God's Goals for Us

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published November 17, 2024 

The recent election did not resolve our society’s polarization. One side is celebrating, while the other side is mourning. One side is thinking, “Finally, somebody will do things right,” while the other side is full of anxiety about what is to come.  

It may be premature to try to counsel either side. Celebrations can be good for the soul. And anxiety is often the universe’s way of telling us that we need to be careful. But more important than who won and who lost is the fact that we still have a lot of work to do. Regardless of who is in office, God is depending on us to make things better (Tikkun Olam). What makes us great is how well we serve as God’s agents in the world.  

One of the interesting things about politics is that God’s work can be done in a variety of different ways. The poor can be helped through government programs or with private charity and free market opportunity. We can argue all day about the techniques and policies, but the Divine imperative is that the poor be helped. The same can be said for justice. There are all sorts of theories about the best way to police or punish/rehabilitate. There are all sorts of opinions about the causes and prevention of crime—and about the ways the laws are interpreted. But however we accomplish it, the Divine command is that we pursue justice.  

We are, of course, focusing on own our times and challenges, but God’s perspective is far greater. I can imagine God up in Heaven, sitting on the Throne of Divine Justice and Mercy and thinking of all the generations who have come before us and who have had their turns to be God’s agents in the world—to be blessings. Fortunately, much of the wisdom they learned from the challenges of self-government is inscribed in the Bible, and I would imagine that God is hoping for us to pay attention. Regardless of our political party, let us consider some of God’s goals for every government and every citizen. 

DEUTERONOMY 17.14-20:
“If, after you have entered the land that the Lord your God has assigned to you, you decide, ‘I will set a king over me, as do all the nations about me,’ you shall be free to set a king over yourself…When he is seated on his royal throne, he shall have a copy of this Torah… and let him read in it all his life, so that he may learn to revere the Lord his God, to observe faithfully …these laws. Thus, he will not act haughtily toward his fellows or deviate from the Instruction… to the right or to the left…”  

DEUTERONOMY 16.18-20:
“You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes… and they shall govern the people with due justice. You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just. Justice, justice shall you pursue…”  

LEVITICUS 19.15-18:
“You shall not pervert justice; you shall favor neither the poor nor the rich, but with justice shall you judge My people…you shall not hate your fellow in your heart…you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”  

If we have a hard time figuring out exactly what it means to “love your neighbor as yourself,” the ancient sage Hillel gives this practical advice: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.”  (Talmud Shabbat 31a) 

One final ancient bit of advice—also from Hille—is about how we allocate our personal and national resources. “If I am not for myself, then who will be for me? But, if I am only for myself, what am I? And, if not now, when?” (Mishna Avot 1.14) We need to take care of ourselves, but we also need to help others. Let us not forget both sides of this holy balance. 

Like I said, God must be up there, sitting on the Heavenly Throne and wondering how this new crop of leaders will do. Regardless of what they call themselves or what approaches they use, will they pursue justice and mercy? Will they follow My holy advice?

God as an Author: Writing Strategies and Techniques

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published October 20, 2024

When many of us think about Genesis, our minds immediately go to the miracles. Everything is created in six days. There are incredibly long lifespans: 930 years for Adam, 950 years for Noah, and 969 years for Methuselah. There are some miraculous pregnancies. There is an incident of fire and brimstone—and an overly curious lady being turned into a pillar of salt.  

Many of us find it hard to get past the miracles, and we are not the first ones to get stuck on their sheer unbelievability. Some Sages, like the pious French Rabbi known as Rashi, focused on the mitzvot, the commandments that help us to lead moral and holy lives. As he put it, if you find the miracles of Genesis unbelievable, do not believe them. Skip the whole book of Genesis and go straight to Exodus 12 where we have the first mitzvah: “This month shall be the beginning of months for you.” Pay attention to the mitzvot, not the miracles. 

There are those who expect Genesis to be a scientific textbook—and one figures that God could have written such a book. As the inventor/creator of physics, chemistry, fluid dynamics, and electro-biology, God could have included them in the Bible but instead chose a different approach. Perhaps it was because our ancient shepherding ancestors did not understand such things as billions of years, molten plasma, and atomic structure. In any event, God decided to write a book more relevant to their lives—with simple explanations of the creative process and examples of human strength, weakness, morality, and the lack thereof. For whatever reason, God decided not to write the Bible as a physics textbook or chemical treatise. Trying to find science in the Bible is missing God’s point.  

Another thing about God: I believe that God is at least as a good a writer as William Shakespeare. As the inventor of language, God knows how to use it in all sorts of illustrative and inspiring ways—many of which are not literal. Take, for example, Genesis 4 where Cain gets jealous of Abel and, projecting his disappointment, kills his brother. In writing of the cosmic outrage of such a terrible thing, God chooses some literary techniques. First, God asks a rhetorical question: “What have you done?” God knows the answer, but such a question is asked to focus the reader’s attention. Then God selects two metaphors: “Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground...which opened its mouth to receive it...” Science teaches us that the ground does not have a mouth, nor can liquid like blood speak, but that is not the point. The metaphor and anthropomorphism are intended to communicate that an outrage has occurred—one so egregious that even the inanimate world is overwhelmed with shock and grief. Reading this passage literally and as though it were a scientific explanation misses the author’s point and denies both God’s message and method.  

The same can be said for Psalms that proclaim, “The heavens declare the Glory of God.” These are not literal statements but rather poetry and metaphor. The marvels of creation are so profound that, could the sky speak, it would burst out in song. The message is clear: if inanimate objects would be amazed by God’s wonders, should we not pay attention and respond to God’s creations with praise? 

Trying to read every word of the Bible literally denies the method and the message that God intended—intends. God’s point is to give us guidance and help us to be good and holy. Through stories of human strength and weakness, we are given examples of the kinds of challenges we humans face and of the various ways that we can respond. As God puts it in Deuteronomy, “I set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life that you may live.”  

There is certainly a time for science, but science and natural history can be covered in other books. The Bible is a book about morality and holiness and the possibilities of godliness on earth. 

Thoughts on Genesis

Sermon Delivered to University Mennonite Church
September 1, 2024 

When many of us think about Genesis, our minds immediately go to the miracles of Creation. Everything is created in six days!

Everything! In six days! Then there are the incredibly long life-spans: 930 years for Adam,  365 years for Enoch, 950 years for Noah, and 969 years for Methuselah. (By the way, if you add up all those years, it turns out that Noah’s son, Shem, and great-great-grandson, Eber, lived long enough to know—and according to Jewish legend—teach their great-great-great, etc. grandsons, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob!) 

There were some unexpected and miraculous pregnancies— perhaps the most famous being Sarah giving birth to Isaac at age 90. There was an incident of fire and brimstone falling on some cities—and a overly curious lady being turned into a pillar of salt. Perhaps the greatest miracle of all, however, was the fact that the Eternal God of the Universe found some human beings interesting enough to chat with them and offer them guidance. 

There is a lot more to the book, but many of us find it hard to get past the miracles, and we are not the first ones to get stuck on their sheer unbelievability. Back about a thousand years ago, the French Rabbi known as Rashi, Solomon son of Isaac, a very devoted and pious scholar, a man who took the Bible very, very seriously, gave the following advice. If you find the miracles of Genesis unbelievable, don’t believe them. Don’t worry about them. If necessary, just skip the whole book of Genesis and go straight to Exodus 12 where we have the first mitzvah, the first commandment: “This month shall be the beginning of months for you.” The point of Genesis is simply to set the stage for God’s presentation of the mitzvot, the commandments which define holiness and morality in life. Pay attention to the mitzvot, not the miracles. 

I think that Rashi’s message is that, in looking at a document like the Bible, we need to consider its purpose and its context. Why would God give it to us, and what did God hope to accomplish with this mix of stories and genealogies and explanations? 

Though the subject is serious, perhaps an old joke can help set the stage. It’s the one about a little boy who asks his parents a question they did not yet expect. “Mommy, Daddy, where did I come from?” Resolving to do right by their son, they take a deep breath and present all the relevant biological details. He listens attentively for a long time and then says, “Interesting, but Tommy says he comes from Pittsburgh.” 

Is Genesis the scientific text book that some seem to think it should be, or is it a much simpler document—one much more attuned to instructing our ancient ancestors in some basic facts: their Source, their purpose, and some helpful guidance for navigating the human condition. God could have written a scientific explanation of physics and chemistry and fluid dynamics and electro-biology; God did invent them all. But, God chose to write a different kind of book. Realizing that concepts like billions of years and molten plasma and atomic structure were technical details far beyond the understanding of our ancient shepherding ancestors, God choose to write a book more relevant to their lives—one with a simple explanation of the creative process and examples of human strength and weakness, morality and the lack thereof. This book was never intended to be a physics textbook or chemical treatise. It was a simpler book that was relevant for their understanding of life, and I trust God. I trust that God knew the audience and knew what we needed. 

Another thing about God: I believe that God is at least as a good a writer as William Shakespeare. God invented language and is able to use it in all sorts of illustrative and inspiring ways—many of which are not literal. Take, for example, Genesis 4 where Cain gets jealous of Abel and, projecting his own disappointment, kills his brother. In writing of the cosmic outrage of such a terrible thing, God choose two literary techniques. First, God asks a rhetorical question: “What have you done? God knows the answer, but such a question is asked for the sake of the reader and focuses our attention. Then God selects two metaphors: “Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground...which opened its mouth to receive it...”. Scientifically, the ground does not have a mouth nor can liquid like blood speak, but that is not the point. The metaphor and anthropomorphism are intended to communicate that an outrage has occurred—one so poignantly sad and tragic that even the inanimate world is overwhelmed with shock and grief. 

Reading this literally and as though it were a scientific explanation misses the author’s point completely, denying God’s message and method. We need to pay attention to God’s wisdom—and not just words disconnected from their context. 

A similar usage of metaphor can be found frequently in the Psalms. When Scripture says, “The heavens declare the Glory of God,” it is not speaking literally. What it means is that the marvels of creation are so profound that the sky—if it could—would burst out in song. The message is also instructive. If inanimate objects can see and respond to God’s wonders, then shouldn’t we pay attention too and respond with praise? 

A large part of Genesis deals with the difficulty of being human. Many of the stories present the human predicament and give us examples of the kinds of challenges life presents. Whether it is conflict between family members, desires that are greater than our possibilities, situations where we are derailed by self-sabotage, or moments when noble aspirations compete with other noble aspirations, this human life is fraught with choices that are not always easy. Think about Adam and Eve. Usually curiosity is good. It is, in fact, our birthright as incredibly intelligent creatures. But, there are times when we need to back off and respect boundaries, when forbidden fruit tasted cannot be untasted. Protect us, O Lord, from overstepping. 

Think about Cain. He does not understand why God rejects his sacrifice—or he refuses to consider that perhaps his own lack of enthusiasm or generosity has self-sabotaged his efforts. In any event, God warns him: “If you do right, there is uplift. But if you do not do right, sin couches at the door. It’s urge is toward you, but you can be its master.” Can we push away the sin and temptation that are always lurking? Can we focus on the real cause of our problems and not project them onto others? Cain’s is a counter example we should endeavor to avoid. 

Think about Abraham and Sarah, faithful servants of God who must wait and wait and wait. As one of my teachers, Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, used to quip: “God is not like Domino’s Pizza, guaranteed delivery in thirty minutes.” We follow God because it is right—realizing always that the rewards may be a long time in coming. Or, as Geoff Duncan, former lieutenant governor of Georgia said at the Democratic National Convention the other night—perhaps quoting Mark Twain or Ted Lasso, “Doing the right thing is never the wrong thing.” Countless servants of the Lord have followed Abraham’s and Sarah’s example, doing the Lord’s work because it is important and it is right—even if the rewards are not immediate. 

We can look at the story of Isaac, a man of great spiritual power but one who is retiring and quiet, a man whose wife “wears the pants in the family,” and whose family is blessed by her strength and determination. Not all patterns are meant to be replicated. And not all institutions are to be unquestioned. When Rebekah pushes her insights and her son Jacob above and beyond the decision of her husband and the hopes of her other beloved son Esau, she knows that this hard choice is the right one—that Jacob is the better leader for the religion, that Esau’s gifts lead in a different direction, and that her beloved husband’s thinking needs some reorientation. This is a not a soap opera. This is life, and Genesis teaches us about the difficulty and neccesity of strength. 

We can also look at the conflict between Jacob’s tribe and the neighboring tribe led by Hamor and Shechem. Was the joining of Dinah and Shechem voluntary, or was it a first step of oppression, exploitation, and violation to come? And, given a rapacious neighbor who does not respect boundaries, what are the most effective ways to work things out? Is peace possible, and, if so, how? And, if peace is not possible, what is one to do? 

These situations described in Genesis are noteworthy because they show great people—people touched by God and fate—nonetheless struggling to come to grips with the challenges that God and life put before us. We are given principles, and we are given aspirations—goals of holiness and morality. But these are not easily reached, and we find ourselves hampered and distracted by the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune... We, like our Biblical forebears, must wrestle. 

The Book of Genesis informs us of the challenges and opportunities of life in this world, and it bids us to be strong and resolute and holy. We look to it for wisdom and insights and for possibilities to ponder. 

Let me conclude with piece about the guidance Genesis gives us—and wrestling.
"We who are called “The Children of Israel” should always remember how we got the name. It was the name given to our grandfather Jacob—Jacob who wrestled the angel, Jacob who
would not let go. “Israel” they called him for he was a wrestler. “Israel” they call us for we are wrestlers, too. We wrestle with God as we search for wisdom. We wrestle with people as we
struggle for justice. And, we wrestle with ourselves as we make ourselves better and more holy. Yes, we are the Children of Israel, the children and grandchildren of a man who wrestled an angel. “ (Siddur B’rit Shalom)

Religious Symbols and The Ten Commandments
Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published August 11th

 As an outsider looking in—a non-Christian looking at Christianity, I am often struck by the curious adaptability of Jesus: how the man whom Christians consider the Messiah is portrayed in a stunning variety of different ways.  

Some describe Jesus as a “turn the other cheek” believer in peace, while others describe him as a violent and aggressive war lord. Some see the Gospel Jesus as an ascetic—someone who denies the pleasures of the body, while others insist that he encourages voracious sensualism. Some say that Jesus preferred the poor and lowly, while the Prosperity Gospel preaches that wealth is God’s reward to the faithful. Some Christians see Jesus as a feminist, but others see him as a dominator of women. And though PETA has proclaimed that Jesus was a vegan, Matthew 14 suggests that he was at least a Pescatarian. It goes on and on and leaves me wondering what the actual Jesus would think about all these interpretations. How can they all be from the same Bible? Do these different “Jesuses” come from attempts to understand the New Testament, or has the word “Jesus” become just a symbol for strong human opinions?  

I wonder if this remarkable adaptability comes from a reverse-reading of John 1.14. When the text says, “And the Word became flesh,” it expresses John’s belief that Jesus was an earthly manifestation of God’s Word—that he was the Biblical ideal. However, reversing the text—taking human ideals and putting them onto Jesus—results in a very malleable deity. “If I believe it, then Jesus must have believed it, too” is a painful reversal of Genesis 1. Instead of God creating the human in the Divine Image, people are trying to create God in whatever image they find appealing.  

Unfortunately, this same flexibility can afflict other religious symbols. Take, for example, the Ten Commandments—which my home state of Louisiana is now displaying in every school classroom. Most would agree that the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20 and Deuteronomy 5) are vitally important, but one wonders if the government of Louisiana is actually going to observe them or enforce them—or just put them up as a symbol. Will the state legislators stop taking the Lord’s Name in vain? Will they observe the Seventh Day Sabbath? Or, if they believe that the Biblical Sabbath has been replaced by Sunday, the Lord’s Day, will they make sure that stores and restaurants are closed so that everyone can rest? Will they refrain from committing adultery? Will they stop bearing false witness—that is, lying about political opponents? And what about coveting? Will they stop coveting the safety and freedom of those at the margins of society? In other words, does the posting of the Ten Commandments represent genuine religious aspirations—or is it merely a symbolic gesture, a case of style over substance? 

We humans have this tendency—trying to superimpose our human prejudices onto God, and it is an equal-opportunity evil, a temptation that lures and threatens every religion. There are all too many tragic examples—around the world and in history—of God being “used” to justify human opinion. 

Some may look at the panoply of conflicting religious opinions and reject the whole affair. If religions cannot agree, what good are they? I, however, look at it differently. I think of religion as a tool, and, like any tool, it can be used for good or evil. Religion is the tool with which humans approach the Divine and try to relate to it. We have, as William James puts it, an undefinable, non-empirical feeling of a Presence—an “undifferentiated sense of reality,” and religion is the human response to this Presence. We are all trying to fathom the unfathomable—to figure out Infinity. Sometimes we do better than others. 

When we can empty ourselves of ego and prejudice, we allow God to enter. When we do not—when we foist ourselves onto God, we are less than our holy potential.

Mikveh Yisrael: Our Hope in This New Land

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
To be published Sunday June 2nd 

When Mayor Ezra Nanes recently declared Jewish American Heritage Month, I was asked to accept the proclamation and make a statement. I chose to quote one of the most famous statements in American Jewish History, the letter from President George Washington to the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island. Upon his election in 1790, the congregation had congratulated him, and he responded:
“The Citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy: a policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.” 
It is a wonderful and embracing statement, but the fact that he had to say it reminds us that the acceptance of Jews in this land has not always been a foregone conclusion. 

All six Jewish communities in the new United States (New York, Newport, Savannah, Charleston, Philadelphia, and Richmond) wrote letters to Washington—perhaps to curry favor with the new ruler, and each received a similar reply. There have been for us times of great acceptance, opportunity, and good fortune, and there have been times when our people’s safety and status have been under threat. Though we live in the land of freedom, we and many others have not always enjoyed the “domestic Tranquility” and “Blessings of Liberty” that our Constitution seeks. 

When Jews first arrived in the “New” World, their feelings were probably a combination of anxiety and hope—a mixture reflected in the names they gave their congregations. Three of the earliest congregations are named Mikveh Yisrael / O Hope of Israel, words that come from Jeremiah (17.12-13). Exhorting our ancestors to trust in the Lord, the Prophet declares: “O Throne of Glory, exalted from of old, Our Sacred Shrine! O Hope of Israel! O Lord!” 

These three Mikveh Israel’s were formed in Curacao, Venezuela (1674), Savannah, Georgia (1733), and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (1740). I do not know about the state of mind of these early Jews in Curacao and Philadelphia, but I served at Mickve Israel in Savannah and had the chance to learn about their less-than-enthusiastic reception. In 1733, General James Edward Oglethorpe received a charter from King George II to establish a colony that would be a frontier barrier to Spanish encroachment from La Florida. Backed by officers and by men from debtors’ prisons, Oglethorpe set out to establish a utopia. His plan was to ban what he considered “problems:” slavery, lawyers, and Jews. However, six months after he landed, a boatload of Jews from England arrived and sought residency. Oglethorpe was adamantly opposed to their presence, but he was occupied with a crisis. A swamp fever was decimating his colony, and the only doctor had died from the illness. When he found out that one of the Jews was a physician, a Dr. Samuel Nunes, Oglethorpe said that he could disembark. Nunes countered that he would only help if all the Jews on board would be allowed admission. The General relented, and the Jewish settlers named their congregation for the tenuous hope they felt in the new land. 

In large measure, our hope has been rewarded. Our faith and institutions are strong. Our people have been free to work hard and aspire to the American Dream. And we have been constructive parts of the American process, contributing in every possible way to America’s building and improvement. We are part of the American fabric, and yet still we wonder and worry. There is much to treasure, and there is much to protect. 

Hopefully, we too can find inspiration in God’s Presence—Mikveh Yisrael—and keep alive the religious spirit that filled our ancestors. God can be with us—if we only open our hearts and minds and allow the proximity of God. As Jeremiah also says (17.8), “Blessed is one who trusts in the Lord, whose trust and faith are in God. It is like a tree planted by waters, sending forth its roots by a stream. It does not sense the coming of heat, its leaves are ever fresh; it has no care in a year of drought, it does not cease to yield fruit.” 

Angels Among Us?

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
To be published Sunday May 19, 2024, 553 words 

Though the belief in angels is quite ancient—and though angels appear many times in the Hebrew Scriptures, the New Testament, and the Koran, it does not make a lot of sense today. The ancients thought of God as a King located in one place, One Who sends out agents to do the various things that need to be done. Just as a monarch has servants or an executive has employees and assigns them various jobs, so does God send out m’lachim/angels. Though angels appear in many contexts—guarding the Garden of Eden, stopping Abraham from sacrificing Isaac, using Jacob’s Ladder to travel from Heaven to Earth, wrestling with Jacob and giving him a new name (Israel), slaying the firstborn of Egypt and passing over the houses of the Israelites, splitting the Red Sea, announcing the mysterious and holy cause of Mary’s pregnancy, and dictating the Surah portions of the Koran to Muhammed, the most illuminating example is from Chapter 6 of Isaiah where God is referred to as Adonai Tz’va’ot/The Lord of Hosts. The word hosts here does not refer to hospitality—though that might make an excellent sermon. Here the word refers to God’s army of angels: hosts and hosts of angels who are available for God’s every bidding. God gives orders, and the angels obey—while God sits on His heavenly throne and waits for their reports. 

This is the ancient understanding. However, whereas the ancients thought of God as sitting in one place, we are taught that God is omnipresent, present everywhere at the same time. As Jonah learns, there is no fleeing from the Presence of the Lord. God is in the Land of Israel, in Tarshish, in Nineveh, and in the midst of the sea. The theological insight that God is omnipresent is not a matter of God changing. Rather it is a matter of our knowledge of God developing and becoming more accurate. We now understand that God is not limited to one spot, that God is everywhere at the same time and has no need to send out agents/m’lachim/angels. God can do it personally.  

How then can we understand the notion and tradition of angels? Perhaps it is a matter of identifying part of a whole as an individual thing. We speak of wind or a storm as something separate from the atmosphere, but it is really just a manifestation of all the air around it. The same can be said about waves in the ocean. They seem individual but are really just an aspect of the water. 

So, when ancient texts speak of an angel of the Lord, perhaps a better way to understand it is that our ancient ancestors experienced the omnipresence of God in a particular way—instructing righteousness, revealing wisdom, instilling faith or courage or perception. It was still miraculous and profoundly blessed, but it was God Whom they encountered: the Infinite God focused on us in a specific matter. 

One more thing. Given that we who are created by God are also instructed and inspired to be godly, one could say that we have the ability to be manifestations or vessels of the Divine Will—to do God’s work in the world and be angels. Let us notice the angels around us, and let us strive to join God’s hosts.

On Jewish American Heritage Month

At the May 6th State College Borough Council Meeting, Mayor Ezra Nanes declared this month as Jewish American Heritage Month and presented a proclamation to local Jewish leaders. These are Rabbi Ostrich’s remarks in accepting the proclamation.

Thank you, Mayor Nanes, for this kind appreciation. 

From 1654, when the first Jews arrived in what later became the United States, our goals have been threefold. First, we came in search of a place where we could practice our ancient faith in peace. Second, we came in search of a place where we could work in our professions and trades, make a living, and raise our families in peace. Third, we came in search of a place where we could be part of society and “part of the solution” for all of humanity’s challenges. 

In large measure, we have been very successful. Our faith and institutions are strong. Our people have been free to work hard and aspire to the American Dream. And, we have been a constructive part of the American process, contributing in every possible way to America’s building and improvement. Jews have fought in every war, served in the Congress and Judiciary and diplomatic corps, and been active in movements for social justice. Jews have participated in education, science, commerce, athletics, and culture. We are part of the American fabric. 

We have been, as George Washington envisioned, good citizens. As he wrote in 1790 to the Hebrew Congregation of Newport, Rhode Island:
“The Citizens of the United States of America have a right to applaud themselves for having given to mankind examples of an enlarged and liberal policy: a policy worthy of imitation. All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of, as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.” 

This declaration from our first President established a standard for American society. Though we have fallen short too many times—with Jews among those for whom “liberty and justice for all” has not always been the case, this noble aspiration calls on us all to build the “more perfect union” our Constitution envisions. Jewish Americans are proud to be patriots and appreciate both the blessings and opportunities of this nation and this land. We remain committed to, in President Washington’s words, giving our country and our community on all occasions our effectual support.

When We Religious Get It Wrong

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published Sunday April 7, 2024 

A holy man was addressing a group of religious teenagers, but one of the young people was troubled. The teachings seemed ungodly, so he raised his hand. Where in the Scriptures is this found? It is there; it is the will of God. But where? It is there; it is the will of God. But where is it in the Scripture? There was no answer because the teaching was not in Scripture. The young man, the future Imam Abdullah Antepli, had studied the Koran and knew that this teaching was not in the Koran—neither Surah nor Hadith.  

Though set in a Muslim context, this story could have easily taken place in a Christian, or Hindu, or Buddhist, or Jewish setting—and unfortunately, it often does. Sometimes religious people think something so strongly that they think it is Scriptural when it is not. 

This is nothing new. In fact, religions around the world know about this tendency, and they all have stories reminding the pious to be humble—and not to put their thoughts into God’s mouth. Here is the way the story goes. A faithful disciple says or does something and thinks that it will please his/her master. To the disciple’s surprise, the master is disappointed and redirects the thinking to a different and more important principle. The story is ubiquitous—in Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Zen Buddhism, Confucianism, Shintoism, Christianity, Islam, Taoism, Baha’ism, and the many native religious cultures. The disciple thinks he/she knows the truth and comes to the Master—Hassidic Rebbe, Sufi Master, Mother Superior, Zen Master, etc., thinking that this truth stated or performed will bring approval. The problem is that, in the zeal of religious fervor, the disciple gets it wrong.  

In Judaism’s stories of the Baal Shem Tov, there is the case of Reb Yechiel Michel of Zlotchev who reports on a harsh punishment he has given a student for violating one of the Sabbath laws. The principle is ritual correctness, and the harsh punishment was intended to help the student remember the error of his ways. The Baal Shem Tov listens without comment and then sends Reb Yechiel Michel on a distant errand. The problem is that the errand necessitates traveling after the Sabbath begins—a sin. When he returns, Yechiel Michel is remorseful and perplexed. He has pleased his master, but he has broken the Sabbath. When he reports to the Baal Shem Tov, he expects a punishment as harsh as the one he gave his student, but the Baal Shem Tov is more interested in how he feels. This remorse, the Baal Shem Tov teaches, is punishment enough. That is how one remembers not to violate the Sabbath. The pious Reb Yechiel Michel thought he knew how to be a rebbe, but he needed correction. 

Another example is the Christian Parable of the Prodigal Son—where the good son takes the place of the disciple who gets it wrong. The older and good brother sees the evil of his younger, greedy, and wasteful brother and knows that he does not deserve blessing. The master’s role is played by the father who, while acknowledging the younger son’s misbehavior, still loves him. While righteousness and respect are clearly important, the love of the father for his errant son is more important. Though the good son (and the reader!) thinks he knows the religious answer, the human father (and Jesus!) provides correction. 

Why are such stories universal? I suspect it is because we religious types have a tendency to get carried away with our righteousness and piety—and to take them too far. We are certain we understand God’s will, but we may not be right. We “hear” the Voice of God ringing in our ears, but we may not be listening to all that the Lord has to say. Whether in ignorance or tunnel vision or active manipulation, there are those who claim to speak for God but who really speak from the evil in their hearts. As we love God and submit to the Divine, let us beware. Let us be humble. Let us listen harder.

A Non-Christian Looks at Christmas

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published December 17, 2023 

Though we Jews do not celebrate Christmas, we are, one could say, “Christmas adjacent,” aware of and drawn into the massive cultural tsunami of Christmastime. So much energy is poured into this holiday that we cannot help but be informed, entertained, and perhaps even inspired by what surrounds us.  

One lesson that strikes me is the malleability of religious holidays and symbols. Many of Christmas’ symbols have been borrowed and then transformed—embracing the many peoples and cultures that came into Christianity. Rather than a uniform and one-dimensional holiday, Christmas offers many themes to celebrate and many ways to celebrate them. 

Some Christians worry that expansiveness—and all the hoopla--weakens the spiritual message. I understand what it means when a pious Christian pleads, “Put Christ back in Christmas.” However, materialism aside, there is something beautiful about Jesus’ messages being spread far and wide. “Love your Neighbor,” “Have Compassion on the Poor,” and “Peace on Earth and Good Will to All” are just as wonderful whether presented as general principles or as quotations from a particular sage. As Episcopal Priest, Dean Edward Harrison, Jr. once explained, “Jesus would be more interested in his values being taught than in getting the credit.” (It is like this with us Jews, too. Though Jesus the Jew learned these ideas from the Torah, we are more interested in people hearing the message than in getting the credit.)  

Another friend of mine, Baptist scholar Dr. Clayton Sullivan, used to say that Christianity is the “universalization of Judaism”—that is has spread the Bible’s messages to a greater audience. One could say the same about Judaism’s other daughter/sister religion, Islam, where so many of our common values have been distributed everywhere. Could not this be a way to look at the Christmastime dynamic? Could not Christmas provide a universalization of Jesus’ professed values—spreading love and peace to those both within and without the Church? 

A second lesson comes, I am afraid to say, from recently watching a Hallmark-type Christmas movie. The drama circles around characters trying with great intensity to have a “perfect Christmas”—and then being stymied by various obstacles: family conflicts, bad weather, decoration malfunctions, and intestinal flu. Though in the inimitable Hallmark style everything turns out okay, the intense pressure that the people feel really garnered my sympathy. I began to think about all the times we try to make things perfect—parties, weddings, dinners, vacations, outfits—and how the drive for absolute perfection can sabotage a wonderful experience. Everyone wants things to go well, but, if they do not, how do we cope? And then I remembered the original Christmas story—a story burdened with many problems. Poor pregnant Mary must endure a long and bumpy donkey ride in the rainy season. Joseph does not make reservations. And there is no room at the inn. The poetically termed “manger” where they seek refuge is actually a stable with livestock—and the traditional stable odors and floor “decorations.” Something significant happens that night, but the arrangements are not great. 

The expression “there is no room at the inn” is often used to criticize a lack of compassion or charity, but what was the innkeeper to do? Should he have kicked out another paying guest? Even if he knew who Mary and Joseph were—and who was about to be born, should he have expelled another child of God? What would Jesus himself have preferred—Jesus who saw the Divine Presence in every other person? 

Perhaps the lesson of this less-than-ideal birthing experience is that holiness, love, and compassion can be found in all kinds of situations—even the ones that are not Hallmark perfect. 

I wish my Christian friends and neighbors a Merry Christmas, and I pray that the holy and good messages of the season bless you and bring light to the world.

Who Loves the Palestinians?

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published December 7, 2023 

Many words have been spoken about the Palestinians—about their safety, needs, human rights, and national aspirations, but are these words sources of light or obfuscations of reality? It might be helpful to ask this simple question: Who loves the Palestinians?

NOT HAMAS: Hamas is a terrorist organization that ruthlessly dominates Gaza. It intimidates and murders local opposition, and it diverts much needed humanitarian resources to terrorism. When in 2005, Israel left behind industrial facilities and housing that could have benefited thousands of Palestinians, Hamas destroyed them all. And Hamas launches attacks against Israel which have no chance of actually “freeing Palestine from the River to the Sea” but which are guaranteed to provoke Israeli counter attacks. Hamas then hides behind Palestinian civilians, hoping for dead bodies to use as political fodder. This is not love.

NOT THE PALESTINIAN AUTHORITY (AKA THE PLO): The corruption of the Palestine Liberation Organization is legendary—enriching the fortunes of leaders while depriving the people humanitarian resources, civil liberties, or safety. It allows terrorist gangs free reign in its territory—groups that attack Israelis and oppress Palestinians. It is a failed and abusive government.

NOT IRAN: Though the Islamic Republic sends lots of money and rhetoric to Gaza, it is to Hamas in Gaza. Rather than helping the Palestinian people in Gaza (or Syria, Lebanon, the West Bank, or Israel proper), Iran props up abusive and malevolent actors who violate Palestinian human rights and prevent any kind of progress or prosperity.

NOT EGYPT: Notice how Egypt is not letting Palestinian refugees leave Gaza. Then remember how this blockade has been in effect for years! Egypt owned Gaza from 1948 to 1967 but never allowed the Palestinians to enter and be absorbed into society. Ironically, a vast number of “Palestinians” came from Egypt as immigrants (colonists!) to Israel in the 1930s—a prime example being Yasser Arafat, the leader of the PLO.

NOT JORDAN: Though set aside in 1922 as the original Palestinian State, Jordan’s rulers have never been accepting of Palestinians. From 1948-1967, they sequestered Arab refugees in squalid internment camps in the West Bank. When some were allowed to enter after 1967, a bloody civil war erupted. Jordan does not love the Palestinians nor want more in Jordan.

NOT LEBANON: The motherland of modern Arab culture is caught between two factions—neither of which loves the Palestinians. The Hezbollah camp treats the Palestinians as pawns in their terror campaigns while traditional Lebanese society has been brutalized for decades by Palestinian terrorists. This former pearl of Arab culture and commerce has been reduced to a dysfunctional tragedy.

NOT SAUDI ARABIA: Since 1948, Saudi Arabia has given enormous financial support to Palestinian terrorists while doling out pitiful sums for humanitarian assistance. It has also refused to welcome Palestinians into their society—allowing only limited numbers willing to endure abusive domestic servitude.

NOT THE UNITED NATIONS: While presumably focusing on relief and human rights, the UN ignores the corruption and criminality of Hamas and other terrorists. UN personnel ignore terrorist activities and diversion of humanitarian funds. They fund hate-filled textbooks which prevent peace and progress—and the Two-State Solution. The UN is an enabler of the terror state that reigns in Gaza and is actively involved in making sure that Israel never has “a partner for peace.”

NOT HUMAN RIGHTS GROUPS: In traditional Arab society, most women are not free to pursue education, employment, sexual empowerment, or even personal fashion choices. Gays and Lesbians are hounded, imprisoned, raped, and even murdered. In both Gaza and the Palestinian Authority, freedom of speech and assembly are absent—as is real voting. Any dissent is met with violent repercussions. When human rights groups insist on “indigenous autonomy,” they do not secure human rights. Rather they consign Palestinian civilians to tyranny and oppression.

Ironically, the best chance for the Palestinians lies with Israel. The Arab citizens of Israel have more freedom, more prosperity, and more human rights than almost anyone in the Arab world. The continuing violence, however, creates suspicion and hate for all Arabs. It sabotages their full participation in Israeli society. It torpedoes any hope for a Palestinian State—or a unified state where Jews will be safe. By allowing and encouraging terrorism, the supposed “friends of the Palestinian people” doom them in dozens of ways. Their words of concern are hollow, and there is little real love.

As we pray for peace, let us pray for clarity, truth, and wisdom.

And Also Much Cattle!

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published October 17, 2023 

On a day when we Jews are supposed to be repenting for our own sins, we are also urged to think about the sins of others. In fact, one of the most important Yom Kippur readings is the Biblical Book of Jonah, the hope being that we can learn the lesson God tries in vain to teach the prophet. Though we are tempted to focus on the big fish that swallows Jonah and then vomits him out (my favorite verse when I was a child), the real story involves the repentance of sinful people.  

The Lord instructs Jonah to go to Nineveh, “that great city,” and tell everyone to repent. If they do not, the city will be destroyed. After the unexpected trip to the fish’s belly and after traveling to Nineveh and speaking the Lord’s message, Jonah sits on a hill, eagerly awaiting the punishment he has just prophesied. Why? Perhaps he wants to maintain his prophetic reputation. When Jonah predicts something, it happens. Or perhaps his sense of right and wrong depends on evil being punished. If he is not supposed to sin, then it is unfair when others sin and “get away with it.” In any event, as Jonah gleefully anticipates Nineveh’s destruction, something unexpected happens. The Ninevites listen to the prophecy and repent for their sins. They all (even the animals!) put on sackcloth and ashes and pray for God’s forgiveness. God sees their contrition, accepts their prayers, and forgives them all. The destruction is cancelled. 

Rather than being happy that his prophecy has been successful, Jonah is furious and throws a theological temper tantrum. Quoting Exodus 34, he rants about God being “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, and renouncing punishment,” as though it is a Divine flaw. God is disgusted with Jonah’s immaturity and callousness and sends the brutal east wind and the gourd to get him to open his moral eyes. Sadly, Jonah’s heart is closed, and finally the Lord must state aloud what Jonah and we all need to understand. God cares about sinners. As Ezekiel(18.23) explains, “Is it my desire that the wicked die?—says the Lord God. No! It is rather that they turn from their evil ways and live.” 

This Divine desire for sinners to repent is one we should keep in mind as we approach the conflict and anger that often consume our political lives. Is the goal to destroy our opponents, or is the goal to convince them that our path is the better way? Is the goal to identify our opponents as enemies and vanquish them, or is the goal to recognize them as human beings who are either incorrect or have different opinions? In the ongoing Civil Rights Movement, the goal has not been to destroy the racists; it has been to show them that people of color are human beings who deserve respect and rights. In the ongoing fight against anti-Semitism, the goal has not been to destroy those with prejudice and hatred but to guide them to wiser and more respectful thinking. Perhaps we can think about this Divine compassion when a public figure is caught saying or doing something inappropriate—often in the distant past. Should we smear and vilify the individual and expel them from the body politic, or should the goal be to ascertain their current understanding and guide them to a more perfect appreciation of humanity in all its diversity? Paraphrasing Ezekiel, should our goal be the political or professional death of sinners, or should it be that they repent, turn from their ignorant or prejudiced path, and strive for godliness?  

As the Talmudic Sage Beruriah counsels, we should not pray “for an end to sinners. We should pray for an end to their sins,”—for them to be “wicked no more.” This is what God wants. It should be what we want, too.

God and Change and Us

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published July 2, 2023

Whether God commands us or circumstances urge us, change can be very difficult. We have patterns in our lives that—be they good or bad—hold us in a kind of psychological and societal inertia that keeps us plodding down the same path. When a different path is suggested, do we respond enthusiastically, or do we hesitate?

The Bible provides us several stories in which the Lord’s commands about change are greeted with different human responses—sometimes obedient and other times resistant. Two Torah portions stand out to me—perhaps because they have similar sounding names. In Shelach Lecha (Numbers 13-15), God tells Moses to shelach lecha / send forth scouts to reconnoiter the Promised Land. In Lech Lecha (Genesis 12-17), God instructs Abram and Sarai to lech lecha / go forth from Haran to Canaan.

In Shelach Lecha, God says to Moses, “Send forth men to scout the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the Israelite people; send one man from each of their ancestral tribes, each one a chieftain among them.” (Numbers 13.1) The twelve men selected go forth on their mission, but, when they return, only two of the scouts, Joshua and Caleb, are enthusiastic: “Let us by all means go up, and we shall surely conquer the land.” (13.30) The other ten scouts are pessimistic and “spread calumnies among the Israelites about the land they had scouted, saying, ‘The county that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers.’” (13.32) The people believe the pessimistic ten and reject God’s mission.

Things go very differently in Lech Lecha when God tells Abram and Sarai, “Lech lecha / Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12.1) There is no discussion analysis or negotiating. They just do as God commands and “go forth.”

Why does one sending-forth work and the other fail—and how might the differences be instructive in our own struggles with change?

Perhaps the problem is in bringing the people into the discussion. Abram and Sarah are not asked to scout the land and then move there. They are just told to go. In Numbers, however, the scouts report their opinions to the whole Israelite people, and a discussion ensues. The conversation turns into a debate, and then cynicism and anxiety seize the day. Democracy is important, but unguided and unmanaged discussions can go awry and derail constructive thinking.

Another possible explanation is the psychological state of the people being commanded. Abram and Sarai are full of faith and ready for adventure, but the Israelites in the desert are still so traumatized by slavery—“their spirits crushed by the cruel bondage” (Exodus 6.9)—that embarking on God’s conquest is just too much. When we want change, how much is practical and reasonable for the people involved?

Or the different results could be a matter of the difference between the two missions. Abram and Sarai are just asked to dwell in the land (alongside the other inhabitants), while the Israelites are asked to conquer the Land and its fearsome peoples. Some jobs or changes are harder than others.

We usually hold up Abram and Sarai as the ideal receivers of God’s instructions, and they are. However, perhaps the story in Numbers represents a learning curve for the Lord: dealing with humans requires understanding, patience, and grace.

Va'ani Tefilati: May I Be My Prayer

Rabbi David E. Ostrich, Congregation Brit Shalom
Clergy Column for The Centre Daily Times
Published April 17, 2003  

With what do we come before the Lord? What does God want from us? 

From ancient days until the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, the Hebrew/Israelite/Jewish answer was “with sacrificial offerings.” Our people would prepare meat, grain, and oil into sacred meals and then eat them in honor of God and share them with the Priests. Whether in tribal gatherings or in the Temple of the Lord in Jerusalem, sacrificial worship brought us close to the Lord. 

After the Temple was destroyed by the Romans, the new situation necessitated a new form of worship. Following the basic pattern of the sacrificial worship service, the Rabbis developed a prayer service in which a main prayer takes the place of the sacrifice. This main prayer is now known as the Amidah, the standing prayer, with nineteen blessings on weekdays and seven blessings on Shabbat. As scholars of the Torah, the Rabbis also included a section of Torah study. And so, for almost 2000 years, we have come before the Lord with prayer and with study. 

Through the years, however, many thinkers have expanded the discussion beyond the form of the worship service. The Hebrew Prophets of the Bible insisted that ritual alone is not enough for God—that the Lord also demands righteousness and morality. As the Prophet Amos proclaims, ritual propriety mixed with societal dishonesty disgusts our Lord: “Spare me the sound of your hymns, and let Me not hear the music of your lutes, but let justice well up like water, righteousness like a mighty stream.” (Amos 5.23-24) When the Prophet Micah summarizes what is most important to God, ritual is merely an implication of a relationship with God: “It has been told you, O Human, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice, to love goodness, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6.8) Rituals are only acceptable if the worshippers behave righteously in their daily lives. 

There is also what we could call a pietistic theme in many spiritual texts: ritual forms need to be filled with sincerity and respect. As David prays in Psalm 19.15, “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.” If we want our prayers to be l’ratzon, acceptable, how do we make them so? The basic answer is that we must pray with kavannah, with spiritual focus. In Psalm 51.17, we even pray to be able to pray: “Eternal God, open my lips that my mouth may declare Your glory.” 

There is also the necessity of humility. “You do not want me to bring sacrifices; You do not desire burnt offerings. True sacrifice to God is a contrite spirit; O God, You will not despise a contrite and crushed heart.” (Psalm 51.18-19)  

Or, as the author of the 12th Century Hymn of Unity elaborates: “What have I asked, and what have I sought, but that you revere Me? To serve with joy and a good heart; behold, to hearken is better than sacrifice, and a broken heart than a whole offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit. I will build an altar of the broken fragments of my heart, and will bow my spirit within me. My broken spirit—that is Your sacrifice; let it be acceptable upon Your altar. I will proclaim aloud Your praise; I will declare all Your wonders. 

Or, as the Baal Shem Tov explains, “There is no room for God in those who are full of themselves.”  

I believe that religious ritual is important, but, above and beyond the ritual details is the human aspiration to lift ourselves into God’s Presence and be accepted and loved. Our long tradition of prayers and rituals represents our intense and deep desire to live in a positive and loving relationship with Divine. With what do we come before the Lord? With ourselves—our deepest and most sincere selves. As the Psalmist says, “Va’ani tefilati…/May I be my prayer…” (Psalm 69.14)

Let Us Not Lose Hope

A short supply of historical knowledge can be a real problem—skewing our thinking and bringing about needless despondency. An example is the recent and persistent chorus that “things are worse than they used to be.”

There is no doubt that we face real challenges and dangers, but it does not take a lot of historical knowledge to realize that humanity has been facing these kinds of difficulties for a long, long time. Take the Hebrews’ experience in ancient Egypt. After having been welcomed into Egypt by Pharaoh and having lived there tranquilly for centuries, “a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph” (Exodus 1.8), and their good life turned into the nightmare of slavery.

We Jews have been oppressed by many hateful powers: Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Seleucids, Romans, Crusaders, Inquisitors, Cossacks, Nazis, Soviets, and terrorists. But we have not been alone in our victimization. Intolerance and violence have afflicted many, many religious and ethnic groups throughout history.

In recent years, many of us have learned about the shameful history of race massacres in early 20th Century America. The destruction of Tulsa’s “Black Wall Street” is just one example of mobs attacking Black neighborhoods and bringing hate, destruction, and death. Such terrible incidents are reminiscent of pogroms against Jews in Russia, the Turkish genocide against the Armenians, the Japanese “Rape” of Nanking, Idi Amin’s massacres of Ugandan Christians, and Myanmar’s Buddhist massacres of the Rohingya Muslims.

However, we should note that, in 2020 America, the large-scale protests at the public murder of George Floyd were not met by White pogroms against Black neighborhoods. The response was remarkably different from what it would have been in 1920. As despicable as it is to gerrymander and decrease the political power of minority groups, people of color in the United States can vote and hold office. As obnoxious as it is to prohibit volunteers from bringing water to voters in long Georgia lines, those sweaty citizens can vote. There are real problems in our democracy, and we have a lot of improving to do, but anyone who says that “nothing has changed” or that “things are worse” is not paying attention.

The same can be said for political divisions and political anger. Think back to the draft riots during the Civil War. Idealists in the North believed that the Southern insurgency needed to be stopped, but many of the draftees did not want to fight the war. Of course, the Civil War is itself an example of terrible conflict within our country. Jumping forward, do not forget the violence of the early labor movement, or Depression Era demagogues like Huey P. Long, Theodore Bilbo, and Father Charles Coughlin, or Senator Joe McCarthy’s “anti-Communist” crusade, or the Civil Rights or anti-War movements. Political fury is not a new historical phenomenon.

We humans have been fighting for fairness and tolerance for a long, long time, and, though the challenges continue, we should realize that we have had some noticeable successes. While there is something in the human heart tempted by the Sitra Achra /  the Dark or Impure Side, there is also something in the human heart which inclines to the Sitra d’Kedushah / the Side of Holiness and Good. Temptation tempts, our wills are weak, and thus the struggle for goodness and justice continues to be necessary. The Bible’s “Golden Rule” (Leviticus 19.18) and the similar teachings in religions all over the world were not given out of context. “Love your neighbor as yourself” is in the Bible because we need the reminder.

The message of the Exodus story is particularly relevant. People will do evil, but God does not approve. In fact, God works through both miracles and human angels to make things right. God is the power through which humans understand goodness, fairness, and peace—and through which we work to achieve these blessed states. I believe that we can face the dangers and tragedies of our time without losing hope. Evil and injustices are real, but God is with us in our struggles, and we can be angels.

Good or Evil: What are We?

Are we basically good—or basically evil? It is an ancient argument, and, according to the Torah, even God is of two minds on the subject. In Genesis 1, God looks at all that has been created—including humans—and gives the seal of Divine approval. “And God saw everything that had been made, and behold, it was very good.” One could also cite the earlier verse, “And God created the human being b’tzelem Elohim / in the image of God.” If we are created in the image of God, then we must have Divine Goodness at our cores. However, in Genesis 8, after the debacle of human society that ends in the Great Flood, God reflects on human nature and sighs to Noah: “The devising of the human heart is evil from childhood on.”

The ancient Rabbis see these opposing Divine opinions as clues about the duality of human nature: we have good inside, but we also have the capacity to do evil. They call our innate godliness Yetzer Tov, the Good Inclination, and they call that part of us which wants to make bad decisions Yetzer HaRa, the Evil Inclination. The two are constantly vying for our attention and acquiescence, and our challenge is to encourage our Good Inclination and to subdue or redirect our Evil Inclination. It is a daily endeavor.

Religion and systems of morality offer assistance for this work, teaching us how to focus on good deeds and resist evil. And, religions offer various remedies for those times when we succumb to evil. In Judaism, this is the message of our holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As the Prophet Ezekiel (18.23) reminds us, “God is slow to anger, ready to forgive. It is not the death of sinners God seeks, but that they should turn from their ways and live.” It is not a matter of being innately good or bad; the challenge for human beings involves making good choices—and repenting when we go wrong.

This old discussion recently popped up in a new MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe) TV show. Ms. Marvel tells the story of Kamala Khan, a teenage Muslim girl who lives in Jersey City—and who has just gained superpowers. She and her family are very Muslim and very American, and the show presents a sympathetic and normalized vision of the Muslim American experience. Among the characters in the story is the local Imam, Sheikh Abdullah, a friendly, calm, and wise presence in the lives of his congregants. At one juncture, Kamala is struggling with her abilities, her mission, and whether she is good at heart. She presents her quandary to Sheikh Abdullah, and he gives her this answer: “Good is not what you are. Good is what you do.”

It is a great proverb—and one that I immediately knew I had to preach. However, I was hoping that it had a more glorious origin than a television screenplay—perhaps a Sufi master or a Zen Monk or a Native American Shaman. So, I looked it up and was immediately disappointed. According to the Internet, it comes from The Twilight Series—the one about vampires and werewolves and humans all falling in love with each other—by author Stephenie Meyer. Another internet search brought me back to the original Ms. Marvel comic book and its author, G. Willow Wilson. Ms. Wilson is a Muslim American writer and attributes this wonderful proverb—Good is not what you are; good is what you do— to an unspecified Koranic source she heard from her father.

 My search also found a number of similar kinds of quotations—from a variety of sages both ancient and modern, and I gave thanks that God’s wisdom makes its way to humans in many ways—different languages, different religions, and different stories. Why would not God share this wonderful insight with many people? We are created with great potential—with the ability to choose between good and evil. As Sheikh Abdullah counsels, “Good is not what you are; good is what you do.”

The Problem with “Christian Nationalism" (A CDT Guest Editorial)

Every once in a while, we hear about some of our fellow citizens pursuing “Christian
Nationalism.” I can see how the term might be appealing. For those who believe in Jesus’
message, putting those teachings into practice seems a noble aspiration. However, there are some problems beneath the label of this political strategy, and it may be helpful to consider them.

As a non-Christian, I must admit that my first thought is about the many American citizens who are also not Christian. Our nation has millions of God-fearing and pious people who practice religions other than Christianity. Add to them the millions of good and patriotic people who are not religious at all. “Christian Nationalism” leaves out lots of us, but this is not my main point.

My main observation—as an outsider looking in—is that Christianity is a vast and rich religious civilization with many different opinions as to what God wants people to believe and do. Anyone who does not see the great diversity within Christianity needs to take a closer look.

Consider the millions of Americans who regard themselves Christian but who are excluded from this category by other Christians. Are Roman Catholics Christians? What about the various Protestant denominations, or the Latter-Day Saints (Mormons)? Many groups consider themselves “Christian” but are excluded from that category by other groups based on theological and ecclesiastical factors. Just which Christians do Christian Nationalists include?

This is not a new situation. Remember Quakers like William Penn whose “Christianity” was so “deviant” that they fled England for the safer shores of Pennsylvania. Remember how Rhode Island was founded by Baptists who fled the religious persecution perpetrated by other Christians in Massachusetts. And remember Thomas Jefferson’s famous 1802 letter declaring the “wall of separation between Church and State.” The issue was not that non-Christians were worried about America becoming a “Christian nation.” No. The issue was that Baptists in Danbury, Connecticut were unhappy with other Christian denominations imposing their religious doctrines on state law.

The fact is that there are lots of different opinions among Christians as to what is right and true—and all these positions can be backed up with Biblical interpretations. Many Christians are opposed to the Death Penalty, while many others support it. Many Christians tend to pacifist positions, while others see militarism as important. Many Christians believe that Jesus’ teachings about charity should be expressed in government programs, while others believe that charity should be a private sector affair. There are different positions taken by Christians on all sorts of public policy issues. What, one could ask, is the “Christian” position on funding for state universities, or subsidies for the Johnstown Airport, or voting by mail, or the route for the new four-lane portion of Highway 322?

Back around 1980, Reverend Jerry Falwell got a lot of attention for his version of Christian Nationalism which he called the “Moral Majority.” He stood on five main goals/planks. He opposed abortion, homosexuality, and pornography, and he supported the B-1 Bomber and the Abrams Tank. Though the first three issues can reasonably be addressed in religious circles, Ialways found it incredible that Reverend Falwell somehow thought that particular weapon-systems were Biblically based. While one can clearly make a Biblical case for defense, why would one airplane design be more Biblical than another? Though his movement started off with lots of fanfare and energy, the publication of these specific goals signaled the beginning of it demise. It is one thing to declare that Christianity is important, but many of the specific decisions of government are not amenable to Biblical proof texts.

Christian Nationalism’s main flaw is that it assumes a consensus—a generic “Christianity”—upon which “all” agree. This is simply not the case, and any government devoted to “Christian Nationalism” will inevitably surprise and disappoint lots and lots of Christians.

The Righteous Rejoice With The Lord?

In Psalm 31, we have what seems to be a rather obvious idea: “The righteous rejoice with the Lord; it is fitting for the upright to praise God.” Of course! Who else but the righteous would be joining in God’s praises? Those of us who are motivated to be religious respond to God’s presence with singing and praising and all kinds of prayer.

The idea can go further, however, and the ancient Rabbis add a commentary to our worship service: “By the mouths of the upright are You acclaimed. By the words of the righteous are You praised. By the tongue of the faithful are You exalted. In the midst of the holy are You made holy.” If there are no upright and righteous people, they seem to suggest, then God cannot be properly praised. Despite the praise from the angels in heaven, human praise from righteous people is more important. We who aspire to be pious have a special responsibility to be righteous as well.

The issue here is God’s reputation—an idea expressed in the Aramaic term, Sh’may d’Kud’sha. The literal meaning is “God’s Holy Name,” but it also speaks of the way God is presented and perceived in the world. It some ways, it reflects a particular Divine vulnerability. God’s power and reputation are dependent on the behavior of God’s people. It is nice to declare our faith in God or to have a religious experience, but neither is complete unless we actually behave in godly ways. Praising God is fine, but praise from the righteous is what really counts. Sanctifying God is lovely, but only one who behaves in a holy manner can show the world that God’s ways are worth adopting. We who aspire to be pious have a special responsibility to be righteous as well.

This is not merely a Jewish conversation. For almost two thousand years, Christians have debated whether Faith or Deeds is more important. There are proof texts on both sides of the argument, but the resolution is the same as what the Rabbis teach. One who truly believes in God will behave in a godly manner. Or, as it was explained to me by Episcopalian Bishop Charles Duvall, “True Christian faith will be manifested in Christ-like behavior.”

This conversation is also integral to Islam. In the Koran, one of the most common phrases (more than forty times) is that the righteous should both “have faith and do good works.” As the late Iman Sohaib N. Sultan writes, “The two seem quite inseparable. Good works are a natural manifestation of belief, and good works are what support and sustain faith.” In the Islamic version of The Golden Rule, the Prophet Muhammad says: “None of you believe until you love for your brother what you love for yourself.”

Faith and righteousness should not be seen as a dichotomy. They go hand in hand—and are prized by the Most High.

 As the world begins the New Year of 5783, may we all work on our godliness, being both faithful and righteous. Thus can we write for ourselves a Good Year in the Book of Life.

Who Will Welcome the Stranger?

In a back bedroom of the house where I grew up, the previous owners had glued to the wall a large, detailed map of coastal Southeast Louisiana, dated 1931. I loved to study the map to learn the names of all of the lakes, islands and bayous south of my home in New Orleans. Places of beauty and rich aquatic life, many were named by French or Creole settlers, or indigenous  peoples who have lived and fished there over the centuries. I was sad a few years ago when my mother had the room repainted and the map was stripped away. Tragically, the same thing has happened to much of the land it depicted. Over 2000 square miles has been stripped away by coastal erosion and sea level rise due to warming oceans. What was once named is now gone.

In Central Pennsylvania, with more subtle effects of climate change, we may not feel overly concerned by environmental crises, but if we’ve learned anything thing at all during the pandemic, it is how completely connected we all are. If something’s happening over there, it’s going to happen here, too. If there’s a disaster brewing in some faraway place, it’s going to have an impact on us, too.

One thing happening more and more is that people are moving away from hazardous areas which have been destroyed by wildfires in California or coastal flooding in the South, not to mention vulnerable areas throughout the world. People are moving. Many more will follow. Estimates place their numbers in the hundreds of millions by the middle of this century. A question that will become increasingly urgent is “where will all of these people go?” 

Just as is the case with people in Ukraine or other war-torn places of the world, people fleeing climate disasters do not want to abandon the homes they love, but the dangers they face give them no other choice. The Rev. Bati Kirata, a close friend of mine, lives in the Republic of Kiribati in the Central Pacific. His homeland is made up entirely of low lying, climate sensitive coral atolls. He told me, “We do not want to be refugees; we want to be productive citizens wherever we go.” And that day will come, when it is time for his grandchildren or perhaps even his children, to leave their home.

Migration is as old as human history. We find the stories in the Bible and the Quran.  Abram, an important figure for Christians, Jews, and Muslims, moves from his former home in Ur, then to Haran, and later to the land of Canaan. His descendant Joseph leads his family from Canaan to Egypt because of crop failure and widespread famine. A later generation will wander in the wilderness until God ushers them into a new land.

The Jewish people hold onto this memory of being without a home, forced to be on the move. Jewish law commands, “You shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” Jesus reminds Christians of this same obligation when he describes how the righteous will inherit the kingdom. “I was a stranger,” he said, “and you welcomed me.” 

People of good will and people of faith would do well to ask, “Are we ready to welcome the strangers, accept them, and help them find a place?  Can we offer not simply charity for refugees but allow them the dignity of participating in and contributing to our common good?”  These are not easy questions to answer. After all, immigration and migration are perhaps the most conflicted political challenges of our era. Nevertheless, it’s time to ask the questions, because so much is at stake for them, and for us all.

Let US Make the Human in OUR Image

When we look to the Bible for insights into our nature and purpose, we have an early and mysterious hint. In Genesis 1.26, God addresses an unidentified audience and says, “Let US make the human in OUR image.” To whom is God speaking?

God could be speaking to the animals (who were just recently created). The human will be a combination of godly and animal qualities—hence the words “us” and “our.” As we go through our lives, we feel the presence of both tendencies. We must attend to our physical realities, as well as our inclination for altruism, kindness, and holiness.

Another possibility is that God is speaking to the angels. Though we think of God as omnipresent—being everywhere at the same time, the ancients thought of God as a monarch residing in Heaven. To get things done in the world, God sends out agents or servants—called, in Hebrew, mal’achim. These angels are God’s representatives and workers in the world, and the Biblical interpretation suggests that we humans are created with some of their characteristics. Perhaps, this is why we innately feel the desire to do good.

Our Christian friends look at the passage, “Let us make the human in our image,” as a clear indication of Jesus’ presence at the right hand of God. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are all together and discussing the creation of this new and very important creature.

Another perhaps even more profound interpretation comes from the Midrash. In Genesis Rabbah, a collection of Rabbinic teachings from 300-500 CE, we find this curious identification of God’s audience: “God was speaking to the Torah. God consulted the Torah as a builder consults a blueprint.” While we usually think of the Torah as the Five Books of Moses (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy), this analogy speaks of Torah in a more expansive sense. More than a collection of stories and laws, more than God’s rules for society and religion, it is the textual idealization of life and existence.

So often, we think of rules as restrictions or requirements superimposed upon our free lives by those in authority: parents, bosses, governmental authorities, God. Why cannot they just leave us alone?! However, if we are created from the “design specifications” in the Torah—from the idealized/Divine image we were designed to be, then the Scriptures are not God telling us what to do, but rather God informing us of ways we can live better.

A more modern analogy would be the Owner’s Manual for a car. When Honda tells me that my car works better on eighty-seven octane gas, it is not an authoritarian power play. Rather, it is advice about how to keep my car running well. I am free to put ninety-three octane gas or even orange juice in my gas tank, but Honda is advising me that my car will work better with the recommended fuel.

 Likewise, the many rules of Torah are what amounts to an Owner’s Manual for human life. We are created from Torah wisdom, and we run better when we follow those patterns. God’s word is not an authoritarian and artificial imposition; it is advice about our natural and best mode of operation.

God Consciousness

In Genesis 28, we read about a very interesting vision that the Patriarch Jacob dreams while camping out on the road to Haran. “He had a dream; a stairway was set on the ground and its top reached to the sky, and angels of God were going up and down on it.”  God is there, too. As Jacob explains, “Surely the Lord is present in this place, and I, I did not know it…How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and that is the gateway to heaven!” (Genesis 28.16-17)

The Hebrew, however, is a little ambiguous about God’s exact position. The text says that God is standing alav, but the Hebrew word alav can mean either on top of or next to. Is God standing next to Jacob, or is God standing on top of Jacob?

A similar but slightly amusing question comes when this same word, alav, is used in the Talmudic instructions for Gerut/Conversion. The officiant is instructed to be in the mikvah (ritual bath) and stand alav the convert. Does this mean that the officiating Rabbi should be standing on the Convert’s back, holding him down in the water? Certainly not! Water safety and prudence suggest that the Talmud means standing next to. This is also probably the meaning of the Biblical narrator—which is why the modern Jewish Publication Society translation renders the phrase as, “The Lord was standing beside him.” Nonetheless, the thought that God is literally on top of Jacob can be psychologically and spiritually instructive.

When someone is on a task, he/she is focused on it. When someone feels that another is on him/her, there is a feeling of attention being paid. Whether for good (protection) or for bad (waiting for a misstep), the consciousness of being watched can be palpable. It is like the old country expression, like white on rice, suggesting a presence that is much more than coverage. The observer’s presence is so on top of someone that it becomes part of the observed’s identity.

If we read the passage literally—that God is on Jacob—like white on rice, perhaps this could be a way of describing what some modern mystics call God Consciousness—an attitude in which one is intently and continually aware of God’s Presence and attention. Christians hear this way of thinking in the 1905 hymn, “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” Combining thoughts from Psalm 32.8 and Matthew (6.26 and 10.29-31), Civilla D. Martin and Charles H. Gabriel wrote a beautiful expression of God’s intense and continuing interest in each creature. “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

Moving a few centuries back in time, we can find a similar sensibility in the thinking and practice of Jewish Mysticism. In order to develop an awareness of God’s Presence, the Kabbalists developed many techniques—once of which is meditating on the “Shiviti,” a spiritual formulation that begins with “Shiviti Adonai l’negdi tamid / I have set the Lord always before me,” from Psalm 16.8. Whatever life brings, let me look for God’s Presence and God’s possibilities because God is always here. Whether experiencing a blessing or facing a difficulty, how can I make sure that my vision includes the Divine? When we live with God Consciousness, our goal is to find a reaction or response that incorporates an awareness of God—God who is here and with me and paying attention! As our father Jacob learned, “God is in this place…and on us.”