April 27, 2024
Author(s): Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz,
Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach
Rough Patches
April 27, 2024 — 19 Nissan 5784
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
Abe and Sarah have been happily married for more than 60 years. They share children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. One fine day, Sarah says, “Abe: I’d like a banana sundae. Would you please go to JP Licks?” “Of course! It would be my privilege! What kind of banana sundae do you want?” “Abe, write it down. A banana sundae has a lot going on. Would you please get me three flavors: chocolate chip, Oreo, and cake batter. Then whipped cream. Lots of hot fudge. With a cherry on top. Abe, write it down.” “I don’t need to write it down. I’ve got it.” Off he goes. Thirty minutes later, he comes back, smiling and triumphant. “Sarah, I got you just what you wanted! A dozen hot, fresh bagels. And delicious plain cream cheese, which you always love.” “Abe, I told you to write it down. I told you you’d forget. I don’t want plain cream cheese. I want cream cheese with scallions.”
This is an old joke that my father in love used to tell, but the older I get, the more I realize that this joke is no joke. This joke has a deep pathos. The pathos that Abe is not the person he used to be. The pathos that Sarah is not the person she used to be. The pathos that their decline does not have an answer or a happy ending. The pathos that their children, grandchildren and caregivers are increasingly going to be called upon to help get them through their days safely. The pathos that their life is going to be changing in ways that they would not have chosen and cannot control.
Abe and Sarah’s 60-year love story has complexity to it. A lot of joy. A lot of love. A lot of rich shared history. A lot of what matters most in the world. And a lot of pain and loss. How do we think about the totality of their story—and of ours? How do we make sense of not only the happy parts but also the rough patches?
This morning we are trying to make sense of two things that have their own cycle, their own rhythm, their own ups and downs—and that at first blush do not seem connected but in fact deeply are. The first is Through the Decades membership in Temple Emanuel for folks who once celebrated their Bar or Bat Mitzvah here, as an adult or as a teen, and are still connected to our community. The second is the outburst of hatred on college campuses directed against Israel and the Jewish people.
Let’s take synagogue membership first. If you are a member of a synagogue through the decades, it is almost inevitable that you have had periods where you were closer and periods where you felt farther away. We see this all the time. Parents of young children are closer as they bring their young learners to our school, our Purim carnival, our model Seders, our festive Shabbat gatherings. Parents of Bar and Bat Mitzvah age teens are closer as they are on the circuit, going to the bnei mitzvah of their friends. Empty nesters are closer. They wake up and realize they have no more carpool to do, that they can now take care of their own spiritual needs. Our seniors seeking to make sense of their lives and to find spiritual purpose are closer. And families who are in the throes of juggling, taking their kids here and there, while trying to get their day job done, worrying that they are dropping the balls they are juggling, may be farther away. Closer and farther away. These cycles are real.
And then there are the truly awful things happening on college campuses. You’ve read about it. You’ve seen how it has spread from Columbia and Yale and Harvard and Emerson to the University of Texas, to Michigan, to Indiana and to USC. It’s coast to coast. It’s in the south. It’s in the Midwest. As I followed the news, I could only think of that passage in Ariel Burger’s book Witness about Elie Wiesel. Ariel Burger was a student of Elie Wiesel, and he noted that in his first lecture, Elie Wiesel would always observe that a madness had descended on Germany. He would always point out that Germany was urbane and civilized. German citizens loved poetry and symphonies; they were devoted to family and friends; they were kind to their cats and dogs. And yet these decent and refined people were able to demonize, marginalize, discriminate against, and then murder Jews.
It is madness that at some of our nations’ finest institutions of higher learning, students and faculty alike demonize Israel and marginalize students and professors who support Israel. They are not anti-war. To the contrary, they are calling for the bombing and burning of Tel Aviv. They are calling for the spirit of October 7 to live on. The hate they chant is not repeatable on a bimah. It is madness that college professors and students alike are spewing it. And it is madness that that includes plenty of Jews who have turned against Israel and turned against our people in this dark hour. I was watching Lester Holt on the day that Mike Johnson came to Columbia to say that Jewish students need to be protected. Jewish students need to be protected. How is that debatable? Yet the NBC correspondent interviewed a Jewish professor who said she could not disagree with Mike Johnson more; that the encampment, including the hatred of Jews, is protected free speech. Madness.
So, how do we understand the inevitable rough patches, the ups and downs, the closeness and the distance, the renewal and the decline, that mark all human projects. That mark relationships like marriage. That mark spiritual journeys. That mark our relationships with our alma maters. That characterize the cycles in the American Jewish story?
We can find wisdom from the last mishnah of Berakhot which contains a famous, and famously challenging, teaching: chayav adam levarekh al haraah kshem shehu mevarech al hatovah, a person is obligated to bless God for the bad, just as one blesses God for the good.
This teaching feels counter-intuitive, if not impossible. How are Abe and Sarah to thank God for their period of cognitive decline even as they thanked God for the many years of health and life and blessing? How are we to thank God for the hatred and the ugliness that are rife on college campuses now? Whatever does this teaching mean?
I believe that this teaching is trying to remind us that every season, even the seasons of pain, have beauty and purpose and meaning, and it is our job to find it and grow it. We cannot give up on any chapter in our life story, including the hardest ones. It is easy to love the ones that are easy to love. You don’t need a special mishna for that. It is harder to love the ones that are harder to love. It is hard to love today. But the mishna tells us: don’t give up on anything or anybody we love.
How do we operationalize this mishna now? It is said that when things are bad for Jews, they are good for Judaism. When things are bad for Jews, when Mikey needs to be escorted in a police cruiser from his seder at 115th to his dorm room at 122nd, we need to come together, we need to get strength from, and give strength to, one another.
I saw this firsthand at morning minyan two days ago. One of our members, Shai Kivitsky, is an Israeli. He is married to his wife Alice, and they have two young children here. Shai served three months in Gaza. When his term of service was over, he rejoined his wife and children here. This past Wednesday, he turned 35. On Friday, he flew to Israel to rejoin his IDF unit. They are going into Rafa. On Thursday, he took an Aliyah. We had a good crowd at minyan that morning, and everyone rose to pray that that this courageous Israeli soldier who marked his 35th birthday by packing up for months of fighting in Gaza should come home safely to his wife and children.
This synagogue can be such an important force for strength, for unity, for resilience, for our people in this hard chapter. I want to share a new move that Temple Emanuel is doing in this season, a new role that has been thrust upon us.
Since October 7, both Jewish and Israeli speakers and artists are being cancelled in Greater Boston. We hear from the IAC, the Israeli American Council, that when they try to book a space, at first they will get their space, and when the person on the other end of the phone asks what does IAC stand for, and is told Israeli American Council, there is an awkward pause, please wait a moment, Oh I am so sorry, we are booked for that date and we don’t have any space available at all, and we won’t ever. We heard the same from an Israeli artist, Caron Tabb, who used to show her work at a studio in Boston. The owner of the studio was at least honest. If I show your work, I’ll get canceled. My studio space will get canceled.
When things are bad for Jews, they are good for Judaism. Our response is to say yes to every canceled Jewish or Israeli artist or speaker. They will do their thing here at Temple Emanuel. In fact, on Yom Haatzmaut, Caron Tabb is going to show ten pieces of art work that she has created since October 7, that she has not been able to show, that have been marooned in her basement. She is going to show it here because she cannot show it out there.
How do we deepen Temple Emanuel’s role as a sanctuary in this storm? All of us who took a Through the Decades Aliyah have had rich and long histories with Temple Emauel, complete with the ups and downs, with the closeness and the distance. The question is, what now? What’s next? Perhaps this is a renewal moment. Perhaps our relationship with Temple Emanuel Through the Decades can become more urgent now than ever before. How can we show up in new ways for our people and our homeland?
Write it down. Don’t forget. Write it down. This chapter is hard. But we can find a way to love it anyway by getting through it together. Shabbat shalom and moadim l’simcha.