Shabbat 7/17 near the 9th of Av

Shabbat 7/17: thoughts on peace between cultures and my own awkward self


I enjoy my Saturday morning Torah class, largely because of the widely variant perspectives in class, from the more militant and conservative to the more peaceful and kabbalistic.

Today, on the Shabbat nearest the 9th of Av, we remembered tragic events in Jewish history, nearly all acts of violent anti-Semitism. Rabbi Yitz, who came to Oregon in a VW bus in 1971, confessed his discomfort in knowing that some anti-Semitism is influenced by how Jews are portrayed during a surface reading of the Torah. It appears that our ancestors, filled with land lust, killed mercilessly. They also plundered, forced conversions and sometimes took as wives the women whose husbands they had slain (after allowing them some small period of grieving).

Rabbi Yitz said God was with the Israelites, people who often grumbled and seemed undeserving, but who also had great leaders and who made attempts to worship and follow the commandments. The communities the Israelites dispossessed were horrid. As Jews forgot their God and became more like the idolaters, they were also routed out of Israel.

Although there were moments when Abraham and Moses pleaded with God for a kinder type of justice, there were many others when they followed orders that we do not today understand. Jews and Moslems both in the Promised Land today seem to be following such harsh ideology. It is difficult to reason with people who believe they emulate heroes from their holy books!

Rabbi said much hatred stems from fear. When we encounter anti-Semitism, we should respond with loving education. One of the biggest and most urgent duties for American Jews is to work for peace between the various religions, here and in Israel. And we must remember to deserve the land we have been given.

Several people told me they were hesitant to make aliyah to a land where only the promise of war seems to remain. However, at the crumbling Western Wall, thronged with people praying and stuffing written wishes into its cracks, the visitors are moved to tears.

In synagogue services I am frequently awed to witness the response of congregants called up to carry the Torah scroll, light Shabbat candles and lead us in prayerful song. It is almost indescribably beautiful for me to see some ordinary American in jeans and sandals go joyfully to the podium and sing beautifully in Hebrew. I wish others could see this.

In my teens and twenties I attended services at a variety of religious institutions. Of the twenty five or so places I went (including the Morman Tabernacle, The Franciscan Monestary, a Buddhist temple and The National Cathedral, all in Washington, DC), the one that most impressed me was a small Baptist church during a revival, when the congregation was very involved. I had tears in my eyes at that church, but when I went back for services a few weeks later, the congregation simply sat and listened to the minister or dozed off.

At Temple Beth Israel and at many other synagogues, the congregation is very involved. I have no desire to proselytize because I think religion is a very personal matter, like who you choose to love and marry. However, those who think Jews feel smug and haughty in our “chosenness”, need only to come to services to witness joy and humble devotion.

I appreciate the Devars, teachings by individual congregants. Someone I may walk past in a grocery store without knowing their hidden talents, expounds on the weekly Torah portion, sharing their learning, personal insights and philosophies. Often they are inspired by wishes for peace.

I confessed to Zachary at the conclusion of service that I want to give a Devar, but I feel inadequate. It seems to me that Jewish people are born with the confidence to speak and sing beautifully before a crowd. Perhaps, I said, the culture creates that poise. Zachary smiled, “If you come to services for ten years, you learn.”

I said hello to a couple of people, then slipped out as I often do because I feel clumsy and gawkish. I am articulate for a sentence or two, then suddenly remember myself and crumble into a stuttering, red faced mess, no doubt confusing onlookers, who must wonder what happened.  Something to work on. I like these people.

Last week I found a listing in TBI’s newsletter for a service that coordinated volunteers to help the elderly. I assumed it was a Jewish run organization. While I was waiting for my own wheelchair-bound patient at the hospital, I called to offer my services to pick up patients and bring them to Shabbat or High Holy Day services. The lady on the phone didn’t know what I meant. She asked if I planned to take someone to church on a Friday night…? I said “to synagogue” and she answered, “Well, we don’t have many wheelchair bound clients…” My patient arrived, so I had to end the conversation. I resolved to ask the Rabbis if they knew of someone who would like the company of a bumbling but sincere person who could assist them physically. It would be a mitzvah for both of us.

***
The holidays I fear the most are coming up: the High Holy Days. The holiday concept is beautiful: We reflect seriously on our transgressions individually and as a people. We repent to God, who will accept if we are sincere. However, we must approach directly those people we have hurt and seek reconciliation from them - simply apologizing to God is not enough. God is said to witness and record whether or not we make heartfelt amends and also whether we give selflessly to charity during the ten days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. (Of course I have heard stories of secular Jews who only give to charity and attend services during this ten day period to quiet their nagging mothers.)

I understand now why people usually convert for marriage and not alone, but I am determined to attend as many of the High Holy Day services as I can, nervous or not. Again, something to work on. I like these people.