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By Rabbi Eli Freedman, sermon delivered Yom Kippur Morning 2011
I’m not Thomas Friedman. Yes, we have the same last name, although he spells it wrong, but that is the end of the similarities. Why do I say this? Because Pulitzer Prize winning, New York Times “Foreign Affairs” Correspondent Thomas Friedman can tell you about the political situation in Israel better than I ever could. So, what can I tell you about Israel that Thomas Friedman can’t?
By Rabbi Eli Freedman, sermon delivered erev Rosh Hashanah evening 2011
As many of you know, this summer I got married. Laurel and I decided to take a road-trip to and from our wedding in Texas. While leaving Asheville, NC and heading into the birthplace of Rabbi Bill Kuhn, I saw a large welcome sign. On that sign it read, “Tennessee: The Volunteer State.” I usually do not place much stock in state mottos. I come from the Bay State and now live in the Keystone state, neither of which names deeply resonates with me, however, for some reason I was struck by Tennessee: The Volunteer State. I assume it is because, as a synagogue community, we have been thinking a lot about what it means to be a part of congregation in recent months.
V’Achalta, V’Savata, u’Verachata
You shall eat, you shall be satisfied and you shall bless God.
—Birkat HaMazon, the traditional Jewish blessing after the meal.
Jewish meals unite us—whether it’s a Passover Seder at home or a Shabbat dinner here at Rodeph Shalom. Food, rituals around food, distinctions about what’s “kosher” whether defined according to Jewish law or to other ethical standards, is a defining feature of our religion, tradition and culture.
So, when we sit down to eat what we serve and how we serve it matters. I believe that we should approach the daily act of feeding ourselves and our communities with the kind of sanctity, satisfaction and gratitude our tradition celebrates. And believe me, in the age of industrial agriculture and in our increasingly “flat world,” this is not as easy as it seems. We do our best to provide nutritious meals to our children, our families, and our seniors. And yet, when we hand over a Styrofoam plate heaped with steaming industrial processed red meat, slaughtered by underpaid laborers and stewed in tomatoes imported from who-knows-where, we can’t help but be nagged by the uncomfortable question, is this really “kosher?”
The word “kosher” means “fit” – and Jews have been evaluating what food is “fit” for them to eat for thousands of years. While traditional forms of keeping kosher (no pork, shellfish or milk and meat together) may be important to some, I see an opportunity to expand your consideration of what food is “fit” to eat based on how it was grown, where it was grown, and the effects of its production on the people who do the work and the land where it is produced. This new movement is often referred to as “eco-kashrut.”
The confirmation academy has been working on a project over the past few weeks to come up with real-life dilemmas and the Jewish answers to these questions. Please have a look below at the wonderful creations of our student!
Apollo 13B
You and your friend are astronauts on a malfunctioning spaceship. There is only one working escape pod left, and only one person can fit in the space pod to get back to earth. Your friend has left the decision to you, and will not be offended by your choice.
Do you take the pod home yourself or let your friend go home? You be the judge.
Abraham Joshua Heschel was born on January 11, 1907. Martin Luther King, Jr. was born on January 15, 1929. But there is so much more than just having birthdays this month that unite these two amazing men.
The photograph of Abraham Joshua Heschel walking arm in arm with Martin Luther King, Jr., in the front row of marchers at Selma has become an icon of American Jewish life, and of Black-Jewish relations. Reprinted in Jewish textbooks, synagogue bulletins, and studies of ecumenical relations, the picture has come to symbolize the great moment of symbiosis of the two communities, Black and Jewish, which today seems shattered.
The relationship between the two men began in January 1963, and was a genuine friendship of affection as well as a relationship of two colleagues working together in political causes. As King encouraged Heschel’s involvement in the Civil Rights movement, Heschel encouraged King to take a public stance against the war in Vietnam. When the Conservative rabbis of America gathered in 1968 to celebrate Heschel’s sixtieth birthday, the keynote speaker they invited was King. When King was assassinated, Heschel was the rabbi Mrs. King invited to speak at his funeral.
A recently heard a story about a group of campers by the side of a river. They saw a body floating by. They all ran into the water, pulled the person out, performed CPR and saved the person. As they were packing up their tents, they noticed another body. Again they jumped into the water, and rescued the man. As they were getting into their cars, they saw another body come floating by. As they were saving this person, one person turned to another and asked: Maybe we better get up-river and see if we can find the source of this problem!
Yes, we’re good at attaining short term goals, but we don’t worry about what comes later. Like the campers, we’re good in a crisis, at saving people as they float by. When we see pictures of hunger on the T.V. and destruction on the front pages of our newspapers and magazines, we react. At these moments we’re good at providing food to fill empty stomachs. However, we don’t often ask what is happening up the river. We aren’t so good when the pictures disappear. When the images are no longer in front of our eyes, we forget those that remain.
I have always loved mazes. When I was in Hawaii a few years ago, I visited the giant pineapple maze of the Dole Plantation. When studying in England, I visited the amazing hedge maze of Hampton Court. And while on recent trip to Montreal, I was thrilled to discover that an abandoned warehouse on the waterfront had been transformed into Le Labyrinthe.
Recently, however, I discovered a whole new type of labyrinth. This summer, while at a wedding in the Texas Hill Country with my fiancée, Laurel, I came across the most wonderful thing. It was a simple path of stones that wound though a circle in an amazing geometric pattern. There were no choices of which direction to go. No difficult riddles to solve or giant scary trolls waiting to capture me. It was just a simple path to walk. As I walked the path to the center of the circle and then back out again, I found my mind wandering. Thinking of my life, how I had come to this place and where I was going. I left the labyrinth feeling refreshed and renewed.
