Dover Emet: Speaking the Truth

Alan and Michael, it is with such joy that we stand here beneath this Huppah, celebrating your joining together.  It’s a joy, of course, for the two of you.  It’s a joy for your family and friends and community gathered here today.  It’s a joy for me as your rabbi who loves you both a lot.  And I want to add that this moment is also a very special joy for Adas Israel Congregation, and for all the Jewish people.  This is the first official gay wedding  in the 143-year history of this congregation!  This congregation was visited by President Ulysses S. Grant at its opening.  Golda Meir made an official visit.  Yitzhak Rabin had his child’s bar mitzvah here.  The Reverend Dr. Martin Luthor King jr.  came  here.  And now to that auspicious list, we can add that Alan and Michael were married here!  I really mean it:  this is a great moment for the Jewish people.  And it's all the sweeter because of who each o...

The headlines are full these days of stories about what people are doing in the name of religion.  And I needn't tell you that these are not necessarily good stories.  Most of them are shocking, horrifying, disturbing.  There are stories about people attempting to impose their particular religious values on everyone in our society.  Stories of fundamentalism gone wild, fomenting violence and hatred.  Stories of oppression and murder in the name of God or of holiness.  It's happening in the Middle East movements toward theocracy.  It's happening in Israel with those who want to force women to the back of the bus.  It's happening right here in America.   I know so many people, good, thoughtful, amazing people who have had it.  They're throwing in the towel on religion.  And I can't say I blame them.  Were it not for a couple of conditions, I might be one of those people who want nothing to do with a religious life.  I...

I would like to talk today about guilt, a subject that we Jews are self-proclaimed experts on.  Why is that?  'Jewish guilt' is something that we all joke about, something that we all feel bonded over.  There are many theories as to why we are so good at guilt.  One of my favorites is that we, more than many peoples of this world, feel the particular weight of our history.  For us, the past looms large--in the Torah, in our wandering through the world; through our struggles with Crusaders and Cossacks and Nazis through the centuries, we have more than our share of baggage to lug through the generations.  We also know that we're a part of a very special people, with very high expectations of ourselves--and that alone is enough to make us quite neurotic. It's clear from the Torah that guilt was around even in the earliest days. As we finish the Book of Genesis today, we find the brothers of Joseph burdened by their past mistreatment of their brother, and f...

            Every year at this time, I just can’t get over it.  I am amazed at the incredible success of Hanukah in American culture.  It’s amazing how many shops and restaurants and homes proudly display menorahs, dreidles, and blue and white decorations right alongside Christmas cheer.  And I no longer buy into the Jewish angst about the inauthenticity of Hanukah—that it’s only hyped up because of Christmas.  I have come to see that, while there is partial truth in this fear, it’s also true that Hanukah has evolved into a truly American Jewish holiday, one where Jews assert their pride in being Jewish especially in the face of Christmas.  We’re proudly Jewish, and we have nothing to hide—that’s the brilliant light in the darkness of the American Jewish experience that Hanukah has become all about, and I’m all for it!  I love Hanukah because it works :  we American Jews find personal meaning and significance in a ...

 Think of any problem in the human condition. Anything. It doesn’t matter what it is. Any war. The Holocaust. The economic crisis. Terrorism. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Global warming. Crime--any crime at all. Any man-made tzuris you can think of. The ultimate solution to the problems of humanity arises out of Parashat Vayera. I know that sounds like a rather over-blown claim. But I mean it. The implications of the story we encounter are that big. I am going to take you through some well-known biblical stories, stories that many of us have strong feelings about. I’m going to ask you to set aside your previous conclusions and judgments of these stories for the next few minutes, and listen to me tell them as if you have never heard them before. I will show us how the great trials of Abraham actually present us with a solution to our deepest human problems, if only we see how it all fits together. I’m going to present a radical re-reading of our texts, an appr...

Take a moment and go inside and ask yourself a question: When was the last time you really felt safe? I don’t mean ‘safe’ in the sense of ‘not in a war zone.’ I mean, when did you feel totally safe. Ultimately safe. Existentially safe in this life? Can you think of a time at all? Try as hard as you can to find a place, a time, a memory, when you knew that kind of safety, that kind of blissful security. If you’re anything like me, you might have a hard time locating a specific memory. Some of us may not be able to think of a single memory at all that fits this criteria. It’s a funny thing to contemplate, because somewhere inside, we feel like we must have had an experience of being cosmically safe, but it’s hard to find a memory that directly points to one experience of it. I can tell you that when I think about this question, I can’t find a particular story in my life like that; it’s more of a feeling about my relationships through my life. I’m particularly drawn back to my ...

I remember when I was a very little boy, around the age of three, my parents did a big mitzvah: they took in a woman who didn’t have a home of her own, and gave her room and board, and in exchange, she kept up the house and helped take care of me. The woman’s name was Ruthie. My parents tell me that Ruthie liked to keep to herself, with a sad, wistful, faraway look in her eye. Ruthie apparently had had a son once, a son whom she had lost, but she never spoke of him. Whenever my mother asked her about what happened with her son, she never wanted to discuss it. But one thing drove away her sadness: she loved me! I mean, she adored little three-year-old me. The sad, quiet Ruthie whom my parents describe doesn’t match my memories. All I remember is her unreserved smile, her laughter, her hugs, her loving touch, her carrying me and taking me everywhere with her. I remember feeling so safe and loved whenever I was around her. And my parents confirm this memory: she was a differe...