Earlier this summer, an email exchange between a High School principal and a parent became national news. William Latson, the principal of Spanish River High School in Boca Raton, Florida, was communicating with a mother of one of his students about the Holocaust. The mother reached out to Principal Latson to see how the Holocaust was taught at the school.
The principal wrote back to her: Not everyone believes the Holocaust happened. When she pressed him, he wrote back: You have your thoughts, but we are a public school, and not all of our parents have the same beliefs.
It’s worth noting that Palm Beach County, home to Spanish River High School, is also home to about 130,000 Jews. It is an area with a substantial population of Holocaust survivors.
This former principal (he was fired) later explained that he, of course, believed that the Holocaust happened, but as the leader of a school with lots of varying opinions and beliefs, he could not take a public stand.
Sadly, we live in a society when even facts like the Holocaust are politicized.
But even so, the principal was right about one thing; It is a political value to prioritize Holocaust education, a value that I imagine most of us feel strongly about.
Ultimately, this incident was not about the Holocaust specifically. The principal mistakenly believed that he should not make political decisions, especially ones that might anger those with different beliefs. He didn’t want to get political
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Some say you’re not supposed to talk about religion, politics or money. This morning, we’re going to talk about two of them.
Judaism is political. It has always been political. In these divisive partisan times, we forget that the polity - the community - cannot be separated from politics. It’s important to remember that politics is the concern and engagement with communal life.
Let’s start with the Torah. The five Books of Moses are unapologetically political.
The Torah contains 613 commandments. Its verses are filled with thou shalts and thou shalt nots. Even as it challenges us to reach universal ideals, the path forward is paved only in particularities, reaching across all areas of behavior - economic, romantic, communal, and judicial, to name a few.
In the first century, Rabbi Hillel was asked to explain Judaism in one sentence. His response was not one of belief or theology, but action. And it was specifically about action toward our fellow neighbors, a political answer: Do not do what is hateful to yourself to your neighbor. He could have said anything. He could have given our religion’s credo, The Sh’ma, or he could have given a theological distillation about God. But when asked to describe the essence of Judaism, he gave a political answer.
How can we talk about loving God with all our heart and all our soul without talking about how to do so? We can’t preach the value of living a holy and righteous life unless we define the specific actions that do and do not contribute to holiness.
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This may seem not to be the most inspiring message to hear as we begin our new year, especially as we begin it in this absolutely gorgeous and spiritually uplifting sanctuary. Political and societal discord seem to radiate through every other corner of our lives. And now, your rabbi is telling you that you have to hear about it at temple too? Well, yes...
Judaism should be comforting. It should enhance relationships and it should add joy to our lives. It should be enjoyable (other than Yom Kippur,) and often times, it might even be fun. These are necessary for Judaism to stick in our lives. But, as much as these are necessary, they are not sufficient. Judaism should agitate the comfortable, and comfort the pained.
Here’s a thought experiment. Pretend for a moment that just outside the front doors of the synagogue, we hear a baby screaming. After a minute or two, someone would go outside and check on the infant. Are her parents nearby? Does she need food? Should we call the police? It’s likely that our service would pause while we figured out the best course of action. But I ask you to think about this: Somewhere in this neighborhood, somewhere in Athens, somewhere in Georgia, and in many places in America, a baby is screaming, someone is in pain, injustices are happening. Judaism challenges us to actively look for it. To hear it. And then, to respond. As Deuteronomy so clearly states, Justice justice you shall pursue. It does not say, Justice justice you should do, but only if it doesn’t bother anyone. Pursue justice.
I once heard that its hard to be a prophet when you’re paying a mortgage. It’s difficult to be political when we have pain and difficulty in our own lives. But Judaism tells us differently. Jewish law commands that even the poorest member of a community must give Tzedakah. This teaches that everyone has the right and the obligation to engage.
Moses did not have a mortgage. In fact, he could have continued his life ensconced safely and comfortably amidst the wealth and protection of Pharaoh's household. But once he witnessed the injustice of a slave being beaten, he felt compelled to take action.
And after he led his people out of Egypt and through the split waters of the Red Sea, Moses stood atop Mount Sinai with God for 40 days and 40 nights. Can you imagine? This was a what I call a once-in-a-Torah moment - this personal and private encounter with God. During those 40 days, the Torah was dictated, written with what the rabbis tell us was white fire on black fire. Surely this is the climax of the Torah, right? What could possibly be more majestic and meaningful?
But no, it is not the climax. The story culminates not in Moses’s theophany on top of Mount Sinai, but with what God tells Moses to do next: Hurry down to your people. What we discover is that thee holiest, most important part of the revelation at Sinai is not Moses on the top of the mountain but rather what happens when he reaches the bottom. Because it is there that he, connected with his people, makes difficult and controversial decisions as they continue their journey. Moses knew that he could not separate the people (politics) from the holy (God).
And so, Judaism commands us to engage with the world, not in spite of its difficulties and complications, but because of them. This is highlighted in the blessing that we say before studying: Blessed are you Adonai our God ruler of the universe who sanctifies us through the commandments and commands us to - laasok B’divrei Torah - to busy ourselves with the matters contained in the Torah. We can learn words of Torah on our own, without engaging in the world or really, anyone else. But, to busy ourselves with Torah, that’s another matter entirely.
But on the other hand...
I believe that there are many paths to Judaism, and many through Judaism. I will never be a rabbi that preaches only about politics, just as I won’t only talk about Rashi, or the Talmud, or Jewish theological connections to Marvel movies or Star Wars. All are important. And just as there is a time for every season, there is a time for all kinds of teachings and sermons and classes. But still, I don’t know how to talk about Judaism without talking about Jews and Torah and Mitzvot and Moses and society and the world. And like Moses, you and I are at the foot of Mount Sinai.
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My sermon last night and the one this morning are about our actions. Just as we so often hear about thoughts and prayers, all of our singing and prayers and confessions in this resplendent sanctuary don’t mean much if we don’t back them up with commensurate actions.
Being Jewish, at its core, means being part of a system of laws and precepts and traditions and rituals. As Reform Jews, we may have done away with some of these, but let’s not make the mistake of thinking that our brand of Judaism has in any way diminished the Jewish ideals of our ancestors. The vision of holiness and righteousness are as strong as they were thousands of years ago when the prophet Micah said: Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before God.
All of our prophets are united in telling us to care for the orphan and the stranger. I don’t feel that I can take that seriously without talking also including immigration reform and the protection of asylum seekers. We’re told to beat our swords into plowshares. I don’t know how to take that seriously without also talking about the proliferation of guns and gun violence. The Torah of Mount Sinai must connect to our Jewish lives where we stand together as a body-politic, at the foot of the mountain. The question today is this: How do you take our Torah down the mountain? How do you interpret its political ideals and messages?
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Leonard Fein said it perfectly: Judaism is a living culture and commitment, or it is a vestigial curiosity. However sweet the folklore, however evocative the nostalgia, it is not the essence. The essence, the specific genius of the Jew, is the proposition that the world is not working the way it was meant to, that it is a broken, fractured world, and that we are implicated in its repair… we were taught and now we teach that in order to live a productive life, partnership in the act of creation is required… . Judaism is not a shawl we put on or take off as occasion seems to warrant… Judaism, properly understood, is a way of life… so it is not the services we attend but the services we perform that define us.
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I’m not talking about partisanship. Partisanship to a candidate or political party does not belong on this bima or in any place of worship. We should only be partisan to Jewish values and ideals.
This is not an easy thing to do; to live politically, to talk to others about our strongly held beliefs and world views. But this is exactly why it is so important. Plus, we have the guidebook on how to live meaningful, successful, and holy political lives. Our Torah gives us the framework for how to live together at the foot of the mountain.
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The sound of the shofar is meant to wake us up from our slumber. The shofar service culminates in the majestic sounding of Tekiah G’dolah, that one, long, singular, united blast. Today, we find ourselves living in a world Sh’varim, those broken, staccato blasts. As we begin this sweet, new year, our task is to take the broken-ness and tend to it as partners of God. . We don’t get to live our lives on top of Mount Sinai, free from the politics of the world. And today, looking out onto our community, I give thanks to God that we are not. We live together at the foot of the mountain, and we get to do the holy work of figuring out the best course of action that will allow us to do t’shuvah, to turn the broken-ness of our world into a unifying Tekiah G’dolah.
