision today?
It means that every time we give voice to that vision, we are engaging in an act of rebellion against a society which demonstrably has a different vision. The way that we give voice to that vision is prayer, and that means that prayer is an act of rebellion. This once again speaks to the theme of the sermons this year of changing the world one prayer at a time. When we pray, we have to believe what we pray. One reason for the keva, for us having fixed prayer, is that it clarifies and establishes the communal vision. The High Holy Days are not a season for rebuking ourselves, they are a season in which we improve ourselves and help to improve society, all in synch with our communally stated vision. A lot of our prayers reflect on the present, as a way of checking in to see if we are still living our lives along the lines of our vision. Some reflect back to the Jewish mythic past to ground that vision in our early community. There is an alternate reading on page 51 which is quite extraordinary, it’s just that we never read it because we’re so busy reading the traditional t’fillah at that point. That reading, that English piyyut, to use the term I mentioned on Rosh Hashanah morning, includes the sentence, “We pray for the winds to disperse the choking air of sadness, for cleansing rains to make parched hopes flower, and to give all of us the strength to rise up toward the sun.” Our vision is for global sadness to be blown away and for hope to bloom. We don’t just hope for that, our prayers set the vision and then motivate us to act to create such a world. Changing the world one prayer at a time. So our prayers rebel against the status quo, against an uncaring, self-centered society of winners and losers.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel described Shabbat as a sanctuary in time. Sometimes I wonder if prayer is a Sanctuary in being, if it is a personal space that we have to build in opposition to a society that urges us to build finances, power and status, and that simultaneously seeks to wear us down so we learn our place specifically so that we do not become agents of change. We build it to protect ourselves from the negative influences of society that guide us to seeing other people as potential competitors in an almost Darwinian struggle for survival, influences that guide us away from seeing the divine in everything and everyone around us. Prayer is not just rebellion against the future vision of society, it is rebellion against our society’s current message on how we should spend our lives. We step out of society when we pray, and into the community of prayer. At the start of tefillah, we step backwards and then step forwards in order to step into a deliberate prayer space. I wonder if we could also view it as stepping out of society and into the community at prayer.
We build our Sanctuary-In-Being by first laying the foundations, which is stepping outside the rush of the world and creating time to stop and reflect. We build that Sanctuary according to a design, which is the conscious decision of what form our prayers will take before we pray them. We build our Sanctuary-In-Being by gathering together the right materials – prayers, readings, songs, silence. That is no small task. We have to make decisions as a community whether the design and materials of our Sanctuary-In-Being are going to be the same as for other communities, and why. Will we build according to an ancient and trusted model that helped our people survive through countless generations, or is contemporary society so profoundly different to ancient times that we need a new way of building for us to stand the test of time? We may find that we have to rebel against the traditional structure in order to build for the future. That act of rebellion can be terrifying, theologically, spiritually and communally, but it can also be liberating and empowering…. indeed, it certainly should be.
And yet, maybe the idea of building a Sanctuary-In-Being is the wrong metaphor. Maybe we should be planting. Maybe we should be choosing the seeds, nourishing the soil, watering, tending and caring, and letting something grow from our efforts. Maybe another way to look at prayer, instead of as a Sanctuary-In-Being is as an Etz Chayyim, a Tree of Life. Maybe prayer doesn’t always give us the safety of a building, but it can give us the grandeur and awe of growth and beauty, and in time and with patience can certainly grow into something that dominates the landscape around us. Prayer as a tree reminds us that we need prayer, that our lives depend upon prayer breathing life into us, and that without prayer our soul slowly suffocates. Whether we see prayer as a Sanctuary-In-Being or as a Tree of Life, as a match that sparks the soul or indeed as any other metaphor, the point remains that prayer is and must be an act of rebellion. If nothing else, since prayer must inevitably change us if it is sincere, it is an act of rebellion against ourselves. It is the inspiration that pushes us forward, that rebels against our own status quo even before we can challenge that of the world around us.
Prayer is an essential part of bringing holiness into our lives. Holiness according to Jewish tradition is an act of separation, of creating something special and distinct from everything else. That does not mean to disconnect – in fact such a thing would be totally contrary to Judaism. It means to take a step back, to reflect, to see where the world is fractured, and then to act to heal that which is fractured. Our Rabbis say that the name Avram, the person from whom all Jews are spiritually descended, comes from the root meaning to cross over. The first Jewish act – his first act recorded in Torah and then embellished in midrash – was to step outside society, to step outside of his comfort zone, to rebel against the status quo. When we gather to pray, then, let us gather to rebel against the status quo in ourselves and in our society, not in order to destroy but in order to build up. When we gather in prayer, let us rebel against spiritual demands from the past and let us instead create a service from our hearts that respects the past while speaking to the present. If we can do those things, our prayers will truly help to make the world a better place for us and for everyone else. Let that be our goal, and let us say, Amen.