Reb Carl's Column Archives - Jewish Sacred Aging: Recent Episodes

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Looking to see what’s playing in our theaters? Back in 2023, I wrote my first column about movies. It was actually about watching coming attractions and confronting the reality that we may not be here when the movie itself opens. Then, starting in 2025, I wrote about “The Thursday Murder Club,” “Thelma”, “Eleanor the Great,” “Oppenheimer,” and “Marty Supreme.”

The themes were different, but the musings all revolved around movies. I even declared myself the Jewish Sacred Aging movie maven.

Then I went on hiatus.

First, I had to prepare a class for rabbinical students on pastoral perspectives on marriage and divorce. Given that my pre-clergy career included nearly fifty years as a divorce litigator and mediator, I had plenty of material — but preparing the course took a great deal of time. Then my wife had back surgery. Her mobility was severely restricted, and helping her recover took a great deal of energy.

Then, last week, I turned 75. That didn’t require any effort on my part. It happened whether I wanted it to or not.

But we finally made it to see Steven Spielberg’s new film, “Disclosure Day.”

Actually, before I saw it — we had to wait until Debbie was ready to sit through a two-hour movie — I got a call from my friend Steve.

“Carl,” he said, “we just saw ‘Disclosure Day.’ It was amazing. Wait until you see it. Maybe you could do a Spice Up on it.”

As many of you know, “Spice Up Your Judaism” is the Shabbat morning program we do at Congregation Kol Ami in Cherry Hill. We explore a variety of Jewish topics and try to leave people with a meaningful spiritual experience. Steve’s suggestion seemed so good that I decided not only to do a Spice Up, but to write a column as well.

So what makes “Disclosure Day” a worthy subject for a Jewish spiritual conversation?

The first question might be: Can Jews believe in extraterrestrial life? Tzvi Freeman, who answers questions submitted to Chabad.org, was once asked whether Judaism teaches that human beings are the only conscious beings in the universe.

“Certainly not!” he replied. In fact, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, remarked after the moon landing that Torah contains support for the possibility of life on other planets.

In the Book of Judges, Deborah celebrates Barak’s victory over Sisera and declares, “Cursed be Meroz! Cursed, cursed be its inhabitants, says the angel of God!”

The Talmud explains that Meroz was a star or planet. According to this interpretation, heavenly bodies came to aid Israel, but Meroz — and its inhabitants — did not.

We grew up on “Star Trek,” “Star Wars,” and of course the bookend to “Disclosure Day,” “E.T.”

The Star Wars galaxy was said to contains 3.2 billion habitable planets, supporting 20 million species of sentient beings. How could we now deny our childhood fantasies?

Scientists have discovered thousands of planets orbiting distant stars, making the question of extraterrestrial life seem less like science fiction and more like a legitimate scientific inquiry. Are we alone in the universe? What would it mean if we are not?

Judaism appears remarkably comfortable with the possibility that we are not alone. Jewish sources frequently describe multiple worlds. The Talmud even speaks of God traveling through 18,000 worlds.

Dr. Velvl Greene was a NASA microbiologist involved in the search for life on Mars. After becoming a Chabad Chasid, he privately asked the Rebbe whether his work was appropriate. The Rebbe responded: “Dr. Greene, look for life on Mars! And if you don’t find it there, look somewhere else in the universe. Because to say there is no life outside planet Earth is to place limitations on the Creator, and that is not something any of His creatures can do.”

If Judaism calls upon us to believe in an all-powerful God, then while we may not know whether life exists elsewhere, we certainly cannot dismiss the possibility.

Spielberg has said that “Disclosure Day” raises profound religious questions: Is God only our God, or the God of every civilization in the universe? The film explores what happens when an essential truth about our place in creation is suddenly called into question. But if intelligent life exists elsewhere, what does that mean for us?

In Genesis, for five days God looks upon creation and says it is tov — good. On the sixth day, after creating human beings, God says it is tov me’od — very good. What makes humanity “very good”? Only humans are explicitly described as being created b’tzelem elohim — in the image of God. But what if other intelligent beings also bear that divine image? What if we are not quite as unique as we imagine? Would they have their own creation stories, covenants, and sacred texts? Would they keep kosher?

Genesis also teaches that it is not good — lo tov — for the human being to be alone. Perhaps it is also lo tov for us to be alone in the universe. Judaism is, at its heart, a religion of community and connection. Perhaps there is comfort in imagining that we are part of something larger than ourselves — not just a global community, but a cosmic one, united by the same Creator.

So what is the fundamental truth? Is it that we are all created in God’s image and therefore obligated to care for one another? Or is it that scarcity demands competition and that we must fight for every last scrap? Are we alone and unique? Or maybe not alone and perhaps still unique?

Perhaps if we imagined that we are not alone — and that the “others” might look like Rocky from Project Hail Mary (not Rocky Balboa, although both are terrific characters) — we might focus more on what unites us than on what divides us.

What would the world look like then?

Better, I think.

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Jewish characters have long appeared on film and television, reflecting a wide range of experiences and identities. Recently, there was the marvelous Jewish housewife turned comedian and then the Rabbi and his gentile girlfriend on the small screen. We got Oppenheimer, the Maestro, and the great Eleanor on the big screen. Some of these have been discussed in earlier columns.

Today I will not review another movie or TV show.

Instead, this column will examine several recent portrayals of Jews on screen and consider how they shape both Jewish self image and broader cultural attitudes. I will look at the character Marty in “Marty Supreme,” and Mel Books in the HBO documentary. And at the student in the Super Bowl Blue Square ad.

Marty Supreme is a well-reviewed, Oscar nominated film. I did not enjoy it. I found the portrayal of Marty, inspired by a real-life Jewish table tennis champion, was at best, disturbing. Timothy Chalamet indeed does a masterful job portraying a man who doggedly pursues his goals, letting no one and nothing get in his way. He steals, he cheats, he lies, he sleeps with another man’s wife. One reviewer described him as “a little stinker who quite literally leaves a trail of bodies in his wake. Marty is an unlikable, at times selfish character.” But he argued that the flaws in Marty’s character stemmed from American ambition, his demand and ability to dream big, rather than his Jewish identity.

To me, the character reinforced long-standing anti-Semitic stereotypes. Marty is the amoral Jew driven by greed and self-interest. One reviewer said Marty was not a hero, he was a narcissistic villain.

My concern is not about depicting a single flawed Jewish individual, but about how such portrayals are generalized and weaponized against all Jewish people. It gives ammunition to those who tend to think of Jews as conniving, money-hungry and ruthless.

I would have preferred hearing a counterbalancing voice, a character articulating Jewish ethical values, who could have challenged Marty, and clarified that his behaviors were a personal failing, not a reflection of Jewish ideals.

I was kvelling through the entire HBO documentary about Mel Brooks. This movie shows just how much being Jewish influenced his life. He set an example for us all. He doesn’t look like Paul Newman, or even Paul Rudd. He is self-described as “a little short funny looking Jew,” but he has the swagger of a confident proud, and most importantly authentic Jew. The Jewish comedians interviewed in this documentary make it clear that Mel Brooks made it cool to be Jewish.

I was struck by learning of his role as a producer of serious films, supporting unproven directors, such as David Lynch directing “Elephant Man.” He took his name off the producing credits to make sure the movies were not automatically rejected because of his comic reputation. His 20+ year marriage to Anne Bancroft was the stuff dreams are made of, and she was the driving force behind much of what he accomplished. And what a pair: a tall statuesque Italian beauty and a nebishy little Jew, dancing together beautifully on screen.

Brooks credits Jewish timing for creating modern comedy. He defended his art of making fun of horrible parts of our history, like the Inquisition dance number and Springtime for Hitler as a way of stripping power from oppressors. “Comedy destroys the dignity of the enemy,” Brooks says in the documentary.“It’s what we Jews do as survival. It’s a survival mechanism of comedy. Humor is a way to keep you going and keep those Nazis at bay.”

I was surprised to hear that Brooks did not face antisemitism growing up in Brooklyn (he explains that was because every single person living in Brooklyn at that time was Jewish. He had to go into Manhattan to see other types of people). He did confront antisemitism in the Army, but in spite of (or maybe because of) his small stature, he did not just take it. He punched an offender in the face. Mel Brooks was a model of Jewish strength and creativity. He will be leaving a legacy defined by genius, resilience and generosity. This is the portrayal of an individual Jew that we can all get behind.

The final portrayal is from an ad during the last Super Bowl. Robert Kraft’s antisemitism foundation aired a Super Bowl advertisement called “Sticky Note.” In it, a teen walks through the halls of his school as his classmates snicker. At his locker, he finds a note stuck to his backpack: “DIRTY JEW.” A hand places a blue square over the offending note. A much taller African American boy says, “Don’t listen to them.” The Jewish boy expresses his gratitude. The classmate continues: “I know how it feels.” He puts a blue sticky note on his own shirt. Words on the screen convey a startling statistic, “2 in 3 Jewish teens have experienced antisemitism.”

This ad has engendered significant debate. Some commentators have labeled it misguided, ineffective and disconnected from reality. They have noted that most bullying occurs online, or in the anti-Zionist pro-Palestinian context. They have complained about the portrayal of the weak Jew, a Tablet columnist saying, “If I had ten million dollars to spend on a Super Bowl ad, I’d just show a bunch of exploding beepers, dead Hamas and Hezbollah leaders, hot Israeli girls with guns, and the caption ‘F–k Around, Find Out.” Yet others have acknowledged that bullying in public schools is indeed an issue that must be pointed out, or else it will not be dealt with. This controversy itself reflects the extent to which the Jewish community is divided over how best to combat anti-semitism (amongst the many things we are divided about).

Jews have been depicted in countless ways, both positive and negative. ever since there were Jews.

We must not allow those depictions to define us, as individuals or as a community.

Our Torah, our tradition, does not idealize or whitewash our heroes. It presents them with all their glaring flaws and faults. Perhaps this grants us permission to insist on being seen and accepted as fully human, neither sanitized nor caricatured.

We have made valuable contributions to modern society, so we need not be embarrassed by Marty Supreme, and certainly we should be proud of Mel Brooks.

We should point out and confront anti-semitism wherever it appears, in every way possible: through Blue squares, big billboards, aggressive blog posts and active debate. This is not only our right, but our responsibility.

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With Rabbi Address’s kind permission, I now declare myself the Jewish Sacred Aging movie maven.

Many of my columns, obviously including my last one and today’s, will include movie reviews for the JSA crowd. Today’s comments are on the most recent movie starring 96-year-old June Squibb, “Eleanor the Great.”

The first time I noticed June Squibb was just over a year ago, in the movie “Thelma” (I should have noticed her before, as in 2013, at age 83 she earned a first Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress in the movie Nebraska). She was 94 years old when she portrayed Thelma, playing the victim of a telephone scam who refused to accept the loss and move on. With the aid of another senior (81-year-old Richard Roundtree, in the last role before his death) and her grandson, she finds the perpetrators and stops them. It was a really good movie. Check it out.

But “Eleanor the Great” is an amazing movie, that all followers of the JSA website must see. Squibb plays Eleanor Morgenstein, a 94-year-old Florida woman, who moves back to NYC after the death of her roommate, a Holocaust survivor.

In New York, she goes to the JCC for a class but ends up in a support group for Holocaust survivors. Rather than correcting the mistake, she begins to share the stories of her roommate as if they were her own.

She forms an unlikely friendship with a young journalism student, who writes her story. Eleanor eventually studies for her bat mitzvah, and everything is uncovered. “Rabbi Wikipedia” describes the movie as exploring themes of aging, Jewish identity, grief, and friendship.

And explore those themes it does. And it forces us to explore them on our own. Friendship is an essential need of ours as we age. We need people around us with whom to share our identity. And to share our grief, which seems to show up with great regularity at this time of our lives. Jewish values do not live in the solitary world. They live in the community, and in the passing of our values to younger generations. Eleanor finds community and passes her values on.

There is some tension in this movie, as Eleanor is sharing memories that are not her own. But it reminded me that we all need to do that. At my family seder, we tell stories not only about our liberation from Egypt, but stories of our parents and grandparents. We often tell stories that we heard, not that we experienced. But that is our value exchange, using the stories we heard as a vessel for conveying our values. That is part of sharing our wisdom, sacred aging.

If you have not yet seen this movie, do it. I do not know if you can find it in the theaters, but it is readily available for rent on several platforms.

I dare you to try not to be moved, inspired and provoked by this brilliant storytelling that will touch your soul. June Squibb can make a movie like this when she is 96 years old. What can we still dream about doing in our time? If Eleanor can pass on the memories of Holocaust survival, what history of our people can we pass on.

It is our obligation. And it can be our joy.

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(Author’s note: I wrote this almost a month ago. But my brain got stuck in the world’s craziness, and I forgot to submit it. It seems even more relevant in that craziness)

As many of you know, I love movies. Debbie and I see an average of one movie every week in the theatre. We are members of one of the theatre chain clubs, which allows us for the monthly fee to see 4 moves each week (I don’t think there has ever been four movies I wanted to see in one week). If you see two a month, you save money. Especially if you buy the expensive tickets to see a movie in IMAX.

And now, with all the different streaming opportunities, we see many more. With the world being as difficult as it is, I often use movies to escape. OK, I admit it. I turn to romantic comedies. They make me feel good when the news makes me feel bad. In fact, one of my favorites is Notting Hill. If it does not make you smile, you have no heart. And if you can watch The Princess Bride without humming the theme song, I give up.

I admit, I also like action movies and musicals and even superhero movies. Independent films (as long as they have happy endings, or at least endings leaving me with a sense of possibility, not feelings of doom and gloom) are a staple for the Viniar household.

Which brings me to the Thursday Murder Club. A British who-done-it movie. It opened on a limited basis in theaters and quickly went on Netflix. We of course watched it right away. It stars amazing seniors. Pierce Brosnan still cuts a fine figure, although he doesn’t look like James Bond anymore. But didn’t James Bond get older since Dr No sixty-three years ago? Helen Mirren as an actor makes any movie watchable. Am I allowed to say she certainly still has sex appeal? Jonathan Pryce, as her husband with dementia, goes in and out of memory loss, just like some of us. Ben Kingsley (who by the way was born Krishna Pandit Bhanji and is now a Quaker) will forever be Ghandi to me, has an amazing range as an actor, and embodies the wisdom of the ages. The last of the main players is Celia Imrie, another British actor about whom you will say, “Don’t I recognize her?” Yes, you probably do, as she was in the Exotic Marigold Hotel movies, Nanny McPhee, Calendar Girls, and was even Fighter Pilot Bravo One in Star Wars Episode I-the Phantom Menace.

They let some younger stars into the movie as well. Tom Ellis (Lucifer on TV) and David Tennant (Dr Who) were perhaps in the movie to help draw a younger audience. Well, I don’t think it worked. Today on Rotten Tomatoes, only 78% of the critics gave it a positive review. And the popcorn meter, the viewer reviews, only had 53% positive reviews. I really think too many young people (or not enough of us wise elders) have reviewed this movie. Because I thought it was delightful. Not the greatest film of the ages, but a delightful movie. Remember when we were pretentious enough to distinguish between movies and film? Ah… youth is indeed wasted on the young.

These senior characters are so relatable. They are clever and funny. They live in a retirement village. A beautiful one. In fact, the most beautiful retirement village I could imagine. And they are fighting to preserve their lifestyle when a developer wants to turn the land into luxury flats. They have activities galore, including the club that meets on Thursdays to solve cold cases. When a murder occurs that directly affects them, they go about solving it. They have memory issues, physical issues, confront the loss of friends and relatives and find ways to have meaning in their lives. They find young people to work with, who appreciate their experience, and the abilities that they continue to show. For me, these characters were familiar and inspirational. Watching the movie was like getting together with a good friend who can still surprise you, but not so much that it gives you heart palpitations.

The characters in this movie, and the actors who play them are role models for me. Living a life of purpose, with intrigue, gratefulness, and humor, is what I aspire to. If a movie helps me remember that I will go see it. Try it. You might be inspired. At least you might like it. If you do not, you can always watch The Princess Bride.

The post Old People at the Movies. Watching Old People in the Movies. My First Jewish Sacred Aging Movie Review. appeared first on Jewish Sacred Aging.

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A few weeks ago, I was privileged to teach a class at the Aleph Kallah. The Aleph Kallah, which takes place every other year, is a week of study, prayer, and engagement with other people involved or interested in Jewish Renewal.

I was not supposed to teach, but the scheduled teacher could not make it, and I was drafted to fill in. The original class was entitled “Shema/Listening, Made for These Times.” It was to be a class that referenced listening from the heart. I was excited to be a student in that class.

The week before, I had taught my class to a different group of students. My class was called “Machlochet, Pshorah and Shalom (dispute, compromise and peace), the Art and Science of Conflict Resolution.” It also involved lots of conversations about listening, from a pastoral care and conflict resolution context.

So, I thought learning from a different perspective would be fun. Instead, I spent a few days modifying my class, and jumped right in to teach, with a fair amount of trepidation.

You see, the first class was for students currently enrolled in the Aleph Ordination Program. This Kallah class was for a completely different audience.

There were several Rabbis, a few chaplains, and people who had already completed their careers. Two of the participants had been my teachers.

I was sure they were going to correct every citation to source material that I made. Instead, they were gracious and participatory. I taught and I learned. And at 73 years old (I turned 74 last week), I still had to fight off the voices that told me I was not good enough to fill this role.

But here is the good thing about getting older: Those fears don’t stop me.

I know I have learned a lot, and I now have some small amount of wisdom. I have developed enough arrogance to think some of that wisdom is worth sharing. And I know that sharing things that I have passion about gives me purpose and wakes me up each day in gratitude.

Conflict resolution, and its component parts, listening, civility and empathy is largely missing from current society, and I will do whatever I can do to make a difference in presenting those things, putting them front and center.

The participants in this class were amazing. There was Reb Steven, one of my former teachers who was warm and friendly and listened like he had something to learn. You may not realize this, but when someone listens that way, it is easier to speak.

Ah ha…how we listen affects how we are spoken to. A major lesson for conflict resolution.

And there was Reb Shulamit. She was the director of my program when I started my studies. Yet she said she came to the class only when she heard I was teaching it. With that in mind, how could I help but teach a successful class?

But why I really write this column was because in this class I met Amichai, full name Max Amichai Heppner. He was born in Amsterdam in 1933. His parents had left their home in Berlin earlier that year with the ascension of Hitler.

From the time he was 8, until the end of the war, Max was sheltered by a Dutch family. His experiences are recalled in his book, I Live in a Chickenhouse.

The book has his recollections and drawings from that childhood period. He did not talk much about those experiences in class, but his insights into humanity and its ability to wage war and seek peace were inspiring.

As we deal with the fears about the state of our world, its march towards the inhumane treatment of our fellow man, towards racism, homophobia, xenophobia, and of course antisemitism, we must find compassion for those less fortunate.

And we must treasure the few remaining holocaust survivors. They are an inspiration for remembering what can be accomplished in the face of unbelievable circumstances.

We use their example to remind ourselves that we need to acknowledge and accept that there are bad people in the world, or at least people who do really bad things.

But we cannot give up.

We may have to continue to adapt our strategies to fight this evil, but we must never give up.

Amichai. My people live.

We live because we have something to contribute.

And we never give up.

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In 2023 I wrote a column called “Whenever I Feel Afraid.” And that was before October 7. And before the last election. And before the most shocking first 100 days of any presidency in history. Before Jews getting firebombed and assassinated. Now I am dealing with fears that I never imagined.

Our news is frightening. Climate change, do I need winter clothes or summer clothes? War in Ukraine, Israel, Yemen, India and who knows where next. Diseases that we thought were eliminated, where will the next measles outbreak be?

Political uncertainty?

No, I think there is certainty.

Certainty that our current leaders are ripping things apart. It reminds me of a theory I developed later in life about us, the baby boomers, who spent so much time attacking the institutions that we thought we old and out of date.

My theory: we wanted to change everything, so we ripped things down without preparing for the consequences. We didn’t have the replacements in place. That left us wandering and wondering until we found our place. Yet the Department of Government Efficiency was much more efficient at ripping things apart without a plan than we ever were.

We are bombarded with difficulties 24 hours a day. I’m sure I am not the only one confronted by these kinds of things:

• I went to a great conference in January. As we look for next year’s location we now need to consider the safety of our LGBT+ members. I get anxious and worried for my own family members around the country.
• DOGE has looked at social security and Medicare. I get stressed that I will outlive my savings, and definitely have nothing left to leave my children.
• The administration takes actions that are so clearly unconstitutional, without fear of consequences because there have been very few in the past, not to mention that the Supreme Court has emboldened the president by granting him immunity. Even when judges rule against the administration, it appears to ignore the orders. I had faith in our rule of law. I find the preponderance of injustice is eroding my faith.
• I have been active in electoral politics since I was a pre-teen. Now the news all seems to leave me hopeless at my powerlessness. The power of the people seems to now live in only the exceedingly rich people.
• I have always been proud of being well informed. In other words, a news junkie. I feel guilty when I just can’t take hearing any more (bad) news. Guilt? I think I was gifted enough guilt from my mother without adding more.
• I have always been a proud Jew. Proud and vocal. Can I be as visible without putting myself and my family in danger?

So, what can we do to help cope? These are some things I try:

• Set a schedule, with limits, and stick to it. It is easy to set the schedule, harder to keep to it. Put checking the news on the schedule, at a certain time or times of day for a specific length of time. Put quiet time on the schedule, to meditate, pray, or just be.
• Mute most notifications, so you only engage with things that meet your schedule. Tailor your social media viewing, perhaps to get facts rather than opinion. Even the opinions you agree with cause heartache.
• Seek out some positive or uplifting stories or scroll social feeds that make you feel good. I like watching animals at play, particularly with other species. Check out YouTube videos of dogs who are friends with deer, a particular favorite of mine.

It might help to try to focus on what you can control – even if there aren’t many things, or if they only feel small. Make a list of the things you can change, and the things you can’t. You will then know what to focus on. Notice positive things in your life that are staying the same, despite other things feeling uncertain. Distract yourself from the things you can’t control. Exercise is distracting, as are movies and TV (as long as you don’t go right to the news stations).

Take action for change in the world. I have been gratified watching the protests going on around the country. Maybe the American people are starting to wake up to the great challenges we face to our democracy and our freedoms. I think I did enough protesting in the streets to last a lifetime in the 60s and 70s. But we will have to do a little more. It may change the world. We can’t tackle these big problems alone. Protests at least let us know we are not alone.

And practice self-care. Self-care means different things to different people. It can describe anything you do to look after your own physical and mental wellbeing. It’s a way to build up your energy and strength. But even when lots of things feel out of control – you can decide when and how you show yourself kindness. So that’s what we must do. Take action to change the world and show yourself kindness. Good luck.

Self-care may mean being careful and aware. I will never say don’t congregate with other Jews. In fact, I think there is safety in numbers. But we must be aware of what is going on around us. We know must accept that there may be violent adversaries lurking in the shadows. And we must figure out how to continue to be Jews. Because we must continue to be the light unto the nations.

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You ever have one of those days, where you have so much to do, and yet you just do not feel like doing anything? This column was written under that spell. So, it took me a long time to write this column. More than three weeks. It was hard.

Michael, August 28; Howie, September 3; Bernie, September 12; Jack, September 20; Yossi, September 21. I will remember them all.

Twenty-four days. Five of my friends and colleagues disappeared. We are told their spirits live on and we still have our memories. But they are not here anymore. I don’t like that.

I try to not even think about Sergio Mendez, James Earl Jones, Maggie Smith, Kris Kristofferson, Gavin Creel, Pete Rose or Dikembe Mutombo, all people who I did not know. But each one, in a completely different way, contributed to my development. They also left us during those same 24 days. I don’t like that, either.

And I do not know the numbers, but Israeli soldiers died, and many other people, civilians as well as soldiers, died in the Middle East during that same period. And in conflicts elsewhere in the world. And the floods and the famine, killed even more. I hate that. And don’t the deaths seem to be coming at us faster than ever? Is it because we are getting older that we see more clearly the illness and death around us. Has it always been there, but now I just notice it more? Or is it actually becoming more common as we age? Is this another reason to not like getting older?

I think the last time I liked getting older was when I was 17 years old. Sometimes I still think like I am 17 (some question my maturity), but then I look in the mirror, or I walk up the stairs. Or I hear about someone else who has died or gotten sick. To make life scarier, covid seems to be ramping up again, and for us older folk, it is extremely dangerous. And my friends keep testing positive for that, too. Oh lord!

I know that death is part of life. And the longer we live, the larger part it does play. It is no longer just something we read about. It is now personal. It is my friends. But how do I accept that? Well, it is not like writing a column that I can put off. This is not something I have to think about accepting, because it just is. It will happen over my objections. So, I must decide how to deal, how to react.

On Rosh Hashanah we sang a song I had never heard before. The chorus was:

I know we are hoping for better times to come

As we make one more circle around the sun

I know we’re praying for better times to come

As we make one more circle around the sun

The song touched me. It reminded me that the Jewish New Year reminds us that time keeps going, that the cycles continue, even though we feel different this time. We actually feel different every time. And the song says that each and every year (I assert, whether the last year feels like it has been good or bad), we hope and pray that the next year will be better.

Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks said that “to be a Jew is to be an agent of hope in a world seriously threatened by despair. Every ritual, every element of Jewish law, is a protest against escapism, resignation of the blind acceptance of fate. Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against a world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet.” (I wish I could be that articulate.) I have posted that quote. I keep reading it to myself. Because I need to keep reminding myself.

I know that in the face of horrible things, as Jews, we must live with hope. It is our tradition. But this time of the year we must remember that we need more than hope. We must do more than pray. Prayer without action is insufficient. So, in the face of so much death, what do we do?

We turn to our rituals and traditions. We visit the sick, we comfort the mourner, and we accompany the dead. We care for the needy. We support our less fortunate brothers and sisters. As my rabbi so poignantly said in one of her sermons, we keep moving. We cannot, we must not, stand still and wallow in our grief. So many of the sermons around the country during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were on grief and on hope. There is a good reason. Because times are difficult. We seem to be losing ground. And yet in our grief, we must remain hopeful, and to make that hope a reality, we must take action.

Even as we reach that age when the people around us are dying. It is sad. It is sometimes confusing. We often look for explanations. But there are none. It is part of life. And as I said before, it is becoming a more common occurrence in our lives. So, in the life we have left, let’s get out there, and leave our marks.

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This is a very scary list: Read it slowly. Out loud is best.

• 1950: President Harry Truman not injured, but a law enforcement officer killed.
• 1954: Albert Patterson, A.G.-elect, Alabama killed.
• 1954: Five congressmen, from different states and parties, wounded in incident in Capitol.
• 1963: President John F. Kennedy killed. Lee Harvey Oswald killed two days later.
• 1967: George Lincoln Rockwell, Nazi gubernatorial candidate killed.
• 1968: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. killed.
• 1968: Robert F. Kennedy killed.
• 1970: Leon Jordan, State Rep Missouri killed.
• 1972: George Wallace shot and paralyzed.
• 1975: President Gerald Ford survived two attempted assassinations.
• 1978: San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk killed.
• 1980: Russell Lloyd, Sr., the mayor of Evansville, Indiana, killed.
• 1980: Allard K Lowenstein, Congressman, killed.
• 1981: President Ronald Reagan shot but survived. James Brady severely and permanently injured.
• 1986: Ed King, mayor of Mt. pleasant, Iowa, killed.
• 1998: Two police officers killed on Capitol Hill.
• 2003: New York City Councilman James Davis killed.
• 2008: Several municipal officials, including two law enforcement officers, killed at a local government meeting in Kirkwood, Missouri.
• 2011: A mass shooting at an Arizona event hosted by Rep. Gabby Giffords resulted in six people killed. Giffords survived with permanent injuries.
• 2013: Mike McLelland, D.A. Kaufman County, Texas, killed.
• 2017: Rep. Steve Scalise survived a shooting at a baseball practice.
• 2022: A gunman opened fire at the campaign headquarters of Louisville mayoral candidate Craig Greenberg. No one was killed.
• 2024: Former president Donald Trump wounded at campaign rally.

This partial list highlights the frequency of gun violence against elected officials in the US. The reasons for these attacks ranged from mob hits to political opposition to racism to anger at being given municipal violations and suffering a sewer backup. In some cases, the motives are just not known. There are actually more incidents that took place on foreign soil, and plenty of attacks without guns. And as you all noticed, this list which aligns with the childhoods of many of the followers Jewish Sacred Aging, starting in 1950.

For many of us, the assassinations of JFK, MLK, and RFK were pivotal moments. I was preparing for my Bar Mitzvah on the day JFK was shot, and as I was exiting JHS 80 on my way to my lesson, I saw our principal crying as we filed past her on the staircase; I never saw her smile much less cry in public. I was finishing high school, worrying about college when the other two were killed. Yet I always thought actual political violence was rare. Now that I research it, it wasn’t really that rare. I read yesterday (but truthfully, I can’t tell if I was reading facts or alternative facts) that 24% of our presidents have faced assassination attempts.

I think what is most troubling isn’t just the sudden prevalence of political violence (or maybe not so sudden), but that in recent times, it has become normalized. Normalized, and certainly no longer surprising. We used to be horrified by political violence. Now we are horrified that we ourselves are having some of these thoughts. Once uniformly condemned by leaders on both sides, the violent rhetoric from our leaders has become commonplace. So commonplace, that in the face of some people calling for the comments to be toned down, reactions were sharply divided, mostly along party lines. Both sides came up with divisive and inciting rhetoric in response to the shooting.

Joy Reid, on MSNBC, suggested that former President Trump faced the consequences of promoting violence. Rachel Maddow called for sobriety. She said political violence is “no freaking joke” and shouldn’t be played with. She, too, seemed to imply Trump reaped what he had sown. “Violence is very unpredictable. Once it’s part of your political system, you never know which direction it’s going to go. Nobody can harness it in one direction only, it doesn’t work that way,” she said.

On the other side, Rep. Mike Collins (R-GA) falsely claimed that Joe Biden sent the orders. Collins quoted the president out of context. Mr. Biden said that he was done talking about the debate, and “it’s time to put Trump in a bullseye.” The quote did not urge violence, it urged a group of donors to focus on Trump. Majorie Taylor Green responded to the assassination attempt by saying that the situation reeked of something sinister and declaring that democrats are evil.

A top political adviser to Democrat Reid Hoffman wrote in an email to journalists that the shooting was “encouraged and maybe even staged.” He later apologized for the comments. I am told that social media exploded with conspiracy claims. If you didn’t have at least some of those thoughts, I would be surprised. Sooner or later, I hate to say this, someone will blame “the Jews.”

Some right-wing posts have used the assassination attempt to justify the theory that the Secret Service is part of a conspiracy to get rid of the former president. The Russian English-language publication Sputnik International made a similar claim, that the Secret Service was “suspiciously slow.” I heard many theories about Trump not ducking, the Secret service not reacting, the shot being pellets not bullets, and the shooter aiming at the teleprompter, not the former president. Right or left, there were plenty of polarized crazy theories to go around, well before the facts were known.

One cybersecurity expert said that with so many unanswered questions, misinformation is likely to fill the information void. He said,”It’s incumbent upon everyone, including social media platforms, to act responsibly and step in…to ensure that this does not spin further out of control. We need to lower the temperature and think a little bit more about the moment we are in.” This was another call for moderation and care. But almost no one is listening. In fact, as I was writing this, I read that Donald Trump, who had originally called for unity, was back to posting that January 6th was a hoax, that the democrats were weaponizing the justice department to go after him, and that he was charged with having sex with someone he never met. And he had been saved (I guess picked) by God!

This polarized, and polarizing rhetoric scares the crap out of me. With the rise in antisemitic statements and incidents, I actually had a thought that we should have a gun in the house, a thought I detest. I hate guns. I hate violence. But I am scared. I felt relatively safe 2 years ago, despite a president who refused to condemn Nazi marchers and praised the January 6th attackers as heroes.

Last week I went to NYC to see Cabaret. And when Clifford (the American) asked Mr. Shultz (his Jewish neighbor) to leave Germany because it wasn’t safe, and Mr Shultz said he was safe because he was a real German, I wondered about our situation here. And as Donald Trump faced an attempted assassination, I worried that this could be our Reichstag moment.

We cannot let it be. We cannot sit back and wait for it to get better, for someone to save us. Because they may be busy. So, I say, we must fight back. But not with violence. Not by rushing out to get guns. With words and votes, and even with money. We must point out and condemn violent and incendiary comments, as soon as they are made. We must find common grounds. We must stand for facts. And we must form or join groups to urge everyone to vote for the candidates who will support the rule of law and our right to live safely and securely. We must give time and money to elect those who will support and fight for the rights of the poor, the widow and the orphan. And the stranger, because we were once strangers in a strange land.

I have said it before in these columns, we must be vigilant, and awake. We may not have the energy to be out in the streets for protests every week. But even if we are old and tired, with our accumulated wisdom we can convince people to take action. Vote. Get others to vote. Getting people to do things is our superpower. Use it. This is the moment.

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Two months ago, I got in a little hot water while giving a drash on Parsha Ki Tisa. I was leading a service as the substitute for the regular Rabbi, at a congregation where I attended Shabbat morning services often.

My comments started by explaining that the portion opens with Moses being told to count the Israelites and collect from each person one half a shekel. In Exodus 30:15, that half shekel requirement is further clarified. “The rich shall give no more, and the poor shall give no less than half a shekel, with which to give the offering to the Lord, to atone for your souls.” Everyone, rich or poor, was to make an equal contribution.

I made my point: “How great is it that each person’s half-shekel is necessary, and therefore of value. It is truly a blessing. It tells us that everyone has something to contribute, everyone’s contribution is necessary to build the Sacred Mishkan, the dwelling place of the divine.

“We are all pieces of the whole. Unique, and the same. We are interdependent. When we contribute that half shekel, we become an integral part of the community.

“The half-shekel contribution removes our feeling of separation. Yet it also eliminates our arrogance and sense of self-importance. After all it’s only a half-shekel. It saves us from invisibility, yet it makes us indivisible. We are just as important as everyone else, but no more important. That no one was above or exempt from the law was clearly laid out as an organizing principal of Israelite society.”

That was certainly safe to say.

Then I added,” In case you haven’t heard, former president Donald Trump has lost an 83-million-dollar case in NYC. He intends to appeal, which means he has to post a bond in that amount. Everyone who appeals a judgement in the State of New York must post that bond.”

I continued with this commentary: “On Monday, he argued to the court that he did not have to post a bond because he was so rich. I guess he did not read this week’s Torah portion.”

One of the congregants sent me a message in the chat. He basically asked why I had to ruin a wonderful service by inserting my political opinion into the conversation. Then he left. I felt awful. After all, it was not my congregation, and I didn’t want to upset any of the congregants. I spoke to the Rabbi, and he said that the rule of thumb for the congregation was no politics from the pulpit.

As I thought about it, I could not help but wonder if that is a good rule. And if so, how broad a rule should it be?

So, I did some research and found that political conversations have entered our synagogues and been entertained by our clergy for many years.

When Napoleon’s army invaded Russia in 1812, Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev came out in support of because he would free the Jews from the Czar. The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Schneur Zalman, supported the Czar, because he thought the liberation would be a threat to continued following of the faith. Two learned Hasidic Rebbes took opposite positions on a very political issue.

On January 4, 1861, after South Carolina seceded, President Buchanan called for a day of fast and prayer to think about how to save the union. Speaking at a fast day program in Baltimore where he led a congregation, Rabbi Dr Bernard Illowy, a leader of Orthodox Judaism in the US, said, “Who can blame our brethren of the South for seceding from a society whose government can not, or will not, protect the property rights and privileges of a great portion of the Union?”

His views were like those of most southerners. But his sermon was based on Jewish principles, in this case Dina D’Malkhuta Dina, the law of the land is the law. Jews must obey the civil laws of the country in which they reside.

Another Rabbi, Morris Jacob Raphall, the leader at the Greene Street Synagogue in New York (now B’nai Jeshurun), spoke in favor of slavery from his pulpit, taking the position that Judaism sanctioned slavery: amongst other proof texts he cited the Tenth Commandment prohibiting coveting your neighbor’s male or female slave; the fact that all the patriarchs had slaves, and the many regulations in the Bible about how slaves should be treated. But at least he thought the Bible view of slavery was that the slave is a person who has rights.

Rabbi David Einhorn took the opposite position. A leader of the Reform movement, he wrote and preached his anti-slavery views. He made it clear that Raphall’s and Illowy’s positions were not official policy of American Judaism. He argued that slavery was immoral, was not endorsed by Judaism and in fact was inconsistent with Jewish values. His fiery sermon on April 19, 1861, delivered in his own Baltimore synagogue, caused a riot (Maryland was a slave state). Einhorn had to flee to Philadelphia as the mob wanted to tar and feather him.

In our lifetimes, many of us (boomers) watched religious leaders speak out against the Vietnam Nam war. Many rabbis took positions against the war from the pulpit, and some marched in the streets with the anti-war protesters.

I remember my discussions with the Hillel rabbi, who refused to do either. I thought he was in a perfect position to give guidance to the student body. He thought taking a stand might alienate some students, and alienating a single student was an unacceptable result.

Jewish leaders have often found opposing positions about political issues. The rabbis mentioned argued about the largest political issues of their day. They argued the issues on moral grounds, on Jewish principles and on tribal concerns.

It is clear we have to be sensitive to the diversity of views in our community, but don’t we have an obligation to raise all kinds of issues, and then teach about them from a Jewish point of view?

Thomas Jefferson’s famous letter said that the constitution created a “wall of separation between church and state.” The concept came from John Locke, the 17th century philosopher, who argued the state should separate itself from the church. Not the other way around.

The state’s role was to protect the rights of its people. He said the church’s role was to provide the state with citizens of high moral character. How can our religious institutions teach morality if the leaders are prevented from speaking on those political issues that bring a Jewish sense of morality into question?

In reflecting on this, Rabbi N. Daniel Korobkin, a Rabbi in Toronto gives an “absolute and resounding yes” to rabbis discussing political issues. He says, “If we listen to the political pundits on Fox News and CNN, whose opinions are informed by their own biases and preconceived notions (and I would add, by their salaries) won’t we want to listen to what our Rabbi says. The Rabbi’s opinion is enlightened by the Torah.”

I assert rabbis should not shy away from discussing the important issues just because they may have political ramifications. But they should not endorse political candidates. There is law on that.

Non-profit organizations, under section 501(c)(3), are prohibited from directly or indirectly participating in, or intervening in, any political campaign on behalf of, or in opposition to, any candidate for elective public office. No institution should risk its not-for-profit status. There are also practical reasons why a rabbi should not be making political endorsements. Any endorsement may anger or upset a number of congregants.

Candidate support becomes a membership retention issue and a pastoral availability issue. A rabbi’s office must be a safe place for everyone. As one rabbi remarked, synagogue rabbis should remain politically pareve.

It is often said that the Torah is a political document. It is political in that it calls for people to live life in pursuit of justice, especially for the poor, the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Our foundational texts condemned evil and spoke on behalf of the vulnerable and the oppressed.

But although the Torah may be political, it is neither liberal nor conservative. Both liberals and conservatives claim support out of different parts of Torah.

As Jews, we assert multiple positions from single passages. Nowhere in the Torah can we find specific answers to contemporary issues. It could not contemplate appeal bonds, school shootings and border crossings.

But we can receive guidance, and we can be taught about Jewish principles that could be applied to each of those things. I for one welcome conversations from our rabbis that are filled with compassion and reason and speak out against any politics that supports hatred and bigotry, overlooks historical truths, and demands special treatment for powerful people.

Living in the US, which prides itself as a nation of laws, I think that pointing out that no one is above the law is a conversation that could and should place in our synagogues.

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My last musing on Israel was from Jordan. Now I am in New Jersey. I am not sure I feel any safer, any calmer, or any happier.

In that first musing, I called out the viciousness of some of the comments made by Jews about other Jews in the aftermath of the attack. People began the name calling: fascist, anti-Zionist, racist, self-hating Jews, oppressor, and the simple ones; stupid and ignorant.

I asked that we be thoughtful, maybe civil, and even stretch to be kind to each other, in this time of yet another trauma for the Jewish people. I remain filled with sadness, hurt, confusion, upset and anger, but still love. So, this time I ask that we all stretch even further, to that love.

I think that is sometimes what it means to be Jewish. And Sacredly Aging.

A few weeks ago, one of my friends, Carol, died. She was a great woman, and left a great husband, great children and grandchildren.

Only not really left behind.

When I met with her shortly before her passing, to help her with a Viddui, I told her I would look up into the night sky and pick out a star. I would imagine her as that star, twinkling down on us.

I was thinking about what Mufasa said to Simba.

Later I found out she had used the same metaphor to explain to her young granddaughter that she would always be around. And to her grandson she said that she would be the wings on his sneakers when he was running. She found a way to express her death to young children. Can’t we all find a way to express our upsets (and disagreements) to adults, without venom or nastiness?

I know my friend Carol was a special human being. And she was filled with love for her grandchildren. And we are talking about talking to adults who we don’t even like. But we as Jews are required to “love your fellow person as yourself.”

In fact, some of us, before davening say, “Harèyni m’kabeyl alai et mitzvat ha-Borey, V’ahàvta l’reyacha kamòcha.”

I declare that I accept the commandment of the creator, love your fellow person as yourself. What an amazing declaration! What a context to set for prayer. I suggest it is a context for our whole day. In fact, I have added it to my personal morning prayer, to

remind me how to act in the coming day.

When I am engaging on current events, or politics (or even religion), I try to remember that the person who is spouting some asinine points was created in Gods image.

“How is that possible?” I often think. So, I have to return to love.

Not love like I love my wife and children. But love like a possibility, like a possibility that I could learn something about another one of God’s creations, no matter how I feel about that jerk, or how I feel about God in that moment.

Someone asked me the other day if I felt that the current divisiveness and bigotry and maybe hatred was the fault of organized religion, or perhaps the lack of organized religion. I thought that was an interesting question to ask me, someone who had been raised without much organization to his religion, but then at age 65 decided it was time to get ordained.

I responded that I thought the absence of widespread teaching of religious precepts, because of the constantly decreasing number of people identifying with or participating in organized religious activities was indeed part of the problem.

We don’t teach civics or ethics in the schools and people don’t receive the training in our churches, synagogues and mosques either. All of these Abrahamic religions have the Hebrew Bible (you might call it Tanach or the Old Testament) as a source document. So, Leviticus 19:18, loving your neighbor, is there for each person born into those religions.

Rogers and Hammerstein said that “you’ve got to be taught to hate and fear, it’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear”.

It would be great if we were teaching, and remembering Leviticus instead of how to hate all the people our relatives hate. We as wise elders must not sit back, we must teach. Civility, tolerance and love.

And if you want to listen to a beautiful reminder, check out Mandy Patinkin.

It is not too late. It is never too late.

“To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope in a world serially threatened by despair,” said Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks. “Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against a world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet.”

It is our job to engage in that struggle using our accumulated wisdom. I am a glass half empty kind of guy. So, I have to force myself to be an agent of hope. To write columns like this. But I do. All it takes is love.

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It occurs to Pooh and Piglet that they hadn’t heard from Eeyore for several days, so they put on their hats and coats and trotted across the Hundred Acre Wood to Eeyore’s stick house. Inside the house was Eeyore.

“Hello Eeyore,” said Pooh.

“Hello Pooh. Hello Piglet,” said Eeyore, in a Glum Sounding Voice.

“We just thought we’d check in on you,” said Piglet, “because we hadn’t heard from

You and so we wanted to know if you were okay.”

Eeyore was silent for a moment. “Am I okay?” he asked, eventually. “Well, I don’t know, to be honest. Are any of us really okay? That’s what I ask myself. All I can tell you, Pooh and Piglet, is that right now I feel really rather Sad, and Alone, and Not Much Fun To Be Around At All. Which is why I haven’t bothered you. Because you wouldn’t want to waste your time hanging out with someone who is Sad, and Alone, and Not Much Fun To Be Around At All, would you now.”

Pooh looked at Piglet, and Piglet looked at Pooh, and they both sat down, one on

either side Of Eeyore in his stick house.

Eeyore looked at them in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here with you,” said Pooh, “because we are your friends. And true

Friends don’t care if someone is feeling Sad, or Alone, or Not Much Fun To Be Around At All. True friends are there for you anyway. And so here we are.”

“Oh,” said Eeyore. “Oh.”

And the three of them sat there in silence, and while Pooh and Piglet said nothing at

all; somehow, almost imperceptibly, Eeyore started to feel a very tiny little bit better.

Because Pooh and Piglet were there.

No more; no less.

My friend Reb Chaya read this to me. I truthfully don’t remember where she found it, so I can’t thank whoever put it out for me to see. And hearing this story brought me right back to my study of the book of Job when I started my Rabbinic studies. I found that study of this book of the Bible was life changing, transformational. Its real deep message for me was about the miseries and mysteries of life; why do bad things happen to good people? But it also had messages about friendship, quite relevant to our world today.

As the story goes, Job suffers through massive adversity, everything is taken away from him. His family, his possessions, and his health. Job is then visited by his friends. Starting in Chapter 2, Verse 12, these friends raised their voices and wept, each of them tore his robe, and then his friends sat down on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights with no one speaking a word to him. ‘For they saw that his pain was very great.” So, at first, they just sat with him, just like Pooh and Piglet.

But then Job and his friends engage in more than 21 chapters of argument about whether or not Job did anything that would justify his punishments. Job claimed his innocence. His friends argued that God is all knowing and is just, and that Job must have done something wrong in order to bring upon himself such horrible results.

The young man Elihu then states his own thoughts. He condemns Job’s friends’ claims, and Job’s claim of being without sin, declares God’s justice, condemns Job’s attitude toward God, and exalts God’s greatness. He must have been wrong, because after his speech he is not ever heard from again. But at least he showed respect, as he allowed the others to speak first before offering his own comments. Lack of respect is something I wrote about before (see What Happened to Please, Thank You and I Respectfully Disagree, 11/8/22). In today’s post-October 7 world, we need to practice more respect. Elihu seems to model appropriate behavior for dealing with people with whom you disagree (I will indeed talk a little more about this in my next column).

Job’s friends, who clearly weren’t suffering like Job, started to try to define his problems, and tell him how to solve them. They became fixers, a trait I know very well. When I see people suffering, I want to jump in and do something, say something, that will make them feel better.

But it doesn’t always work.

I had someone ask me once, “What makes you think you know how to solve their problems better than they do?”

Perhaps being a “fixer” smacks of a little arrogance and self-righteousness. But even if we can’t fix, we want to help.

Since October 7, many people are afraid and upset. They worry about the war in Israel. Some worry about the Israeli hostages, and the Palestinians who have been released and may be terrorists. They worry about the innocent Palestinian children. We can’t help but worry about the massive increase in antisemitism in this country, and all over the world. Our friends and family don’t feel safe at the JCC, at their synagogues, or on their college campuses. And some of them, maybe lots of them will withdraw and hide.

There are days when I want to pull the covers over my head, and scream “I don’t wanna, I’m not gonna, you can’t make me.”

I’m sure I am not alone.

You still want to help? What do you do?

Like Pooh and Piglet, take notice when a friend is not in communication. Get in contact, and even if they think they are not fun to be around, be around them. And learn from what Job’s friends did right. They went to him, they empathized, and they sat with him. They spent seven days in silence. They (and Job) would have been better off if they had stayed quiet. After all, sometimes the best advice is no advice at all. What is most needed is your presence. Go be present.

And to be clear. I may want to hide. But not my wife. Debbie may be afraid, and worried, but not deterred. She went out and got a neon Jewish star to join our electric Hanukiah in the window. I was concerned. She told me in quite colorful language what those who want to hurt us could do to themselves. She is proud of who she is and will not shy away from showing it.

So be proud. Stand up for who you are. If it is too dangerous to put things in your window, or to publicly wear a kipah or a star or a chai around your neck, go be with other Jews and celebrate the holiday, or go to shul or go to a rally or a vigil.

Be proud of who you are, even if you don’t agree with everything Israel is doing.

Hillel and Shammai didn’t agree on very much. But they didn’t stop arguing for their points of view.

And they did not start hiding their Jewishness.

Don’t hide yours.

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Editor’s Note: Reb Carl Viniar, a Jewish Sacred Aging contributing writer and rabbinic pastor from Voorhees, NJ, is currently traveling in the Middle East. He filed this story from his hotel room in Jordan.

In July 1970, I left Kennedy Airport for my junior year of college in Jerusalem. The day before I left, a bomb exploded at a supermarket, killing a student. In August, after Ulpan, I spent a week at a kibbutz. The first thing they taught us was how to distinguish shells going out from those coming in. In September (Black September), all the young men disappeared from campus in a call up to the Golan, as Jordan was expelling the PLO. My mother was scared for me, but I felt safer walking the streets of Jerusalem than the streets of the Bronx.

I came to love this ridiculous place, this Israel. But I objected to the treatment of Arabs that I witnessed. I also objected to the treatment of the minority Mizrachi Jews, who were the “other” Jews. I missed Israel when I left, so I went back twice in the next 10 years. I got to see President Sadat’s plane on the tarmac when I landed on one trip. I had great hopes for this Israel I loved and was irritated by at the same time.

Then I got married, had kids, and didn’t get to return. I made plans to go back for the 50th anniversary of my junior year, but Covid ended that possibility. So, I finally booked a tour for this year. My first trip in 45 years. My wife’s first visit ever. We left Newark airport Thursday night October 5th. We arrived in Tel Aviv Friday afternoon, October 6th, met our tour group, and made plans for Saturday morning. It was a good group, and I was glad to be amongst people my own age, or even older. We were all, Jews and Christians and secularists, so excited to be traveling in this holy historical land.

We woke up Saturday to sirens and instructions to go to the sub-basement bomb shelter. It was sheer lunacy. Hamas warriors came across the border in force, killing civilians. They kidnapped some and brought them back to Gaza. Some they killed and brought back to Gaza so they could violate their remains and post the videos online. They attacked a music festival on the beach. They sent missiles up and down the coast, aimed at civilian areas. Some got through the Iron Dome and landed not far from my hotel. The pictures are horrifying. The numbers are staggering.

I saw sadness, and fear, and anger on everyone’s face. I watched my guide break down crying. No matter how much I dislike the current controlling government, I could never think that they were involved in any way in this horror. No matter how much I dislike the way this government deals with the Palestinian people, I could never get any joy from watching a group of them bulldoze a fence that now would not stop that group from indiscriminately killing and kidnapping innocent and defenseless civilians.

And I fear what this action will generate. My guide said she hoped this complete failure to prepare or respond would cost Bibi his power. I fear in the interim he will use this attack to grab more power, and in the process even more civilians, on both sides, will be the collateral damage. We have already heard commentators say that Israel was caught off guard because they had been negotiating with Hamas, which tricked Israel by appearing to be willing to strike a deal in return for economic accommodations. I cannot have any idea if any part of that statement is true, but it is frightening on so many levels.

I write this on Monday, mid-day here, while sitting in my hotel room in Jordan. After waiting out the day Saturday, my tour was canceled, and the tour company bused us here. Before we left, on Saturday afternoon, I saw that blood was being collected because of the number of casualties. The drive was over by the time I tried to volunteer. I truthfully did not know what else to do, but I wanted to do something. Many in the tour group were struggling and really scared. So, I offered, as a Rabbinic Pastor, to give any support needed. I did what I could, and then we had to leave.

I am still trying to figure out what I can authentically do. I know I must condemn this attack and everything about it. I will not justify this attack in any way by mentioning any provocation in the same breath. After condemning the attack, when all of the fighting has ended, and we have buried our dead, and cried our tears and done our mourning, I know I will go back to objecting to certain Israeli policies. But now I must support those in need after their losses and help them grieve. And when the loss of civilian life occurs on the other side, which it most certainly will, I must support those grieving and work towards empowering those who support a lasting peace, with safety and dignity for all people.

And I must call out the viciousness of some of the comments made by Jews about other Jews in the aftermath of this attack. Pointing out the failures of Israeli policies does not make you pro Hamas, or even anti-Zionist (a term that I say should only be used to describe someone who does not support the right of the State of Israel to exist as a state of and for the Jewish people). And expressing unfettered support for Israel does not make you a fascist or a racist. Those nasty comments will do nothing to help the situation. They will just add to the trauma.

We as elders are supposed to have attained wisdom. Let’s share that wisdom by at least being thoughtful, maybe civil, and even stretch to be kind to each other, in this time of yet another trauma for the Jewish people.

I remain filled with sadness, hurt, confusion, upset and anger, but still love. I think that is sometimes what it means to be Jewish Sacredly Aging.

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(This column is adapted from a teaching I delivered at MOSh, a “Zoomagogue” where I sometimes attend Shabbos morning services).

Perhaps you know the old story about the elephant passing through a rural village. There were four blind men in the village, who were excited to learn about this animal. The first one touched the elephant’s side, and said, “It’s so smooth and round. It feels like a large ball.” The second touched the elephant’s leg, “It’s so smooth and round. It feels like a large cylinder.” The next one touched it’s ear, and said, “It’s so smooth and round. It feels like a large fan.” The last one touched the tail, and said, “It’s so smooth and round. It feels like a large rope.” The point? That people can “look” at the same situation, “see” the same thing, and have completely different visions.

We see so many things in our world that we feel we have no choice about. Things appear so huge that from our perspective that they are plainly out of our control. Yet Torah often reminds us of our choices. Big ones. I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life. (Deuteronomy 30:19). The Torah reminds us that how we see things, and the choices we make when we see them, can alter our lives, and the lives of those around us. Our individual choices make a difference, even when we see a world full of people behaving in evil ways. Turn on the news, and mostly that is all you will see.

But I say our choices matter, and that is the heart of being human: We get to choose how to respond in any given situation. The choices are always right in front of us if we open our eyes. We must continually and consistently decide how to respond. Sometimes we choose wisely, sometimes we don’t. And sometimes we don’t choose at all. But that, in itself, is a choice.

I am primarily a “visual learner.” I prepared for tests in law school by seeing sections of the texts we had read in my mind, and I recall experiences better if I can see them in my head as if they were on a VCR in my brain.

(You all remember VCRs? They were devices that play tape recordings. And I still say “I taped that for us to watch later,” when there is no tape anywhere in our digital world.)

But if we are really seeing something, it is more than just optical. Before we can make good decisions, our eyes need to be fully open, and also our hearts. We must be awake to the choice in front of us.

In 1995, I was about two years out of almost 20 years in the practice of divorce litigation. The litigation had just so been so hard on me that I had to just stop practicing. It was heartbreaking to see so many broken families, mothers and fathers, and especially children, suffering. But then, one of my friends, actually a competitor in the divorce business, came to me and asked what it would take to get me back into the divorce field. He said that people like me were needed. At first I just pooh-poohed him. I thought that perhaps he was teasing me because in our last case, he had kicked my butt. Was that why he wanted me back? My reaction, my automatic reaction, was I don’t wanna, I’m not gonna, you can’t make me.

I was at that time very comfortable doing nice clean legal work. I was making a nice

living. I usually got paid, and even in advance. I didn’t have clients yelling at each other across the room. But then I took it into my heart to really look and see: why did I run into him at that time of my life, and what he was saying to me. What was I being told? I decided that indeed my presence could make a difference. Within a year I was back in the divorce field, but as a mediator, not a litigator. Once again I sometimes had clients who would yell at each other. So I helped them deal with the anger, upset, and fear that was overwhelming their commitment to their children.

I ended up working with more than a thousand couples, most of whom transformed their relationship from one of a non-working marital relationship to one of a working parental relationship, I always thought of that as my legacy: all those divorcing couples who saved lots of money and aggravation and did not have to really deal with lawyers. But as I think about it, I see, I realize, I understand, that it is way more than that. Sure, I had made a choice that actually made my life better, doing something I ended up loving. But because I saw a need, and made a choice, there were thousands of children, who, grew up in stable, loving, family relationships, even with two separate households. Really, when I look at it, I made a choice, to get involved, and that allowed for Tikkun Olam, one couple at a time.

And seven years ago I made a similar radical choice. I opened my eyes and heart to something I thought had escaped me, the chance to become clergy. And last year, as all of you who have seen my column know, I received ordination. My practice is now what I call pastoral rabbinics, working with people to aid and comfort and teach and even lead them. And I have given myself purpose in this last act of my life, and hopefully, one more opportunity to leave the world a better place than I found it.

In a world filled with people doing evil things, the choice to do good, to help is one we can all make. Open your eyes and your heart, and choose.

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Reb Carl Viniar writes about some of the fears that besiege us in this modern age — and how to face them powerfully. [Read more...]

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I have been absent for a while. I thought when I stopped practicing law and mediation, and completed ordination, I would have lots of time to write, and exercise and play. None of that has happened. But today I am back.

I may have told you before. I love movies. Debbie and I have been going to the movies every week, sometimes more than once, since we got married. Having babies didn’t stop us. Only the pandemic slowed us down. As soon as we could, we started going at odd times so the theatre would be mostly empty, and we could take off our masks. Now we are starting to go back regularly again.

We love all kinds of movies. Well, not all kinds. I don’t like horror movies. We love movies from action to documentary, from animated (we have been the only adults without children at many Disney movies) to comedy, from western to mystery and everything in between. Many critics have lamented the onslaught of comic book and video game movies. I love them.

Movies give me that two-plus hours of escape from the world gone crazy. I love watching movies at home. When the world gets to me, I will watch Notting Hill. OK, I admit it, I love a rom com that makes me smile or cry, or both. But I really love going to the movies in the theatre. The theatre, as Nicole Kidman says, makes movies better.

And in the theatre, we get to see more than just the movie. We get to be excited by the trailers for the upcoming movies. At the last movie we went to, there was half an hour of coming attractions. I can’t wait to see most of them. I only hope the movies are as good as the trailers. Some of these coming attractions were for movies that won’t come out for more than a year. Marvel has already scheduled Phase 5 and 6, with release dates for the next 3 years. And it has yet unscheduled projects for at least a few years after that.

I am getting older. Yes, I know we are all always getting older. But now I am noticing it in my legs, in my back, in my eyes and in the mirror (how did my dad get here?). Time marches on and I am getting trampled. So, I watched these coming attractions this time and I had a thought. When I am 90 years old, at a Marvel movie, and the coming attractions are shown, how will I feel, knowing I may not be around to see the movie. Will I regret not being able to see Guardians of the Galaxy, Volume 11? How will I deal with that, as I get closer to the inevitable?

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, said that the Torah considers old age a virtue and a blessing. In the Torah, “old” is synonymous with “wise” and we are commanded to respect all elderly, regardless of their scholarship and piety. He pointed out the contrast between Torah and the prevalent attitude in the 20th-century western world, where old age is a liability. Old age brings more self-reflection, and concerns as our physical abilities lessen. We may even start to believe the marketers who say old age is to be resisted with medicines and cover-ups and acquiring more things. But all those things, everything, can be taken away except one thing; to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, choose one’s own way, to paraphrase Victor Frankl in Man’s Search for Meaning.

The Talmud states that each Jew is obligated to say 100 blessings a day. Why? Because they remind us to acknowledge sacred moments, and some we might not normally consider sacred. Heschel taught that with the destruction of the Temple, we lost our collective sacred space. So, we shifted our collective focus to sacred time. When you are at a wedding, and it is already 15 minutes after it was scheduled to start, you might joke it is operating on Jewish time. But to live on Jewish time is to see each moment of each day we are alive as sacred and worthy of blessing.

We have read that God lays out the plan for how people are supposed to prepare for their lives. Through the teen years, the Jew should study the Bible, Mishnah, Mitzvot and Talmud. By twenty, the Jew’s life work begins, but he does not take positions of authority until age 30. Age 40 brings discernment, and by 50 the Jew is ready to counsel others. Not until age 60 is a man considered an elder and he is then endowed with special strength at age 80. Aging might bring less physical strength or a slower body, but it also brings wisdom, which is a virtue and a blessing. What do we do with that wisdom? Certainly not withdraw or hide.

That wisdom can still guide our life decisions and show us how to create meaning. It can help us realize that our job is not the only thing that gives meaning, and it may help us find something new. In my case, I have sought meaning through Judaism. Judaism has actually given me a new vocation, as I start to practice Pastoral Rabbinics and help guide younger people through their studies. And I get to write columns to express my feelings that some of you can hopefully find relatable.

I used to make believe that I had total control over whatever was in my future and I still, probably mistakenly, think I did maintain a fair amount of control. But if moving along in my 70’s, and living through the pandemic emphasized anything, it is that we can’t and don’t control it all. Once we fully embrace that truth, it is actually easier to loosen the grip of horror of the unknown.

And what happens when I see the previews, fully accepting what has really always been true: that I may not be around to see the movie. As the previews were rolling this time, I turned to Debbie and asked, “when I reach that point, when I am sitting here at age 90, should I stop watching the previews?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, “you never stop watching previews. They create a future, for you to live into.” Great wisdom for us all. I am so lucky to have her share her wisdom with me.

Give someone the benefit of yours.

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As you know if you have read some of my columns, a little over a year ago I was ordained as a rabbinic pastor through the Aleph Ordination Program. There was still too much Covid around so the ordination was done online. Most of the students were upset. To be quite honest I didn’t care. I finished the program. I was going to graduate and get my certificate. I had been ordained. I was now clergy.

Ordination, the granting of Smicha, is a very old, traditional process. Moses is considered the first Rabbi. He is often referred to in Talmud as Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses our Rabbi, Moses, our teacher. The successor to Moses as leader of the Israelites was Joshua. Moses, under God’s direction, “ordained“ Joshua as his successor to lead, and to render judgments about issues of law. This process was completed by the laying of hands upon him. This was how leadership was transmitted, orally and physically. The process was followed from Joshua through successive generations to the Talmudic times of Hillel and Shammai. The tradition says this was an unbroken, formal line of transmission of authority. Each time the next generation was ordained, hands were lain, and it was a direct transmission from Moses himself.

Sometime around 360-450 CE, this line of transmission was broken. But rabbinic ordination has been continued, perhaps in a less formal way. Today, in the US, ordinations are granted by major rabbinical institutions, as well as by other individuals and organizations. Many modern ordinations include a ceremony with the laying of hands. At my seminary, the ordination ceremony is completed with the signing of the Teudah (the certificate that sets forth the terms of the ordination), a verbal recitation, and a laying of hands. This has been the connection to our history and our traditions. To me, this “transmission” was a nice metaphor. I don’t really believe in that kind of magic.

In 2021, covid was spreading, so the ordination ceremony was online. The teudot were signed and mailed and the clergy recited the words in a cacophony of voices. Even if you were fluent in Hebrew, you could not understand the Hebrew. Some of the students were fortunate enough to have a Rabbi or two with them. But for most, the laying of hands was virtual and symbolic. My ordination in 2022 was done that way too. It was still a great day. I had family and friends join from all over the country. I was proud of my accomplishment, and very happy. My friends said they never saw me smile so much.

This year, we finally returned to live gatherings. My ordination class was asked if we wanted to have a “redo,“ with in-person participation. My response was that I had already been ordained and did not want to have another ceremony. My more cynical response was I did not want to have a ceremony that might give the powers that be the opportunity to take back my ordination. I was OK just attending the ceremony for the new class, and being part of their joy.

I did not really understand it, but our faculty appeared to be united in their desire to have an in-person ceremony to make up for the online one. We settled on having a blessing ceremony. The faculty would not re-ordain us, but they would give us their blessings. In my old age, I have decided that I will welcome receiving as many blessings as possible, so I went along.

We gathered together on Sunday afternoon, January 8. It was one day short of the anniversary of our online ordination. We gathered into a tight circle in the center of the room. A large group of our faculty, deans, mentors, and other honored clergy surrounded us. I felt someone’s hands on my shoulders. Maybe it was more than one person. The blessing started, and the leader referred to us as colleagues. It was the first time I had been publicly acknowledged as a colleague by this impressive body of clergy. That alone sent a shiver up my spine.

As they continued our blessing, as I stood there with my eyes closed, something happened. I started to feel this sensation in my body. A jolt. A quiver. An involuntary shiver. A really loud heartbeat. I know my rational friends will say it was a probably just a really big rush of adrenaline. But that wasn’t it, because I have had adrenaline rushes. I’m know how they feel. Please don’t tell my children, but I have felt pharmaceutical induced rushes too. It wasn’t that either. It was a sensation that just went right through me. My whole body felt…something. I started crying. I opened my eyes and saw I was not the only one.

“What was that?” I asked myself. What did I feel? It was too real to just be an overactive imagination. I asked about it. I asked for help to figure out what happened. The Dean of our Cantorial program said it was an electric spark. Where did it come from? He did not know. The Dean Emeritus of our Rabbinic program said it was the transmission. But I don’t believe in that. That’s too bad. ‘Our clergy don’t graduate,” she said. “They receive a transmission.” And it appears, I got it.

I am a very rational, scientific minded person. Weird, mystical things are just not my style. I am fascinated by magic tricks, but I don’t believe they are really magic. People can’t receive communications from Rabbis long gone. But I guess even if you don’t believe in magic, if you open your eyes, and look around, you might see it happening. Or even feel it happening to you.

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A favorite movie quote of mine, uttered in a nebbishy voice, is: “I think everything must go back to the fact that I had a very anxious childhood. My mother never had time for me. You know when you’re…when you’re the middle child in a family of 5 million, you don’t get any attention.” So said Z, a worker ant in the movie, “Antz.” But it could almost be a quote out of Genesis, a textbook of family dysfunction.

I spent a lot of years working with divorce, families that, by definition, ceased to function. In my litigation days, I saw multi-generational abuse, children used as pawns, being traded for assets, complete estrangement, and all kinds of horrors and traumas. In my mediation days I worked with parents who desperately wanted to figure out how to work together for their children, often successfully, but sometimes unable to break the chain of generational dysfunction.

Dysfunctional families are breeding grounds for secrecy, addiction, neglect and abuse. In these family systems, children’s emotional needs go unmet. Then these children pass that on to their children.

Bereshit, the first book of Torah, emphasizes dysfunctional family relationships. If you have family problems, this book gives consolation, telling you that you are not alone. Almost every family in that biblical book is deeply troubled. But, they almost always also show some possibility of transformation and reconciliation. We see favoritism, rivalry, dysfunction but then teshuvah, return to the right path, transformation and healing.

In Torah, as soon as there is family, there is family dysfunction. So a quick biblical history of dysfunction, perhaps with a dose of cynicism that becoming clergy did not take out of me.

Answering to God, Adam throws Eve under the bus, and one of their sons kills the other. Ham does something very wrong to his drunken father Noah. In Egypt, Abraham tells Sarah to pretend to be his sister to protect himself. Not quite “Princess Bride”-level true love. Sarah gave Hagar to Abe. Hagar gets pregnant, Sarah tells Abe, “You are responsible for my suffering, get rid of Hagar and Ishmael.” He does, demonstrating his version of responsibility. Lot’s daughters seduce him, but only after he offers them to a mob looking to rape and sodomize. In the penultimate family dysfunction, Abraham goes to sacrifice his son. He moves to Beersheba, while Sarah stays and dies in Hebron, thus effectuating the first legal separation due to unresolved trauma.

Isaac and Rebecca play favorites. Isaac preferred Esau, Rebecca preferred Jacob. Esau, in fact, inspired Tommy Smothers to say, “Mom always liked you best.” Deception abounds. Jacob tricked Isaac, he is tricked by Laban. Rachel helps the trickery, and then steals from her father. Jacob, raised with favoritism, parents with favoritism.

Joseph’s arrival heralds one of the greatest sibling rivalries ever. His story gives us everything a family saga needs. Jacob gives Joseph an “Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.” Joseph interprets dreams and behaves like a little brat. Jacob has a great idea and sends Joseph out to spy, expecting him to rat his brothers out. They jump the gun, sell Joe into slavery, and lie about it for 22 years. Did Jacob learn from this? No, he just switches his favoritism to Benjamin.

Mid-Joseph story, Tamar is seducing Judah, getting pregnant and sentenced to death. But Judah steps up. Aha, a hint of future transformation for Judah?

Joseph became Egypt’s No. 2 man. As he had this power, he rushed out to let his father know he was OK. Wait, my mistake, he didn’t do that. Instead, he basically disowned his family, even his poor father. Couldn’t he tell how distressed his father would be? Don’t children ever worry about us?

Did he blame Jacob for what his brothers did? If he were only mad at his brothers, he would sent his Dad a text. But, alas, it’s another son blaming his father. In Egypt, Joseph took on a new identity, with a new name, homeland, and family. His brothers and his father, were out of sight and out of mind. If the brothers did not come to Egypt, they would have starved and he would not have known. But he should have known, no one escapes his family of origin.

We do see clues about a better possible future. He named his first son Menasheh, meaning “For God has made me forget all the troubles I endured in my father’s house.” This is like telling us to remember to forget Amalek. A constant reminder to forget is still a reminder. Does he somehow ignore his troubled past? He appears to be thriving. The past may not yet be forgotten or forgiven, but is not controlling his future.

After twenty-two years, Joseph’s brothers appear. He has the home court advantage. He recognizes them, but they do not recognize him. He could greet his brothers with open arms. He could confront them and chastise them for their abusive acts. He could exact revenge. But no, he tests them.

Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev said this action was justified because of Joseph’s earlier dreams. He explained that the brothers would have harbored ill will as soon as they realized Joseph’s dreams came true. Joseph’s actions (in Levi Yitzhak’s words), were acts of compassion and humility. Sometimes we have to hide our strengths, our titles, or our talents out of respect for the others, to make sure they are not humiliated. Joseph recognizes his brothers by their appearance, and again, in Levi Yitzhak’s words, not mine, also by the wounds on their souls; wounds partially caused by him. By disguising himself, the Berditchever shows us, Joseph was actually increasing his own self-awareness and his potential for healing.

Despite Levi Yitzhak’s kind interpretation, I think Joseph did not reveal himself and instead tested his brother’s loyalty, because he wanted to see two things: were they sorry for what they did to him, and would they treat Benjamin the same way. He wanted them to prove themselves worthy of a reconciliation. Something most of us want as part of our forgiveness.

There is an impressively sly acknowledgement that the brothers may be on the way to transforming. After their first trip to Egypt, they are called Jacob’s sons. On their way back for a second time, they are referred to as Joseph’s brothers. Rashi said, “they set their hearts on conducting themselves toward him as brothers.” I’m not so sure, but since every word of Torah has meaning, we must consider that the language suggests the start of their change.

Another sign: when Simeon is kept prisoner, they worry about going back to Jacob without him. The brothers cry: “Oh, we are being punished on account of our brother! We saw his soul’s distress when he pleaded with us, but we didn’t listen …” We never knew Joseph had pleaded with them. It wasn’t in the story. But now we see the brothers focusing on his feelings, his distress. The commentators point out this show of empathy. It really was not present before, now it is, as a necessary element of teshuvah, necessary for healing and reconciliation.

The brothers tell dad that Simeon was left behind, and they need to go back, this time with Benjamin. Jacob said “no way are you taking my favorite remaining son, to trade for one I don’t like that much anyway.” Well, maybe he did not say those exact words, but he thought them. With guilt added to empathy for the brothers, Reuben offered to put his own sons to death if Benjamin was not returned. Losing two grandchildren in addition to Benjamin just did not seem to make Jacob feel better. But it was a breakthrough for Reuben. And Judah, having learned something about responsibility from Tamar, steps up. Taking responsibility, a huge step toward healing.

Many commentators say Judah and his brothers are here making peace with their father’s favoritism. They realize that getting rid of Joseph in response to Jacob’s favoritism didn’t make any difference. Nor will hurting Jacob or Benjamin get them any more love and attention. So they choose a different path, taking responsibility instead of finding others to blame, which puts them on the right path. How many of us wish we could come to a peaceful place of acceptance of our history?

When the brothers return with Benjamin, Joseph is overcome with emotion and asks: “How is your Dad. He still alive?” It is said that in that emotional moment, Joseph realizes that he stayed in Egypt not to avoid facing his family, but to avoid facing himself. His brothers had done wrong, but his attitude certainly contributed. And there was plenty to blame for Jacob, but it was Joseph’s obligation, even before the tablets were received, to honor his father. So, when he asks his brothers about Jacob, he was showing a different Joseph, engaging in teshuva, getting on the right path, showing a Jacob who is starting to emotionally heal, and ready to at least metaphorically, come home.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l, in a wonderful d’var, says this is the first recorded instance of forgiveness. A humanity changing event. The brothers pass Joseph’s tests by showing remorse, admission of guilt and confession, and behavioral change when they try to protect the favored youngest brother. These are the elements of teshuva, transformation and healing, allowing for forgiveness and even reconciliation.

We should note, Genesis portrayed every one of its families as difficult, because they were. Torah is painfully honest about our heroes: the patriarchs, the matriarchs — and later about Moses, Aaron and King David — are portrayed as flawed human beings. Torah shows us that even great men and women have family problems, and makes it clear that family pain and tragedy and dysfunction are the human norm, not the exception.

And perhaps the message to take from Bereshit, is not just that dysfunction and sibling rivalry are constant, but that there is always the possibility for family members to reconcile, even after years of strife.

Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Rachel and Leah, all reconcile in some fashion. The past does not determine the future, and at every moment we can choose teshuva. Even Joseph and his brothers heal, forgive and reconcile. And coming very soon, in Exodus, the next book, the central characters show they learned from the Genesis families. We will read of siblings Moses, Aaron and Miriam, who despite disagreements and jealousies, often function collaboratively. We can always learn, transform, and have the possibility of reconciliation and healing. Always means it is never too late. You are never too old.

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A few weeks ago, I was invited to a gathering at a friend’s house. I met a woman there whom I had not seen in 20 years. She was a friend, a client of my law firm, and a former member of my synagogue. When conversations started in different spots around the room, this old friend and I were in a group of five people. At some point she mentioned an idea that was, well, rather Trumpian. One of the other people said let’s not talk about that tonight. But those conversations have a way of continuing. When some other slightly political comment was made (I am not sure, but I think it came from me), three of the people walked away. I continued to converse with my friend. We talked about my transition from lawyer to clergy, and we continued to talk about the issues of the day.

Truthfully we agreed on very little. We agreed on the need for controlled borders, although her grandparents came to this country legally, and I’m not so sure about one of my grandmothers. We disagreed about who was at fault. She said one political party. I acknowledged that Fox News said that, actually screamed that, but I thought neither party really wanted to stop illegal immigration. If they wanted to stop it, they could have passed legislation when they had complete control of the government. Neither side did, I said, because they had too many wealthy contributors who needed the cheap labor. That level of cynicism she was able to fully appreciate.

We also completely agreed that we were witnessing an increase in antisemitism and we were both very scared. When we discussed issues, we were both polite and expressive. At some point she looked at me with a rather sad expression, and said, “I know some of my opinions are not agreed with, but notice, no one else would even talk with me.” I thought she looked rather pained. We talked some more, and at the end of the evening as I was leaving, she leaned over and said it was great seeing me again, and I should keep doing what I was doing because I brought light. That was the light the Jewish people are supposed to bring to the world. I think that light may be nothing more than continuing to talk to everyone in a civil manner. I think we have lost the ability to have civil discourse, and a free and civil society depends on it.

Do we remember when please and thank you were part of our regular vocabulary? My parents expected us to follow basic rules of civility no matter where we were. Mind your manners, think before you speak, don’t curse (I did not hear my father curse until I was a teenager, and no one cursed in front of my mother until I was in my 30s). We were taught to address elders politely and respectfully, dress appropriately, and that it was a shanda to air our dirty laundry in public.

Then again, we did not think anyone else cared about our minute-by-minute activities, nor did we feel compelled to send out pictures of our lunch (I heard a comedian ask the other day what your friends would have thought 50 years ago if you mailed them pictures of your lunch!). Social media has protected bad behavior by allowing people to engage in anonymous attacks and name calling. Speech has been reduced in length, but also in generosity and kindness. It has however become very effective in inciting upset, anger and even hate.

Candace Kwiatek, a Jewish educator in Ohio, expressed the sense that although there has always been an expectation of civility, we have constantly been lowering its bar. She further pointed out that although the Bible sets out certain laws to help create a civil society, no laws were needed to “instruct Abraham to greet the three strangers approaching his tent or remind Rebekah to water the camels of Abraham’s servant or tell the jailed Joseph to respond kindly to the butler and baker. No laws guided Pharaoh’s daughter to rescue the endangered baby Moses or pushed Jethro to offer Moses caring leadership advice. In each story, only human decency prompted the interaction.”

Judaism speaks of civility as derech eretz, (literally “the way of the land”). In common speech, Chabad.com says, “derech eretz means acting decorously and with respect, particularly toward parents, elders and teachers. Having the habits of derech eretz are key to maintaining good relationships and living a stable life as a Jew. Under the general rubric of derech eretz, the sages caution us against overeating, eating too quickly,or staring at someone else who is eating. Also, one should not talk too loudlyor too much, and should greet people pleasantly. Likewise, people with derech eretz are careful to spend only what they can afford. In order to raise children with derech eretz, it’s important not to spoil them by accustoming them to having delicacies. In general, to have derech eretz usually means to live ethically, responsibly and with dignity, and to be considerate of others.” It requires good manners, basic human decency, it requires menschlichkeit.

How do we balance civility with our disagreement, disapproval or even disgust for others’ politics? Hillel and Shammai were models. Rabbi Laura Novak Winer, in a Moment magazine article on balancing civility and disapproval, told a Talmud story. For three years there was a dispute between the School of Hillel and the School of Shammai. Then a bat kol, a voice from heaven, announced, Eilu v’eilu divrei Elohim Chayim, ‘These and those are the words of the Living God.’” This phrase, “these and those,” expresses the possibility that two different positions can both be viable, because both are made in the name of heaven. This demands respectful listening, dialogue, and debate. We may not agree; in fact we may never agree. But we must recognize the humanity, in the image of God, of those people with whom we engage in dialogue.

In Talmudic debates, our sages respected each other and listened carefully, then restated their opponents’ positions before their own. Unpopular positions were not silenced, in fact both the accepted opinion and the dissent were published. And in the famous Hillel/Shammai Talmud story, a Roman asked to be taught the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Shammai dismissed him. Hillel taught, “What you hate, do not do unto your neighbor — the rest is commentary.” According to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, this was an example of Shammai stressing the present, Hillel looking at potential. Perhaps mining for potential is a good way to engage in dialogue, even with someone whose questions feel offensive.

It has become painful to watch our society fragment. Basic values of compassion, respect and truth have been ignored. Fear and suspicion are the controlling emotions. For some it’s the fear of the other, For some it is the fear of the diminishment of our rights. Both sides have places where they only hear polarized, unsubstantiated, vehemently expressed views. Both live in bubbles and justifying uncivil behavior because the other side is worse.We should be very concerned and alarmed. Civil political debate cannot be found. And outside of politics? Check out the parents at children’s sporting events. The comments you hear yelled at the other teams should be embarrassing. And airports, checkout lines, and customer service desks seem to be an opportunity to exhibit offensive behavior.

Have we given up on telling our children (or ourselves) no phones at the dinner table? Has our extreme connectedness, 24 hours a day, every day, all year, caused us to never want to miss anything, and to think we must always be available? Have we gotten more entitled, less patient, and certainly less cordial? Will incivility get worse? Can it? Is there anything we can do to reverse this course?

Religious communities can play an important role by reinforcing principals which emphasize basic human decency. We can covey the wisdom we have learned through the ages, explaining that we disagree yet still listen and learn from each other. Failure to do this may further isolate people with whom there is the potential (remember Hillel) to find some common ground. We must deal with others acknowledging we were all created in the Divine image.

The stranger we meet on the street or the opponent we hear in a debate is as entitled to our respect, just like our friends. That may not be our human nature – but it is how we can walk in the way of the land, the way of God.

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Reb Carl Viniar writes about the kinds of tests we might face in unexpected places and for unexpected reasons. [Read more...]

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Reb Carl Viniar writes about how his college friends' and Jewish fraternity brothers' lives unfolded in an era of protest and personal achievement, but ended up with a renewed focus on Judaism. [Read more...]

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Reb Carl Viniar writes about the recent rise in antisemitism and suggests some approaches to fighting back against it. [Read more...]

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I read an article in which Lisa Kudrow told the story of her son’s bar mitzvah at a mall. Her son was 16 and had gone to the mall to purchase a new game. Some [Read more...]

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In the recent Torah portion Tazria, we were given rules regarding mothers isolating from the community immediately after childbirth. I was asked, where did these moms go? What would a place look like where they [Read more...]

The post Picture Yourself In A Boat, On A River appeared first on Jewish Sacred Aging.

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Reb Carl reflects on the Russian invasion of Ukraine in the light of what was learned from opposition to the Viet Nam war. [Read more...]

The post War, What is It Good For? appeared first on Jewish Sacred Aging.

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Reb Carl Viniar recently has been ordained as a Rabbinic Pastor. He developed a comprehensive manual for clergy who are engaged in pre-marital counseling with older adults. We know that many of the issues and concerns that face second or third marriages are different from those younger people who are getting married for the first time. We are providing links to his manual as well as to a one-page "Checklist for Clergy". [Read more...]

The post Time, Time, Time To See What’s Become Of Me appeared first on Jewish Sacred Aging.