Parshat Vayeshev 2018 - Willful Forgetting & Anti-Semitism

A few weeks ago, we were in Iselin right before the Hindu festival Diwali.

We wandered into a shop there to browse and, not surprisingly, I noticed the swastika symbol on several items.  

A few years ago, a local Hindu leader asked the question of whether the symbol, which means ‘well-being’ in Sanskrit, could ever be revived as a symbol of the good as opposed to a symbol of evil.

It may come as a surprise that the Coca Cola company sold a pendant in the 1920s advertising the brand, that featured ‘Drink Coca Cola, Bottles, 5 cents’ imprinted on the swastika.

I don’t recall any positive response to her suggestion.  It’s unthinkable to us, especially at this time, with rising anti-Semitism here and abroad, to re-envision a symbol that came to be synonymous with the savage destruction of 6 million Jews and for allied armies to invade and re-conquer most of Europe to make sure the evil did not spread further around the world.

To even contemplate such a re-envisioning, we would have to accomplish willful forgetting.  We’d have to re-condition ourselves when we see the symbol and detach it somehow from the way the Nazis used it.

There are two types of forgetting – one is accidental, and one is willful – and we find evidence of both in our Torah portion this week.

Accidental forgetting happens all the time – we get up and walk into the kitchen only to discover that we’ve completely forgotten what we needed to get or do.  Most often this forgetting is not much of a problem since what we’re trying to remember is likely not so important that we cannot take care of it some time later.  

Willful forgetting is something else – willful forgetting is an intentional way of revising our perspective on an event, really on anything, that completely changes our way of thinking about it.  And this willfulness may well go against logic and what we’ve learned, or maybe haven’t learned, from our experiences.

Joseph, in our parsha, finds himself, awkwardly, in a situation both of accidental andwillful forgetting.  What begins as accidental, or maybe better to say circumstantial, forgetting then turns into willful forgetting.

And as we discussed, the willfulness goes against all logic.

After Joseph interprets the dreams for his cellmates the baker and the chief cup-bearer, he asks the cup-bearer, sar ha’mashkim, when he goes free, to please make a good report of him to the Pharaoh so that Pharaoh will release him from jail.

Our reading will end today with this verse, “The chief-cupbearer did not remember Joseph, and he forgot him.”

Our tradition tends to read the two verbs as different types of forgetting – the Or Ha’Chaim teaches us that ‘did not remember’, in Hebrew, velo zachar, means he forgot Joseph’s name. 

The words, ‘he forgot him’, according to Or Ha’Chaim, mean the following:

This verse also informs us that the chief butler subsequently forgot Joseph completely, he erased the incident from his heart. The Torah indicates that once one has decided not to remember something or somebody such a memory can be blocked out completely.

My thoroughly unscientific analysis is we tend to willfully forget, or try to forget, things that are painful.  I find personally I tend not to stand around taking pictures during painful days and difficult events hoping to relive them.  Of course, photography from wars, even the Holocaust, is important from a humanitarian point of view – we can only remember what we can see and hear, what we can experience, but for as many Holocaust survivors who choose to remember, to tell their stories, there are an equal number who never discuss it, who don’t make presentations, and don’t want to relive it.

Observers of the current wave of anti-Semitism, really the continuation of millennia of anti-Semitism, point to willful forgetting as a technique increasingly in vogue today.  

I’d like to share with you some reflections from a recent article in the Guardian publication, an article written by Joe Mulhall (11/21/18)

Another fundamental difference between the nature of the alt-right’s denial and the denial of more traditional far-right movements is the lack of importance placed on the Holocaust. For many traditional far-right antisemites, the Holocaust represented the primary obstacle to the resurrection of their fascist creed. However, as a result of the increasing distance from the second world war and the young age of many alt-right activists, some perceive the Holocaust as ancient history…

For many young far-right activists the Holocaust is shorn of historical significance, diminished by time and absent from their collective consciousness, as it was not for previous generations throughout the postwar period. Far-right Holocaust denial is changing and if we are to be ready to fight back against those who seek to rewrite history for their own political ends, we have to understand how they are trying to do it…

We’re all on board as witnesses to anti-Semitism and the violence it produces – now after Pittsburgh, after Paris, and other tragedies around the world, we’ve experienced the violence and bloodshed ourselves, not that the hatred was ever old or fading into history for us.  

We must raise the banner of willful remembering to push back against the tide of willful forgetting.  If there’s ever been anything that all Jews of all ethnicities and movements can agree on, let’s hope it can be about this issue.

And may the bright lights of Chanukah, like the lights and colors of Diwali a few weeks ago, give us strength to stand strong even when darkness carries over into the light of day.

Veterans Day 2018 - Story of the Four Chaplains

We gather this morning 100 years after the guns went silent at the end of World War I on the 11^thday of the 11^thmonth and the 11^thhour.

We gather today to recognize our veterans who’ve served our country, brave men and women who’ve served in our armed forces both at home and abroad.

We’re thankful for those who finished their service and returned to life, and we also recognize and pray for healing for those who are wounded, with wounds both visible and invisible that they carry inside.

This morning I’d like to share a story that some of us may already have heard:  the story of the 4 chaplains – if there is a chance though that someone hears this story for the first time today, then that would be a blessing.

The 4 chaplains story is a story of bravery, sacrifice, and honor about soldiers who go into combat only with their faith, to guide and help the troops. 

This past February marked 75 years since 4 chaplains aboard the troop carrier Dorchester went down with the ship after helping countless soldiers to escape after the ship was hit by U-Boat 223 150 miles away from its destination in Greenland.

The 4 chaplains, all first lieutenants, were:

Methodist minister Reverend George L. Fox

Reform Rabbi Alexander D. Goode

Catholic priest John P. Washington

And minister of the Reformed Church of America, Reverend Clark V. Poling

The coast guard cutter Tampa, one of the Dorchester’s escorts, had detected a submarine and so the Dorchester’s captain Hans Danielsen ordered the men to sleep with their clothing and life jackets on.  Many soldiers chose not to sleep with the life jacket on due to the heat down below or due to the discomfort of wearing the jacket while sleeping.

U-223 fired 3 torpedoes, one of them was the decisive hit, Danielsen ordered the troops to abandon ship.

The escort CGC Comanche (coast guard cutter) and the Escanaba together rescued 229 sailors. 

But there was chaos on board the Dorchester – the blast had killed so many, soldiers groping in the darkness, those who weren’t fully dressed felt the cold Arctic night air when they got to deck, some soldiers overloaded life boats that capsized, some life boat drifted away.  

Out of the panic, the 4 chaplains came forward to help calm the sailors and help them to safety.

They offered prayers for the dying and encouragement to the others.

Rabbi Goode gave petty officer John Mahoney his own pair of gloves after Mahoney explained he forgot his own.

“Never mind,” Rabbi Goode responded, “I have two pairs.”

The 4 chaplains gave away their own life jackets to the soldiers.

The ship went down and the 4 chaplains were together on the deck slanting into the water, offering prayers.

The army awarded the 4 chaplains the distinguished service cross and purple heart posthumously on December 19, 1944.  

A very special, one time only in history Medal for Heroism was awarded to the 4 chaplains by President Eisenhower in January of 1961.  The Medal of Honor could not be awarded due to stringent requirements that the act of heroism needed to be carried out under fire. 

I’d like to share a short biography of Rabbi Alexander Goode – and, as it happens, it was a pleasant surprise that when I was serving a congregation up in Bergen County, I spoke about the 4 chaplains from the bimah and a member came forward to tell me that he was Rabbi Goode’s grandson. Afterwards, he shared with me some memorabilia and documents including his grandfather’s unpublished book ‘A Cavalcade for Democracy.’

He was born in Brooklyn in May of 1911, the son of a rabbi.  He earned his rabbinical ordination at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati in 1937.  After serving congregations in Indiana and Pennsylvania, he applied more than once to become a military chaplain and was finally accepted in July of 1942.  

He attended Chaplains school at Harvard. 

His first assignment was at 333^rdAirbase Squadron in North Carolina and then Camp Myles Standish in Massachusetts – there he regrouped with the 3 others who would join him on the Dorchester that was headed toward Greenland.

There is a chapel of the 4 chaplains that’s been dedicated to sharing the story since the late 1940s – since 2001, it’s located on Constitution Avenue in Philadelphia.  

Today, as we recognize our veterans, we remember the supreme dedication and sacrifice demonstrated by the 4 chaplains – and we take inspiration from the way they helped others, the way they reinforce for us the sacredness and value of life.

You may recall the story told by our tradition about the 2 people in the wilderness, there is only enough water for one to reach the next town – and that in this painful circumstance, the teaching is that one must take the water and live, as the Torah teaches, ‘ve’chay achicha imach’, that your fellow lives, the chaplains helped others to live.

May we have the strength to reach out to those in need, those who like our veterans are suffering from wounds both visible and invisible.

Amen.

After Pittsburgh - About Peace & Strength

We’ve all probably seen photos taken by Roman Vishniac, well-known for chronicling the life of Jews in Eastern Europe in the years prior to the Holocaust.  

Black and white photos of students studying Torah, of life in the villages, a boy touching a mezuzah on the way out the door.

He once took a photo of an older Jewish man walking in a street in Poland, Vishniac asked him, “how long have you been walking?”  And the man responded in a way that Vishniac himself reflected after the meeting that he did not understand the old man’s response, the man said, “Since the beginning.”

Since the massacre at Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, we have been walking, slowly, now perhaps looking over our shoulders.  A new and tragic beginning since what is being called the worst act of anti-Semitic violence in American history.  11 Jews murdered at shul on Shabbat morning.

We’ve written letters here, prayed together along with guests from other faith communities in town, and also stood together at last night’s vigil when we prayed for unity, and for peace.

But our tradition also recognizes the need for strength, a willingness to fight, to protect ourselves and to be secure.

When Isaac blesses Esau, he says, ‘You will live by your sword,’ ve’al char’b’cha tichyeh – we might think Isaac blesses him literally to live by his sword, as a thief, a pirate, a plunderer – but Ramban explains that live by your sword means that Esau will survive all his battles.

We pray for the congregants and police officers who are battling to recover from their wounds.

We pray for strength that we can confront the threats against our communities with the strength of both our striving for peace and also the strength of community that we can build here.

A wonderful moment for us as a community was to see our religious school students lead parts of the Friday night service the Friday after the tragedy.  

A wonderful moment was praying mariv last night before the vigil, right there in the town square, proud, giving each other strength, singing out the Shema into the night even as we also all joined in the Kaddish as well.

Each moment we live can be a blessing, a chance to bring the world closer to redemption, the 11 victims at Tree of Life did so much for the Jewish people – let’s continue their hard work, their dedication, as we honor their memories.  Amen.

Parshat Chayey Sarah - After Pittsburgh

Last Shabbat, we chanted again here in our sanctuary the story of the Binding of Isaac, or as we discussed the title of the episode, the Test of Abraham.

We heard nothing from Sarah.

And now, this week, soon after God saves Isaac’s life, Sarah’s life ends.

Rashi brings us a midrash to explain this jarring, sad, and tragic juxtaposition of life and death.

Our Rabbis teach – Sarah, hearing the news of what happened on the mountain, how Abraham had almost sacrificed her son – her soul flies from her, in shock, and she dies.(Pirkey De Rabbi Eliezer 32)

She hears the news of what did not happen or what almost happened, and she cannot handle the shock. Perhaps we can add to this midrash that she considered what Abraham had almost done, that her own husband had almost taken the life of their long awaited child.

Many of us this morning are likely still in shock by the murder of 11 Jews at a synagogue much like our own, in a neighborhood of Pittsburgh much like our own, murdered while we were also praying together last Saturday.  The news came to us when we were about to begin the Kiddush, to bless the sweetness of the Shabbat day.

For the first few days, I will share that the shock penetrated to my core, and though I sense that for many of us there has been a death of innocence, we are less like Sarah in this moment and more like Aaron, the first High Priest.  When God consumes by fire two of his sons Nadav and Avihu – the Torah describes his reaction, “Vayidom Aharon,” ‘Aaron was silent.’

Ramban explains to us that Aaron was crying loudly, painfully, with his whole heart, and then he fell silent.  There were no more outward tears to shed, only tears on the inside.  

Aaron’s reaction reminds me of a story about my teacher Rabbi Edward Feld – who tells the story of the time his mother passed away, and the next Shabbat arrived, and he joined with his father for Shabbat.  His father raised up the Kiddush cup the first Shabbat after the death of his wfie, the way we here lifted our Kiddush cups right after hearing the news from Pittsburgh, and he couldn’t at first recite the Kiddush.  His eyes were red.  And he said, “Oyf Shabbat mir ton nit vaynen,” On Shabbat we do not cry – on a day of thankfulness to God and the celebration of creation we should not cry -- So he began, recited a few words, stopped, took a breath, continued and so on until he finished the Kiddush.

Today, we join with fellow Jewish communities across North America to celebrate Shabbat in response to the violence and hate that tore apart our last Shabbat.  We welcome among us friends from other religious communities here in Cranford.  We thank you for your support.  And we all join together to support one another, to lean on one another, and maybe we’ll live up to oyf Shabbat mir ton nit vaynen, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do so, and we should feel comfortable here if tears start to fall, or if we just need to sit in silence, if we need to wander to a window and see the leaves falling that will return to the earth and nourish it through the long winter months until spring comes again.

The Pittsburgh victims have, for the most part, been returned to the earth from which we were all created.

We recite Kaddish so their souls can make aliyah, can go to heaven.  We take aliyot here in our sanctuary, we continue to go up to the Torah because, like the name of the Pittsburgh synagogue, it is our Etz Chayim, our Tree of Life, our source of wisdom, a rock when the world smashes against us like powerful waves.  

In our Ark here we have a Torah that survived through the Holocaust years and now has an honored place in our Ark as a testament to strength, to perseverance, and a reminder that anti-Semitism is a living and breathing hatred.

One of the more poignant images I saw this past week was a cartoon drawing – on one side a woman walks with her daughter, a star on their chest, by the barbed wire fence of a concentration camp – on the other side of the picture people from the present day. The woman looks over to the people of the future and says, “Still?” And the man in the present day looks at her and says “yes”.  

In the days after Pittsburgh, there have been swastikas and hate messages painted on cars, on a synagogue in California, on a synagogue in Brooklyn.  

And hate casts a wider net. Not long before Pittsburgh, a hate-filled white individual looked to enter a predominantly African-American church in Kentucky, and when he found it locked, entered a Kroger grocery store and gunned down Maurice Stallard and Vickie Jones, two African-Americans.  And we all heard about how pipe bombs were sent to political opponents recently as well.  Our most fundamental rights and protections continue to come under attack. The safety of our religious institutions as places of peace, harbors of community and hope, are, like schools, in need of additional security measures.

We’re thankful to the Cranford Police Department for being on site with us this Shabbat.  Please thank the officer (s) here on duty for keeping us safe.  

We’ll join together tomorrow evening with the entire Cranford community in a vigil right in the middle of downtown at the clock, a place that serves as an unofficial center of town.  

We know that in our tradition of shiva that mourning is not something we do alone.  Our community surrounds us, and so that is our plan for tomorrow evening.  

But for now we are here in this holy place.  The Torah here in front of us, about to read about a shock to Sarah that suggests the shock to our souls we feel after the horror in Pittsburgh.

Before we read our Torah portion, I’d like to read from Psalm 11 in memory of the 11 victims as we continue to pray for those who are injured, like Daniel Leger, nurse and chaplain at University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, and like the police officers Daniel Mead, Michael Smidga, Anthony Burke, Timothy Matsin, John Persin and Tyler Pashel.

In the Lord I am safe. How can you say to me, “Fly away as a bird to your mountain? ² For look, the sinful raise their bow. They make their arrow ready on the string to shoot in the dark against the pure in heart. ³ If the base of the building is destroyed, what can those who are right with God do?”

⁴ The Lord is in His holy house. The Lord’s throne is in heaven. His eyes see as He tests the sons of men. ⁵ The Lord tests and proves those who are right and good and those who are sinful. And His soul hates the one who loves to hurt others. ⁶ He will send down fire upon the sinful. Fire and sulphur and burning wind will be the cup they will drink. ⁷ For the Lord is right and good. He loves what is right and good. And those who are right with Him will see His face.

May God keep the victims under the embrace of God’s sheltering wings.

May God heal the injured.

And May God give us the strength to turn our shock into inspiration to protect the Jewish present and create a bright, joyful, Jewish future.  Amen.