THE PULPIT ARCHIVES

FROM THE DESK OF
RABBI SCHWAB

The Year of 1997

THE MESSAGE OF HANUKKAH

Hanukkah is the youngest and traditionally one of the least important of all the Jewish holidays, ranking somewhere above Tu BiSh'vat and Lag B'Omer and below Purim and Shavuot in importance. Yet, as we know from numerous surveys of the past 20 years, it is the most widely celebrated and best known of all Jewish holidays in America. Much of that status may be attributed to Hanukkah's calendrical association with Christmas, of course. We American Jews have needed the protection of the nearest Jewish holiday to fend off the onslaught of Christianity's most important feast, and so we have added a stature to Hanukkah which our tradition had not given it up to now. But much of Hanukkah's appeal lies also in the message we American Jews have seen in Hanukkah, a message that ties in neatly with one of our country's major values -- the fight for religious freedom. In this nation dedicated at least formally to First Amendment rights to freedom of religion (never mind the actual practice in December), we have been able to hold up Hanukkah proudly to our non-Jewish neighbors, and to ourselves in self-assurance, as a celebration of the very first battle for religious rights in history. And certainly the power of that idea shines through the Hanukkah story; there can be no question that the Maccabees' fight was indeed on behalf of the right to worship as they wished -- precisely what the Puritans wanted when they landed on Plymouth Rock, exactly the battle that Roger Williams fought in Rhode Island.

Interestingly, Hanukkah may be the most deeply felt of all the religious holidays (that is, excluding Independence Day and Jerusalem Day) in Israel today, despite the fact that Christmas is all but non-existent there. That deep feeling arises from the message the Israelis have gleaned from Hanukkah, a totally different message from the one we Americans perceive, for Israelis see Hanukkah as celebrating the military victory of a small Jewish fighting force battling one of the largest and best equipped armies in the ancient world. And who can blame them for that insight, since their view of themselves living in the midst of a sea of hostile Arabs ready to destroy them at the first opportunity has been so much a part of their history and their mindset? (It will indeed be interesting to see how the Israeli approach to Hanukkah might change if the bumpy road to peace actually reaches its destination.) Indeed, the story of Hanukkah plainly relates the miracle of the Maccabees' conquest of arms against overwhelming force -- and in doing so gives hope to all numerically overwhelmed people seeking survival and legitimacy.

Ironically, however, neither the message we American Jews have taken from Hanukkah, nor the message the modern Israelis have derived from Maccabeean history, stand up well to the actual history of Hanukkah and its rabbinic interpretation. For, in actuality, the Maccabees were fighting, not for freedom of religion, but rather for the right to restore their version of Judaism, and their version alone, to the Temple service in Jerusalem. In the process the Maccabees fought originally against other Jews who had merely sought to liberalize, or reform, Judaism to the value system of the prevailing Greek culture. And it was at the instigation of those Hellenizing Jews that Antiochus issued his famous decrees seeking to destroy Judaism. The Maccabees were, in effect, religious intolerants who perceived that a liberalized Judaism would eventually disappear, and the Jewish people with it, and so were not averse to bringing the pain of war and death even on their own people as the price to pay for Jewish survival. (How that attitude plays out in the present day's confrontation between Orthodox and non-Orthodox Jewry in Israel is up for grabs. History may not be completely cyclical, but it sure does seem to bring back the same issues again and again, though certainly in different contexts.) As for the Israeli emphasis on the military prowess of the Maccabees, it was precisely that aspect of the Hanukkah story that the rabbis tried to downplay with all their might. They pushed the story of the oil that lasted for eight days in order to place G-d's miraculous hand at the center of the holiday, replacing the Maccabeean military victory. They deliberately chose a Haftarah for Shabbat Hanukkah that includes the words "'Not by power and not by might, but by My Spirit,' says the L-rd of Hosts", again to emphasize G-d and de-emphasize force. For Jewish tradition the message of Hanukkah was plain: G-d cares for us, works for us, protects us, even does miracles for us.

For such a traditionally unimportant holiday Hanukkah packs a large number of messages, each of them important values in our Jewish universe. May all of these messages be part of our consciences as we celebrate this most joyous occasion of the year.

WHAT IS REALLY IMPORTANT

This past Yom Kippur, just before Yizkor, I spoke of the basic elements of Judaism that were no longer present in Jewish homes as they had been for 2000 and 3000 years. I suggested that these values and actions that had traditionally marked our people's approach to life - Shabbat and holiday observance, daily prayer, kash rut, Torah study, a connection with Jerusalem and Israel, an expectation of tzedakah - have largely disappeared from the last two or three generations of American Jews because other values - education, economic security and then abundance, secular education, fitting into the American lifestyle - have become more important. To my surprise - because it happens so rarely, much to my dismay - someone in the listening audience that day actually came up to challenge me on my premise that the loss of these actions in Jewish homes is a problem. "There are other ways of being a Jew" he stated, "besides these." Like what? I inquired. "Like fighting anti-Semitism and discrimination, and working for the poor, and being honest and educated and passing those values on to one's children." All very important values in Judaism, I admitted. But not one of them is exclusively a Jewish value or Jewish practice. And, as the Reform Movement in America discovered at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of  the 20th, ignoring those things which are clearly Jewish in content turns out to be a prescription for assimilation as Jews recognize that the American society around them contains most of the same ethical values that Judaism espouses (after all, American ethics is based on Christian morality, and Christianity took its ethics from its mother religion, Judaism). A Jew should surely care about others and be a moral person; but not all moral people who care about others are Jews.

"But", he continued, "surely you are not claiming that these Jewish things should take precedence over the things that are really important, like making a living and getting an education." Which led me to understand that had not made myself clear to him, and maybe to some others listening in that morning (or was it already afternoon? I don't look at my watch). The question is precisely that: what is really important? Is Shabbat - found in the Ten Commandments, apparently an expectation of G-d - important enough to make us find a way to make a living that does not violate Shabbat (millions have done it in the past and millions do it today), important enough to give it precedence over Saturday morning cartoons and children's cultural activities, important enough to lead us to shop some other day? For 30 centuries we Jews did not work, dance ballet or play Little League baseball or soccer, or buy things on Shabbat; why is it less important today than in the past? Are Sukkot and Shavuot - holidays on a par with Passover and Rosh Hashanah in the past - important enough for us to pull our children from school for a couple of days (I know of not one child who ever missed going to the college of his/her choice because he/she observed Jewish holidays), important enough for us to tell our bosses that we are taking the day off, even if we won't get paid? Or are two days of school and two days of pay more important than the Torah's proclaimed rest days? Is the giving of 10% of our net incomes more important than a few more CDs or a more lavish vacation or even a better model of new car? Or do we see no problem with spending the money we control on ourselves and our pleasures and desires? Is McDonald's that delicious and convenient that 3000 years of connecting with G-d through watching our diets can be summarily dismissed? Are we so Euro-centered that our first big tourist trip is to Paris rather than Jerusalem? Do we find time to take a class in Torah or Judaism (or ask the rabbi to teach us privately), or is the latest in television viewing all that we can muster? And when we choose to read, do we pick up a Jewish book, or the latest best-seller? That is the question: what is really important, the expectation of G-d and Judaism and Torah, or the expectation of secular American life?

If we say that the American value - work, education, consumerism, McDonald's, a European vacation, pop culture, all of which are to some degree or other important values - takes precedence over these most consistently honored Jewish value, then we have clearly declared to ourselves, to our society, to our children and grandchildren - not that Judaism is secondary, but that Judaism's expectations (what Judaism claims is G-d's expectations)don't count. Even those parts of Judaism that we do observe are practiced for reasons that often have little to do with the essentials of Judaism. Rosh Hashanah and Passover are wonderful occasions for getting the family together: how much time do we spend on the questions of repentance and the Exodus from Egypt? Hanukkah is our answer to Christmas; the presents are more central than the Hanukkah story itself. My talk indeed was asking: which is really important? I have my answer to that question; what's yours?

THE HOLIDAY IS COMING

When people in the Jewish community in the United States speak of  "The Holidays", clearly they are talking about the High Holy Days. For at least 1000 years, if not longer, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have been seen as the central holidays on the Jewish calendar, bringing Jews to synagogues around the world in huge numbers. Even Jews estranged from the community, whether through distance from the closest community or through disinterest in the community's activities, have found their way to the synagogue for New Year's and the Day of Atonement. Probably that centrality in Jews' lives comes from the themes of the holidays themselves
-- G-d as king judging our past year's deeds, our attempt at gaining G-d's forgiveness, the cycle of sin and repentance and trying to do better in the eyes of the Supreme Being of the Universe. And in the modern era, the fact that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the only two synagogue-based holidays, as opposed to home-based holidays, that we celebrate during the year, has made them even more important as we moved into societies whose religious practice was church-oriented rather than family-centered. In days past, it was a given that every Jew went to services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur -- they are "the holidays."

So it comes as a surprise when Jews hear that the Talmud -- the 20-volume interpretation of the Torah that set standard Jewish practice for the last 2000 years -- has a different holiday in mind when it refers to "the holiday". Sure, the rabbis of the Talmud were the ones who named Rosh Hashanah and gave it a purpose that does not appear in the Torah. And clearly they saw a deep significance in the awesomeness of Yom Kippur. But it is the holiday following Yom Kippur, the holiday of Sukkot, with its attached holy days of Shemini Atzeret and Simhat Torah, that they termed "the holiday" par excellence. And their reason for doing so was simple and totally non-theological: Sukkot became "the holiday" because it was so much fun to celebrate!

Yes, fun, as in joyful, full of enjoyment. Since Sukkot celebrated the harvest, the people were flush with food for the time being. So they gathered in Jerusalem for the pilgrimage festival and "partied on down", with entertainment going on all night, every night (except Shabbat). And during the day they picnicked out in their Sukkot, eating and drinking and talking and hosting friends in the fragrant atmosphere of colorfully decorated huts every day for a week. All the while the sounds and smells of the lulav and etrog filed the air throughout the city, wherever they might choose to wander. And with the completion of the harvest, there was precious little work to do anyway -- not that their observance of the requirements of the Torah would allow them to work a whole lot even if they wished to. What a glorious week it was for them -- no wonder Sukkot was "the holiday" for our Jewish ancestors. And I must admit that I share their enthusiasm for the holiday of Sukkot. Sure, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are important, and it is good to get the community together for prayer at least once a year. But my favorite holiday -- by far, I might add -- has always been Sukkot, just for the sheer joy it brings. Eating out in a Sukkah for every meal, especially when one's children join in, gives all kinds of pleasure, even when it is cool or rainy, even when it is warm or a local tourist spot for the occasional bee or wasp. Waving, carrying around, even caring for a lulav and etrog appeals to me for some inexplicable reason, as if the city boy in me yearns for the farm of old. And when we add Simhat Torah, with its singing and dancing and children's aliyah and hi-jinks (watch out, Cantor; who knows what is planned for Musaf this year?), the joy is just about complete. There is not doubt in my mind: Sukkot is definitely my favorite, truly "the holiday", as the ancient rabbis proclaimed it.

But don't take my word for it. Try it yourself. Build a sukkah and eat in it. Carry a lulav and etrog around yourself. Throw caution to the winds and join in the revelry of Simhat Torah. It's your holiday, your inheritance, your heritage. See what all the shouting is about as we begin the holiday of Sukkot on Wednesday night, October 15.

DID YOU MISS YOUR BAT (BAR) MITZVAH?

A Mishnah in Pirkai Avot, the slightly misnamed Ethics of the Fathers, states that he who has attained the age of 13 is now responsible for the mitzvot. In other words, a boy becomes an adult in the sense that he is responsible before G-d for his actions and for obeying G-d's expectations when he turns 13 years old. To recognize that accomplishment -- that attaining of the age of 13 -- Jewish communities throughout the ages have created public ceremonies which bring the boy's new status to the attention of the community and which introduce the young man to those responsibilities which he is now expected to fulfill. For centuries this new position in the community was marked on a Monday or Thursday morning when the young man could don his tefillin for the first time as an adult and be called up to the Torah to recite the blessings as a member of the minyan. Gradually throughout the late 19th and 20th centuries certain communities and families moved the celebration of the child's having attained the age of Bar Mitzvah to Shabbat morning the better to assemble far-flung family members to the event, but even that change did not make a difference in the fact that it was only the males of the Jewish family who had the opportunity to proclaim their acceptance of their responsibility before G-d publicly.

Which does not mean that women were not seen as responsible for their actions before G-d. On the contrary -- a young lady was considered to be a Bat Mitzvah from an even earlier age; the rabbis of the Mishnaic period recognized that girls attain an adult maturity faster than their male counterparts, and so they expected girls to behave as grown-ups at the age of 12 rather than 13. But because the traditional place of women was the home, girls did not go through a public ceremony marking their new status in G-d's eyes. At best some upper class French and Italian Jewish families had some kind of home coming-out party to mark the occasion in the 17th and 18th centuries, but clearly the synagogue -- the bastion of the men in the community -- was off limits to any form of women's participation. Until 1923. That was the year that Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan's daughter stood up in his synagogue, the Society for the Advancement of Judaism in New York City, and chanted a Haftarah to mark her arrival as a responsible Jewish woman. But that break-through moment did not result in massive Bat Mitzvah celebrations throughout the length and breadth of the country. Public celebration of the attainment of Bat Mitzvah status grew only very slowly and decidedly unevenly. In the congregation in which I grew up, those girls whose parents allowed them to participate in such a new-fangled idea joined together to help lead a late Friday night service. In my congregation in Cincinnati, where Bat Mitzvah students could participate in the late Friday night service all by themselves, as many as a third of the girls eligible in any one year did not have a public Bat Mitzvah celebration. Reform congregations did not push Bat Mitzvah celebrations because Confirmation was the goal for all youngsters in the congregation, male or female. And to this day, few Orthodox communities have created some structure for a synagogue ceremony for girls comparable to the Bar Mitzvah for the boys. As a result, when I ask the mothers of the incoming B'nai Mitzvah class whether they had ever publicly celebrated becoming B'not Mitzvah, the vast majority -- anywhere from 60% to 100% -- admit that they did not go through any ceremony at all.

Well, now is their chance. On Monday night, September 15, a class for those who did not have the opportunity publicly to celebrate becoming a Bat Mitzvah will begin at Temple Sinai. (And if there are any male embers of the congregation who, for some reason, did not have a public Bar Mitzvah celebration in their youth, consider this class to be your opportunity as well.) The goals of the class are twofold: first, to learn the basics of Judaism which a Bat Mitzvah needs to know in order to live a life of Torah and commitment to the mitzvot; and second, to learn how to participate in services so that the members of the class can stand up on the bimah as knowledgeable B'not Mitzvah. The class will be held in two parts. Those who do not yet know how to read Hebrew, or who feel the need to brush up on their letter recognition, will meet with me at 7:15 each Monday evening until we have that basic skill down. But even before that subgroup gets their Hebrew reading down, the Bat Mitzvah class itself will begin learning. Starting at 7:45 the entire group will join in the Ma'ariv service, followed by the Bat Mitzvah class until 9:00 p.m. The group will meet each Monday night (excepting holidays) throughout the fall and winter to prepare for either one joint Bat Mitzvah service, or a series of Bat Mitzvah celebrations; the choice will be up to the class and the individuals in it.

If you would like to join me in this exciting new venture, please find and fill out the form found elsewhere in this newsletter. And then we will learn and celebrate together in the coming year.

SIGN ME UP

THE HOLY SOCIETY

One of the major functions of any synagogue, indeed of any society in general, is the creation of ways for dealing with the major events that spring up as we proceed through our lives. In fact, the life cycle events associated with Judaism are the single most important points of contact most Jews have with organized Jewish life. When a child is born, parents who hardly know where the local synagogue is call immediately to schedule a bris or a baby naming. Planning for a Bar or Bat Mitzvah means making sure the child has a good Jewish education; planning for a wedding involves finding a rabbi. At these crucial points in life, Jews invariably turn to the synagogue for the services needed to celebrate.

And if Jews turn to the synagogue for help in celebrating, even more so they turn to the synagogue for help in times of trouble and sorrow. When death occurs, Jews invariably seek to do the right thing, to bury a loved one and to mourn the passing in the time-honored Jewish way. Because that has always been true, every Jewish community throughout history has contained a group of dedicated men and women whose task is the proper and respectful burial of the dead. Such a group is called the Hevra Kadisha, the Holy Society, and membership on the Hevra Kadisha has always been a badge of great honor for the individual. The following description of the work of a member of a Hevra Kadisha comes from a recent issue of Hadassah magazine, written by Rochel Berman of Westchester County.

"As I pull back the baby's pink-and-white blanket, I see she is scantily dressed in a short-sleeved white undershirt, a disposable diaper and bright pink socks. She looks cool and comfortable on this hot summer day. Her head is covered with a slight fuzz of hair, a telltale sign of recent chemotherapy. The treatment, which prolongs life, was not successful in this instance. The baby, 18 months old, is dead.

How do I, a stranger, happen to be in such intimate contact with this deceased child? I am a member of my community's hevra kadisha, the Jewish burial society. We are a disparate group, men and women, young and old, who in our everyday lives are doctors, lawyers, teachers, students, business people and homemakers. Our common bond is the volunteer work we do in preparing the dead for their final journey in accordance with Jewish law....

Jewish law prescribes that a town or village is under strict obligation to bury its inhabitants, as well as anyone who died near its borders. Our tradition speaks forcefully to the importance of a community-based hevra....

From birth to death, religion imbues milestones in the life cycle with spiritual significance. Even after the soul departs, the body retains its sanctity just as the Torah Ark retains its holiness after the scroll is removed. Protecting the dignity of the deceased is a principal concern of the members of the burial society.

The three of us who have volunteered to perform this final act of kindness have been members of the burial society for several years. Yet the responsibility before us on this bright summer morning is more awesome than most. The death of a child so young invades the reasonable order of things. I fantasize that this little girl is only momentarily in repose and will soon awake to cry, to laugh, to be comforted.

The illness has left her thin and frail and I approach the preparation table with hesitation as I carefully place a fresh sheet over the body. In accordance with Job 1:21, 'Naked I come out of my mother's womb and naked I shall return,' we remove the clothing prior to the tahara...

Two of us delicately wash and dry the child while the third person solemnly recites biblical passages which assure respect for the human body even in death. The prayers serve still another purpose. They create a sanctuary in which to perform this commandment and give us the strength and courage to proceed with this difficult mission....

As I cradle the body in my arms and gently lower it into the casket, I am reminded of the million-and-a-half Jewish children, some younger than this one, some not much older, who perished in the Holocaust and were buried in mass graves without the benefit of this act of loving-kindness. I mourn their tragic end along with the numbered days of this small child.

Prior to placing the lid on the casket, ...we sprinkle earth from Israel over the shrouded body, a concrete connection with the land of our ancestors. Finally each of us offers a silent personal prayer in which we ask forgiveness of the deceased for any sins of commission or omission which may have violated the commandment to respect the dead....

Because most people have a need to distance themselves from death, I am frequently asked, 'Why do you do this?' 'Isn't it depressing?' 'How did you get started?'

My motivations for becoming involved were a combination of the practical, personal and philosophical. There was a need for additional women to do taharot.... While I was filled with anxiety and trepidation the night before I did my first tahara, I found it to be profoundly rewarding. Despite a demanding career and commitments to home and family, I rarely decline an opportunity to do a tahara. Participating in the customs and ceremonies of burying the dead reaffirms my own philosophy of life.

When the technology is turned off and the technicians can do no more, when death comes, what remains is a sense of incompleteness--a need for spiritual closure. It is uplifting to know that at this venerable moment I was able to perform the final act of love.

Outdoors, we ritually wash our hands as a sign of separation from the dead and head back to resume our lives among the living."

This final act of kindness is performed by a wonderful and dedicated group at Temple Sinai, led by Mat Schleifer for the men and Emily Borenstein for the women. Each of us in the Middletown Jewish community owes each of them our profoundest gratitude. But more help is needed. You too can have the deep spiritual satisfaction that Mrs. Berman conveyed in her Hadassah article, if you will join with Mat and Emily in performing this hesed shel emet, this act of true kindness. Just let the office know that you are ready to be part of our Holy Society.

A QUESTION OF MORALITY: From the 5/97 Newsletter

Last month I attended the annual Rabbinical Assembly convention which brings together Conservative rabbis from North and South America, Europe and Israel for five days of study and meetings. One of the guest speakers at the convention was a professor of government from Harvard, a member of a Conservative synagogue named Michael Sandel. His topic was the ever-important question of religion and politics, religion and government, religion and state. For us as Jews, the doctrine of separation of church and state has been vital for our development in this country. The fact that Judaism is as accepted in our community as Christianity, and the fact that we can appeal to the courts of this country to prevent our nation from being turned into a Christian nation, has surely helped to make us feel at home in this country.

Professor Sandel's take on this issue turned out to be a bit more controversial. He suggests that the question of Church and State separation has gone too far, even for us Jews, and that we have to rethink our community's positions to make our responses less knee-jerk and more nuanced. In particular, he suggested that in our hurry to keep government and religion apart, we had left our society open to becoming too value neutral, to refrain too often from making judgments of actions and ideas in the name of sensitivity and tolerance. His remedy is to re-introduce not religion per se, but rather religious values, into the political debate; his thesis is that in separating religion from the state, we have also kept out religious values from influencing national life, to the detriment of the society we live in.

While I could not agree with everything Professor Sandel said in his session, his speech did bring back a question that I find hovering over American communal life. The question might be phrased, "To what extent should the religious values individual Americans and American religious organizations hold influence public policy?" In asking that question, I am not referring to religious ritual -- prayers, religious symbols, Bible readings, etc. -- which we have successfully and rightly eliminated from public support. I am referring, instead, to questions being debated in the public arena which have in the past been seen as questions of morality: abortion, suicide and euthanasia, homosexuality.

In the past these questions did not arise in public debate; there was an accepted (Christian) morality which was part of the American value system, and so such questions would not be debated. But today that is not the case; acts frowned upon in the past -- divorce and pre-marital pregnancy, for example -- now are commonplace and often unremarkable. Should that continue? Or is it time to return to some standard of morality that is religiously based in our society.

And so I ask: the Jewish view of abortion is that it is forbidden except when the life and/or health of the mother is threatened; do I then, as a Jew, fight for that position to be adopted by Congress, or do I see the question of abortion as a privacy issue which each person must decide for herself, and therefore fight for unlimited access to abortion?

The Jewish view of suicide and euthanasia is that such acts are considered to be murder and therefore are wrong; do I, as a Jew, fight against doctor-assisted suicide in America, or do I fight for the right of each individual human being to make that choice for him/herself? The Jewish view of homosexuality is that it is prohibited by the Torah in the strongest of terms; do I, as a Jew, oppose same sex marriage in American society, or do I see the choice of a sexual orientation and of a life partner to be a privacy issue and therefore fight for equal rights for gays and lesbians in this most crucial part of a human's life?

I confess not to know the answer to my questions. Professor Sandel would want us to stand up as Jews for a certain set of values in the community we inhabit; I am not as sure as he that that is what the United States is all about, although I am also not sure that he isn't right about what the United States is all about. I would love to hear your take on this interesting issue of our time.

HAVE YOU REGISTERED TO VOTE YET?
(From the 4/97 Newsletter)

The election campaign is about to begin. Ballots are ready to be printed, and we go to the polls in August. It will be a crucial election, for the results will help to determine the policy on a number of divisive issues for many years to come, especially if, as was this case this past time, there will not be another election for another ten years! But to vote you have to be registered -- and that some attention and effort and knowledge of what to do. So here is the lowdown.

Of course, I am not talking about local or school board or state or national elections here; as important as they are, those elections are not being contested in August, and, besides, I trust everyone reading this message is already registered for those votes. (If you are not, now is the time.) The election I am talking about is the election which will determine the make-up of the American delegation to the 33rd World Zionist Congress , set to convene in December. The World Zionist Congress is the convention of the World Zionist Organization (WZO), which is as close to a worldwide Jewish parliament as we get. The deliberations of the WZO set the parameters for spending the moneys collected by UJA and Federation through the Jewish Agency for Israel.

And those deliberations of the WZO will continue to center on the issue of Jewish religious pluralism in the State of Israel, an issue of vital concern for every one of us who looks to Israel as the center of world Jewry. As you know, in Israel today the Orthodox Rabbinate has a virtual monopoly on the expression of Judaism within the state. Conversions and marriages, divorces and certificates of kashrut all are in the hands of the Rabbinate to the exclusion of any other branch of Judaism. Now that would not be so terrible if the power that the Rabbinate has were used with compassion and discretion. But that has not been the case recently. The Rabbinate refuses to convert adopted infants from abroad unless the parents become instantly Orthodox (and a few unscrupulous rabbis have demanded huge cash payments for doing conversions even for committed, Orthodox converts); couples who wish their Conservative or Reform rabbis to perform their wedding ceremonies must instead contract with some strange rabbi just because he is Orthodox; the Rabbinate has used its power to keep women, even Orthodox women, and Conservative and Reform rabbis off the Religious Councils which set religious policy in the various municipalities; and Orthodox institutions -- synagogues, schools, settlements -- receive government funding while Reform and Conservative institutions must rely on donations and have to fight the religious councils in order to get permits even to build their synagogues. Israel is the only country in the world where marriages I might perform will not be recognized, and where conversions I might oversee will be ignored by the Jewish State.

In the midst of this battle, the World Zionist Organization ends up representing the American world of religious pluralism. The WZO can direct moneys towards pluralistic institutions and lend a strong voice in the discussion over the place of different views of Judaism within the State of Israel. It is therefore vital that as many members of Conservative synagogues as possible vote for pluralistic candidates in the coming WZO election. The way the process works is as follows: Over the next four weeks, the American Zionist Movement will begin distributing voter registration material. Any Jew 18 years old or older who subscribes to the Jerusalem Program, which proclaims Israel to be central to our modern Jewish world, will be eligible to register. One can subscribe to the Jerusalem Program in two ways: one, by being a member of an organization which affirms its support of the Jerusalem Program (the organization we in the Conservative Movement have created is called Mercaz: The Zionist Organization of the Conservative Movement; in this bulletin is a registration form for Mercaz which you need only fill out and mail in with your nominal registration dues), or, two, by asking me directly for a registration form, which Mercaz has sent me. Once you have the registration form, you need only fill it out and send it in with a $2 check to cover the costs to the American Zionist Movement for processing. Then in August you will receive a ballot on which you can indicate your choice of party or organization (Hadassah, Mercaz and Artza, which is the Reform Movement's Zionist arm, are the groups pushing for pluralism in Israel) and which you merely need to mail in. In this very simple way we can all register our preference for religious pluralism in Israel through the workings of the World Zionist Organization at its convention in December.

Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan once envisioned a Jewish world so united that it held elections for its international leadership, making of the Jewish people a world-wide democracy. To a certain extent, Kaplan's vision has come to pass; we Jews have a certain voice in the election of our world leadership. But to be involved we need to vote. Here is our opportunity.

LIFE AND DEATH
From the 3/97 Newsletter

Two years ago, around Passover time, a terrorist bomb went off in an Egged bus heading for a Jewish settlement in Gaza. Six passengers died at the scene: The seventh -- Alyssa Flatow, a New Jersey college student who graduated from the yeshiva Yoni and Ami have attended -- ended up in a hospital on life support. By the time her father Steven reached Israel, brain death had occurred. The doctors at the hospital approached Steven Flatow with a request that he authorize the use of Alyssa's organs for transplantation purposes. As a deeply committed Orthodox Jew, and knowing the restriction for autopsies in Judaism, Mr. Flatow's first reaction was to check with his rabbi and other authorities on the permissibility of allowing his daughter's body to be cut open for the harvesting of her internal organs. The response was swift and unanimous: Jewish law clearly permits the transplantation of organs from one human being to another. And today six citizens of Israel are alive due to Steven Flatow's decision.

Whenever I tell Jews of this incident, I am amazed at the surprised reaction I get. It seems that Jews who are generally unconcerned with Jewish law's stance on such topics as Shabbat and Kashrut, abortion and tzedakah, know and honor Judaism's prohibition on autopsies and so are convinced that donating organs for transplantation must be likewise prohibited. As a result, according to a number of studies quoted in newspaper articles in the last year, Jews in the United States have a much lower rate of donation of organs than the national average. But Judaism has always claimed that amongst the most important commandments in the Torah is the command "to live by them", which we understand to mean that when life is in the balance, almost all prohibitions and expectations in Jewish law are overridden. Such is the case here. When there are lives in danger, the prohibition against cutting into the body of the dead falls away, and is overridden by the necessity to keep other people alive.

To be sure, there is some controversy over harvesting organs. The Rabbinical Assembly Law Committee, the legal arm of our Conservative Movement's rabbinical association, debated the issue and returned a split decision. One-third of those voting felt that the law permits transplantation of organs from the dead to the living, but does not require such transplantation; two-thirds of the committee voted that Jewish law requires donation of organs, that it is a clear mitzvah, a commandment of the Torah, to donate organs. I personally, and as the rabbi of Temple Sinai, follow the opinion of the majority. I am absolutely convinced that, as a matter of halakhah, of Jewish law, the Torah requires us to donate organs if they will be used immediately to help another human being stay alive. Such donations can be of any and every organ, from eyes to liver to heart. I have therefore let my loved ones know that in a case where my body parts can be used to help keep someone alive, they are to authorize such surgery as soon as my brain activity has ceased and I have been declared dead. (I know there are some who think that my brain activity has already ceased, but then I am unsure why anyone would want my body parts anyway; however, I leave that decision up to competent medical authorities.) I have also signed the organ donation section on my driver's license and had it duly witnessed in case my loved ones are unable to see to the correct application of my wishes. In my judgment, those acts are required of any Jew living in the world today; they are commanded acts, mitzvot, as sure as fasting on Yom Kippur and having a bris on the eighth day after birth.

I urge you also to do as I have done. Though none of us likes to think of our deaths, it is only right to do what we must to prepare for that inevitability. And it is a matter of life and death.

75 Highland Avenue, Middletown, NY 10940 (914) 343-1861 (Voice) (914) 343-4568 (Rabbi's Study) (914) 343-1915 (Fax) Rabbi Joel Schwab