Summertime... and the Living is Easy...Except for the Jews

Ahhhh... Summertime... Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high... It’s the time for carefree vacations, going away to camp, and making memories with our families. In traditional Jewish consciousness, however, a large part of summer is not for the making of new memories, but rather for commemorating events of the past – the tragedies that have befallen our people over the millennia. The Hebrew months of Tammuz and Av that coincide with summer are replete with days of mourning and fast days that were instituted to mark the destruction of both of our sacred Temples, and later came to also memorialize other calamities. 

destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE

The Fast of Tammuz commemorates the breach of the walls of Jerusalem by the Babylonians on the ninth of Tammuz in 586 BCE and the same act by the Romans on the 17^th of Tammuz in 70 CE.  Tisha B’Av (the Ninth of Av) commemorates the destruction of both the First and Second Temples. Considering all of the fast days in our calendar, Tisha B’Av ranks just behind Yom Kippur in importance. 

Even the period between Pesach and Shavu’ot is considered a time of sadness, for which there are several reasons. We grieve because we are no longer afforded the opportunity to bring our grain offerings to the Temple, and we mourn to also commemorate tragic events known to occur during this time – the deaths of over 1,200 disciples of Rabbi Akiva in one year, and the massacres of thousands of German Jews by the Crusaders. There are to be no weddings or other joyous occasions scheduled during this period.  

As Jews who affiliate with a Reform congregation, however, we live our lives as modern, busy Americans. Save for Ha-Shoah – the Holocaust, our collective memories of the destruction of our Temples in Jerusalem and the other horrible acts that have been perpetrated against us have, for the most part, dimmed and faded away.  After all, we live in America – the Land of the Free, “Die Goldene Medina.” We are safe and prosperous here with no fear of being expelled or locked in a ghetto. And we have our land of redemption and promise – Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel. Why continue to mourn and lament?  We cannot change the horrors that have befallen the Jewish people. Should we not move on towards a brighter outlook? How can these days of mourning be of significance for us as liberal, contemporary, American Jews?

I struggle with the summer calendar and its observances every year. Sometimes I fast, sometimes I do not.  When I don't, I feel guilty.  When I do fast I most often cannot feel any kind of spiritual connection, and again I find myself wracked with guilt. This year I have decided to set about finding a way to observe these days in an authentic and meaningful way. In my research of this topic, I found every observance along the gamut as one would imagine – from the early Zionist youth movements who designated Tisha b’Av as a day of recreation and sports, to the view of Professor Ismar Schorsch, the former Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary (of the Conservative movement) who wrote that whereas the fast day of Yom Kippur is designed for self-reflection, “Tisha B'av is dedicated to pondering the nation's destiny.”  For those with this view, It is important for us to maintain a balance between our individual paths and our collective destiny.  There are also those who are angered that control of the Temple Mount was surrendered in the name of peace in 1967; for that reason alone we should mourn and wail louder than ever before.

Because none of these observances or justifications seem to resonate with me, I have decided to create a Tisha b’Av seder, an ordered progression of ritual observances thematically connected to traditional practice, yet relevant to my time and place.  Modeled after the Pesach seder, my seder will mark a similar kind of journey, leading from the hopelessness and despair of destruction, exile, and slaughter, to the hope, promise and redemption that we seek to bring to the world. The beginning of the seder will include such texts as Psalm 137:1, “By the waters of Babylon we sat and wept for Zion,” as well as the chanting of some selections from Aicha, the Book of Lamentations. The table will be set with empty gray plates to represent the fasting with which our people have afflicted themselves for hundreds of years.

As the seder progresses, it will transition with readings and musical selections containing words of comfort from the Prophets and Psalms. Poetry and prose from other traditions may also be included.
 
Round bowls will then be placed on top of the empty plates, further symbolizing our journey from mourning to hope. Then the seder participants will be served certain foods ritually designated as symbols of wholeness and renewal, such as eggs, olives, grapes, and other round foods from Israel and our own land of plenty.

Would you like to help me craft such a seder? 

I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions! 

Field of Honor, Day of Change

  This past Sunday I was afforded the opportunity to speak at the Northbrook, Illinois, "Field of Honor" event. Envisioned by Judy Hughes, president of the Northbrook Historical Society, the Field of Honor contained 1,901 American flags to commemorate the incorporation of Northbrook (then Shermerville) in the year 1901. There were also 43 other flags symbolizing the 43 men and women from Northbrook who gave their lives in service to their country. Each evening during the week of Memorial Day a sunset ceremony was held with members of the American Legion and clergy participating, as well as a cannon salute and the playing of "Taps."  This posting below is the speech that I gave. (For security purposes I have omitted references to certain locations.)

   Good evening, everyone! I want to begin by thanking Judy Hughes for orchestrating this Field of Honor event which has brought such purpose and meaning to this Memorial Day weekend.  And thank you for asking me to participate. I am honored and greatly humbled to be here. 

   What makes the honor even greater (and a bit ironic) for me is that, like Judy [Hughes], I was born and raised on the OTHER side of the Mason–Dixon line, outside of Columbia, South Carolina – a place where the Civil War is STILL being fought to this very day.  There it was incumbent upon every parent to take their children to visit our State House – though not to marvel at its 22 monolithic Corinthian columns (among the largest in the world) nor to see where the government of South Carolina does its work nor to stroll its beautiful grounds nor to visit the various monuments. The main objective of one’s trip to the State House was to see the 6 bronze stars marking the 6 places where the cannonballs of the Union Army struck the Winnsboro Blue Granite walls of our state’s capitol building. I was taught all about the wickedness and treachery of General William Tecumseh Sherman, the heartless enemy who burned my hometown and whose men had the nerve to throw bricks at the statue of George Washington on our State House grounds, breaking off the bottom of Washington’s cane. There was no way, therefore, that we would ever consider observing the official Memorial Day, being that it was initially established to honor the fallen Union soldiers.  On that day, we all went to school as usual. 
   It was not until I lived in New York as a cantorial student that I witnessed my first Memorial Day parade. I was 38 years old. You can see therefore, why having the honor to speak to you this evening is so special and transformative for me. When I moved here some nine years ago, my family was invited for Memorial Day “barbeques.”  (I had to get used to that word “barbeque,” too. In South Carolina, “barbeque” is a FOOD – a meat delicacy drenched in yellow, mustard-based sauce. You EAT barbeque at a cookout or a weinie roast.) At the barbeques I’ve attended here, some folks wore red, white, and blue, but there was no talk of memorializing the fallen members of the armed forces – only how awesome the gelatin mold in the shape of an American flag was and how it always rained on Memorial Day.  It was pretty nice to have a day off from work, though, even if it did rain every year.

   All of that changed Memorial Day of 2008. In late May of 2008, my son Nathan had been in Afghanistan for about 10 weeks – his first deployment. Nathan is a Special Operations Marine. He had been in the Marine Corps since graduating from high school in 2004. His intense training regimen to become a Recon Marine had kept him from going to Iraq, unlike many of his boot camp friends. But now the training was complete, and ten weeks earlier, my husband, my daughter, and I, joined by Nathan's girlfriend (who is now his wife), had sobbed uncontrollably as we watched Nathan board a bus... a bus that would take him and some 60 of his fellow Marines to an air field... to a huge C5 cargo plane... the plane that would carry Humvee’s and trucks and weapons... the plane that would take my little Nate- the-Great wearing his Weeboks and Osh-Kosh overalls to Afghanistan, straight into harm’s way, without passing GO and without collecting $200 dollars. I was SO proud of him.  But I wanted nothing more than to grab him up by the straps of those little Osh-Kosh overalls and carry him back home.

   So on that Memorial Day, May 26 of 2008, I learned what Memorial Day is really about. It’s not about barbeques, or rainy weather, or red, white, and blue gelatin molds. It’s about honor and valor and bravery. It’s about blood and tears and sand and oceans and meadows and fields. It’s about love and passion, dedication and sacrifice. And it’s about paying tribute to those brave men and women who embodied all of that and who gave up THEIR lives so that we can live our lives – our comfortable, entitled, carefree lives – in the Land of the Free.  
   I have not been to a Memorial Day barbeque since the one BEFORE my son was deployed, and I probably never will. My family has a new tradition for Memorial Day.  We drive or walk over to downtown Deerfield, where a banner hangs bearing the names of Deerfield residents who are currently serving in the Armed Forces. I beam with pride as I look up at that name on the banner: Nathan Harris, United States Marine Corps. And I pray with all my might that he will come back to us – in one piece and mentally sound. And then I take a picture of the banner. 

   Looking out upon this Field of Honor, I remember learning about the symbolism of the colors of the flag in school: Red for bravery and to symbolize the blood shed by those who protect our country. White for purity and innocence.  Blue for loyalty and justice.  I know it is these ideals that my son Nathan is fighting to maintain, just as you folks here who fought in World War II, Korea, Viet-Nam, Desert Storm, Iraq, Afghanistan, and all points in between. I am honored and proud that my son is willing to die for his country. It’s quite an elite group.

   It is my hope that those of us who have benefited from the loyalty, the shed blood, and the pure of heart of our fallen service men and women will do all we can to work along side those brave men and women who have stepped up to take their places. We may not have weapons like guns or missiles, but we do have a voice. We can speak out. We can vote, we can advocate, we can donate, we can defend the weak, we can write and e-mail, we can picket, we can protest. We can serve our communities. And in doing so, we can honor the memory of those who did so before us.

   To close I would like to offer a prayer written by the Reverend D.A. Graham while she was a chaplain in Okinawa.

In the quiet sanctuaries of our own hearts,
let each of us name and call on the One whose power over us
is great and gentle, firm and forgiving, holy and healing ...

You who created us,
who sustain us,
who call us to live in peace,
hear our prayer this day.

Hear our prayer for all who have died,
whose hearts and hopes are known to you alone ...

Hear our prayer for those who put the welfare of others
ahead of their own
and give us hearts as generous as theirs ...

Hear our prayer for those who gave their lives
in the service of others,
and accept the gift of their sacrifice ...

Help us to shape and make a world
where we will lay down the arms of war
and turn our swords into ploughshares
for a harvest of justice and peace ...

Comfort those who grieve the loss of their loved ones
and let your healing be the hope in our hearts...

Hear our prayer this day
and in your mercy answer us
in the name of all that is holy.
Amen.

Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun

I remember my mother teaching me a calendar poem when I was a child to help me remember the months of the year and how many days each had. In researching the poem I found that there are numerous versions of this old mnemonic, but the one I learned (and still rely on) went like this:

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February all alone.
For it has twenty-eight days clear,
And twenty-nine in each leap year.

A simple little rhyme, yet very helpful.  The only thing one has to keep straight is when the leap years fall. Every four years we add an extra day to February to make our 365-day solar calendar match up with the Earth’s actual orbit around the sun (365 days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, and 46 seconds). Were we not to adjust the calendar, the seasons and the events we associate with them would drift from their regular times. Eventually, the Fourth of July would be spent bundled up in front of the fireplace and hockey would be a summer sport. 

In Judaism we follow not a solar calendar, but a lunar one, based on the cycles of the moon. Our months begin when the moon appears as a tiny sliver of a crescent. When the moon is full our month is half over. Our calendar also has leap years, but rather than adding one day to the calendar, we add one whole month! Adding this month technically makes the Hebrew calendar a “lunisolar” calendar, meaning that there are adjustments made to it in order to keep our festivals and holy days in sync with their intended seasons as dictated by the Earth’s orbit around the sun.  A 13^th month is added seven times every 19 years. This is called the “Metonic Cycle” after the Greek astronomer Meton of Athens.

We make these adjustments to our calendar for several reasons. The Torah mandates that Pesach must be observed in the springtime of the year.  If adjustments were not made to the calendar, the dates for Pesach would end up in different seasons. Other corrections are made to prevent Yom Kippur from coming adjacent to the Shabbat.

So this extra month that we add...What is it and where does it fall? To our calendar we add a second month of Adar, giving us Adar Alef (Adar I) and Adar Bet (Adar II). The Torah calls the month of Pesach, Nisan, the first month of the year.  Since Adar is preceding month, it would be considered the last month of the year, so it would make sense to make the adjustment in the calendar there.

Of all months to be duplicated, Adar is definitely an excellent choice.  In the Gemara, Tractate 29a we are taught:

    משנכנס אדר מרבין בשמהח    Mishenichnas Adar marbin b’simcha.     .

When the month of Adar enters, our joy increases.

Tradition even refers to Adar as the “pregnant” month. Why? Adar is the month in which Purim falls. (In a leap year, Purim is observed in the month of Adar II and a mini-Purim known as Purim Katan is celebrated in Adar I.)  Purim is that delightful holiday on which we celebrate the victory of the Jewish people over the ultimate evil – envy, pride and tyranny as embodied in the character Haman. We dress up in costumes, wear masks, spoof the story of Queen Esther, sing silly songs, and, yes, imbibe until we can no longer tell the difference between Mordechai and Haman.  Purim is a happy holiday, most definitely, but if it is considered to be only a minor festival in our liturgical calendar, why is its month rated as the most joyous? There are so many fascinating answers that we could explore, but our space, of course, is limited.  Let’s look at just a few. 

Being a modern woman, I find joy in the fact that the Purim story is found in the Book of Esther, one of only two books in the entire TaNaKh named for a woman (the other being the Book of Ruth). In Megillat Esther, it is the female characters that are portrayed the most favorably, except for Mordechai, of course. Vashti and Esther are women who are not only beautiful, but courageous – strong of both will and character.  Both play key roles in bringing about the redemption of the Jewish people.

Rashi, the famous medieval French commentator, takes up this theme of redemption, connecting Purim with Pesach because of the miracles of deliverance that occur on each of these festivals. According to Rashi, the miracle that we celebrate on Purim ushers in an entire period of redemption for us that continues through Pesach, when we celebrate our exodus from Egyptian slavery. In a leap year this era of redemption becomes even longer!

The most logical place to look for the answer to our question is Megillat Esther itself, which tells us that upon the reversal of Haman’s murderous decree the Jews “enjoyed light and gladness, happiness and honor.” Mordechai incites them to “observe the fourteenth and fifteenth days of Adar, every year... the same month which had been transformed for them from one of grief and mourning to one of festive joy.”  Throughout the entire TaNaKh we are commanded to come into God’s presence with joy, singing, and gladness.  In the Book of I Chronicles we learn that “Glory and majesty are before [God]; strength and joy are in [God’s] place.” Therefore, where there is God, there is joy, and where there is joy, there is God. Our joy brings God into our lives, and having God in our lives brings more joy to our existence. The joy that Adar brings to us is, thus, multiplied exponentially.

May your lives all be blessed with the joy of Adar!