Sometimes the etymology of words can reveal tremendous depth and meaning. Such is the case when we examine the deeper meaning behind the commonly used expression, “Thanks for your generosity.”

The word thank is related phonetically to think just as the word song is related to sing. This etymological insight helps us to understand that feelings of gratitude have long been linked to human thought.  When we receive a gift from someone, we tend to think of them in an elevated way, and this cognitive shift is directly imbedded in the way in which we express gratitude.  When we say, “Thank you,” we are essentially saying, “This gift makes me think of you.”

The origins of the word generosity are insightful as well. Rooted in the Latin word for “of noble birth,” expressions of generosity emerge from an honorable place in the human soul. Thus, when we say, “Thank you for your generosity,” we are essentially saying, “This noble offering from the depths of your soul makes me think of you.”

In April, each member of our congregation received a letter expressing a financial shortfall for this fiscal year.  The letter explained that due to a number of factors our expenses were likely going to exceed our revenue.  This letter also made a plea for financial assistance in addressing this budgetary challenge, and our membership rose to the occasion.

It is with tremendous gratitude and joy that we can report that through acts of your generosity (gifts from your soul), the financial concerns have been alleviated.  Thank you!

As we consider the response to this letter, it is important to know that the generous support was not from just a few people — we had 40 gifts and 13 increases in dues.  These numbers are significant.  They demonstrate that the health and future of a community is a collective endeavor.

Our sages taught, “Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh Ba’Zeh – The entire community of Israel is responsible for one another.”  This statement stresses the idea that Jews in general and our congregational family in particular share a common destiny, and we need each other to achieve it. Your responses to the pleas of our community are a profound demonstration of this long standing Jewish value.

Indeed, whenever we gather to worship, celebrate, learn, mourn and serve, we take these ancient words to heart.  We are all in this together.  We are all responsible for our collective destiny.  We share a responsibility to the youngest through the oldest members of our community, and like a big family, we seek to provide for the present as we ensure stability for the future.  For all this and so much more, “Thank you for your generosity.”

At the end of every Jewish worship service, our concluding prayers include the Adoration or Aleinu, which contains a powerful statement regarding the human partnership with God in the establishment of a perfect world to come.  This messianic hope states that it is our responsibility to “perfect the world under the sovereignty of God.” In Hebrew, the phrase “to perfect the world” is “tikkun olam.”

While there may be many ways to interpret this eternal mission and many pathways to its realization, this article entitled, A Tale of Two Mitzvahs, will focus on two specific commandments and two remarkable members of our congregation who have employed them to perfect the world in which we live.  Each of these commandments is part of the Holiness Codes which are read from the Torah on Yom Kippur afternoon.  They come from the Book of Leviticus and shape our understanding of morality.

You shall not insult the deaf nor place a stumbling block before the blind. (Lev. 19:14)

You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor. (Lev. 19:16)

The ethics embodied by the first of these commandments helps define human decency. The second of these commandments demands accountability.  Both constitute the framework for my Tale of Two Mitzvahs.

When Mort Fefer started recording books for the blind, he did so because it combined his deep love of math and science, his innate passion for teaching and his boundless desire to help others.  In his heart, he knew that blindness should not be an impediment to learning mathematics and chemistry.  So he took it upon himself to remove that stumbling block by recording audio versions of math and chemistry books for blind students.

Mort’s work was more than a labor of love. It was a mitzvah.  Try to imagine how complicated it would be to describe the abstract concepts found in Geometry, Calculus or Chemistry without the use of visuals.  How does one describe a shape to someone who has never seen a circle or a triangle? Yet, this is exactly what Mort did, and in doing so, he took to heart the Torah’s commandment regarding placing a stumbling block before the blind.

Whenever we proactively involve ourselves in repairing the world (tikun olam), we embrace the spirit of the second commandment mentioned above as well, for whenever we actively address an injustice, we make a conscious decision to “not stand idly by.” In Judaism, a bystander has a moral obligation to rescue someone who is in peril. This religious obligation has parameters, but it is understood to be an ethical and legal responsibility to extend ourselves, in whatever way we can, when a fellow human is in danger.

For years, Joel Androphy (a prominent Houston defense attorney) witnessed countless court cases where inadequate legal representation led to overly harsh and often unfair punishments to African American men who could not afford to pay for decent legal counsel.  On Yom Kippur afternoon in 2016, Joel had an epiphany.  During the afternoon service, Pastor Harvey Clemons Jr (a Baptist minister in Houston’s Fifth Ward) delivered a profoundly moving sermon on the Prophet Isaiah.  In it, Pastor Clemons challenged our community to find ways to move the prayers of our hearts into positive transformation in the world.

Upon hearing the Pastor’s plea, Joel refused to stand on the sidelines. He could not stand idly by while economic injustices were unfolding around him, so he immediately set up a program in conjunction with Pastor Clemons to provide top quality, pro bono legal services to young men who needed it.  This program came with one stipulation for those men who chose to work with Joel. This stipulation required these young men to give their time and energy to the church in exchange for legal counsel. In just two years, the program had become so successful that it was awarded the 2018 Harris County Bench Bar Pro Bono Award by the Houston Bar Association and the Harris County judiciary.

The commandments against “standing idly by” and “placing a stumbling block before the blind” might be considered to be among Judaism’s most important directives for human decency in the world.  Each definitively states that it is an admonition to take advantage of others and calls upon us to take action demanding that society and people do everything possible to help the weak, the vulnerable and the helpless. May we find guidance in these commandments and inspiration from Mort and Joel who help us see how to translate them into our lives.

 

My family (on my mother’s side) came from Hungary.  Some have attributed my love of food from this family lineage.  Others have said it is the source of my short temper.  Regardless of what character traits may have found their way into my personality from my Hungarian heritage, this lineage continues to be a source of great pride for my family, and whenever we meet Hungarian Jews long discussions about pastry and goulash are sure to follow.

The Jewish presence in the region now known as Hungary is very old.  Like the Jews of most parts of the diaspora, early Jewish communities in Hungary were the result of the destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans.  Some sources suggest that several communities within the early Hungarian tribes practiced Jewish religion.

These early Jewish communities began to blossom during the second half of the 11th century due to large numbers of immigrants from Germany, Bohemia and Moravia. These Jews settled in the towns of Buda, Esztergom, Sopron, Tata and Old Buda. While life may have been better for Hungarian Jews than in other parts of Europe, restrictions were placed on Jews by Christian clergy and institutions which shaped the community in very specific ways.  In 1092, the Church forbade Jews from intermarrying Christians, working on Sundays and Christian holidays and purchasing slaves. Despite these prohibitions, Hungary served as a haven, and by the end of the 11th century, life for the Jews of Hungary was relatively good.

During the 12th century, Jews came to hold positions of leadership in many economic institutions. These positions elevated the Jewish community in Hungarian society.  During this period, Jews were afforded many legal rights which they did not have elsewhere in Europe, and they were welcomed and supported by the king.  Yet, despite this support from the throne, the Jewish population suffered from many anti-Jewish policies from the church and the nobility. In these anti-Jewish circles, Jews were banned from holding particular offices in the government, prohibited from leasing land and were forced to wear badges. Luckily, many of these anti-Jewish measures were not carried out because of the king’s objections.

For centuries life for Hungarian Jews shifted from acceptance to rejection depending on who was in power.  In the 1300’s, Jews were blamed for the Black Death and expelled from Hungary, but returned in great numbers a century later. These tensions existed for generations, but by the First World War, the Jews of Hungary were fairly well integrated into Hungarian society.  By the early 20th century, the community had grown to constitute 5% of Hungary’s total population and 23% of the population of the capital, Budapest. Jews became prominent in science, the arts and business.

With the rise of nationalism in Europe, Anti-Jewish policies grew more repressive. Hungary’s decision to align itself with the governments of Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, became a death blow to the Jewish community in Hungary. It was during this period that my family, like so many others, found its way to the United States.  Sadly, most of the Jews who remained in Hungary after 1938 were murdered.

The heritage of Hungarian Jewry is long and beautiful, and those who share these ethnic roots find kinship whenever they meet.  Among the many Hungarian Jews I have met in Houston, the most famous is Ziggy Gruber of Kenny and Ziggy’s Deli.  Ziggy will be our guest “rabbi” once again at our Fourth Annual Deli Shabbos (see details below).  We hope you can join us for a fabulous culinary and spiritual exploration into the world of Hungarian Jewry.

This year, Purim and Passover both fall in the month of March, which invites a rare opportunity to discuss these holidays together in the same bulletin article. It is interesting to note that the proximity of these holidays on the Jewish calendar was very deliberate from the start. Amidst a long discussion concerning the celebration of Purim, the Talmud argues (Megillah 6b) that it is preferable to juxtapose the redemption story found in the Book of Esther with the redemption story found in of the Book of Exodus.

In other words, our sages sought to conceptually link the Exodus of the Jewish people from Egypt and the salvation of the Jewish people from the genocidal designs of Haman by placing the celebrations of each of these events in close proximity on the Jewish calendar.  Knowing what we know about each of these biblical stories and how we celebrate them, it would be natural to question why the sages structured the calendar to ensure such proximity.

As we consider Passover and Purim, the mood and celebration of each could not be more different.   Passover is a Torah-based holiday whose fundamental observances are rooted in Torah law; Purim is a rabbinic holiday whose laws and customs are grounded in the rabbinic tradition. Passover is a week-long festival that demands tremendous preparation and an ongoing focus on the meaning and value of the themes of the season; Purim is a single day of fun and folly.

Theologically, these two holidays present us with very different messages as well. God is ever-present in the story of the Exodus, while the Book of Esther is the only book in the entire Bible that does mention God at all.  Furthermore, each story presents a very different kind of path to redemption. The redemption celebrated on Passover is completely passive, as the miracles of the burning bush, the ten plagues, and the splitting of the sea constitute the primary forces that lead to our salvation as a people.

In stark contrast, the redemption which takes place in the story of Purim is a human endeavor led by Esther and Mordechai, who take full control of their own destiny and the destiny of the Jewish people. In this less “mythical” version of salvation, Esther and Mordechai utilized their wisdom, ingenuity and knowledge of human nature to shape the outcome of Jewish history.

Thus, in their narrative recounting and ritual observances, Passover and Purim reflect two very different models of salvation.  One comes from a power beyond us.  The other comes from a power within us.

Both of these concepts of salvation and redemption are core to who are as Jews. Each provides a model for faith and action and leads to the sense of renewal associated with the coming of spring.

 

Over the years, HCRJ has had numerous congregational fundraisers. This year, our ONLY annual fundraiser will be a golf tournament. We know that not everyone golfs, and we know that not everyone who golfs will be able to participate in the event, but we also know that dues alone do not pay for everything we do. We need the help of everyone this year. In other words…Not a golfer? We need your help…From volunteering, to joining us for lunch, or making a financial contribution to our fundraiser, there are many ways to support this event. We are currently $17,000 away from reaching our fundraising goal of
$40,000. Your support is crucial in helping us achieve this.

For young children, one of the favorite shared spaces to play has always been the sandbox. In the sandbox as boys and girls play together, all are equal in the process of digging holes and making piles. There is no judgment, no competition and no gender bias whatsoever. Additionally, the only rules to sandbox play are to stay within the boundaries of the box, play nicely and share the limited
tools available to all.

In sandbox play, the best drivers of human interaction are on display: cooperation, respect, kindness and acceptance. Even when something goes wrong (sand gets into someone’s eyes) empathy and courtesy usually find their way into the social mix.

In the past few months, as reports of sexual harassment cases have surfaced in every industry and hate speech continues to be the topic of headline news, I have come to long for the innocence and civility of the sandbox. As the year 2018 begins to unfold, we have a moral obligation to speak out. On Rosh HaShanah, which marked the New Year on the Jewish calendar, I addressed what I called, the sin of silence. With the beginning of this secular calendar year, it has become clear that society needs to hear our voices.

Silence is a sin when we keep our mouths shut as people suffer injustice before our eyes. Silence is a sin when we stand on the sidelines when we have knowledge of sexual harassment. Silence is a sin when we choose not to speak out to defend the victims of violence or domestic abuse. Silence is a sin when we fail to report exploitation. Silence is a sin when our lips are sealed in the presence of hatred, bigotry or the assault of another person with words or deeds.

Each of these transgressions regarding silence can be rectified, and it is up to each of us to find the courage to speak out and stand up for what is right. As it is in the sandbox, the rules regarding proper civil interaction are very simple: play nicely, be kind, share your resources and strive to be respectful to everyone. These rules do not change as we become adults. Therefore, it should not be difficult to recognize when someone has crossed the line, nor should it be difficult to know when to speak out.

When it comes to hate and bigotry, there is no nuance. When it comes to issues of sexual harassment and abuse, there is no nuance. Yet, for far too long those who witness these behaviors often sit on the sidelines in silence. As victims of harassment and hatred are finally finding their voices in the public domain, we need to be listening in order to respond appropriately. We need to be part of the dialogue and part of the broader solution. With regards to sexual harassment, a recent poll from ABC News and the Washington Post found that 54 percent of American women report having received unwanted and inappropriate sexual advances. With regards to hatred and bigotry, anti-Semitic attacks are up over 86% since January of 2017.

These statistics should concern and disturb all of us. They reflect a huge national problem which must be addressed by society at large. We need to remember that Civil Rights were not just a “black problem,” the Holocaust was not just a “Jewish problem” and sexual harassment and discrimination are not just a “woman’s problem.”

Each of these morally reprehensible issues compromises our civility and exposes the worst aspects of our humanity. They are concerns we must address with a sense of urgency, and none should remain silent. Please know my office is a safe place to discuss these matters. There are also many resources throughout the City of Houston that can help victims cope in healthy ways.

We are commanded by our faith to love our neighbors, be kind to strangers and stand up for the dispossessed. It is, therefore, incumbent on us to raise our voices in unity in the face of injustice and immorality. In the face of the collapse of general rules of respect in the workplace, in the home and in society at large, we may just need to find our way back to the simple rules of sandbox play

I recently had a conversation with a grandmother who was terrified that her ten-year old grandson was going to fall from Judaism and embrace Christianity.  The boy’s parents were recently divorced, and he had asked his mother if he could go to church with her.  The grandmother was consumed with grief, and called me for counsel. Much to her dismay, my response was not what she was expecting to hear.

After listening to the details of the situation, it was clear to me that the boy was starving for a sense of faith and hope in the aftermath of a painful divorce.  It was also clear that while the parents had once agreed to raise him Jewish, ten years had passed without ever giving him any kind of Jewish education whatsoever.  To complicate matters, the father (who was the Jewish partner in this interfaith marriage) had rejected his faith long ago, and the mother (who was Catholic) knew nothing about Judaism.  In short, the boy was seeking spiritual healing from the faith of his mother.

For this concerned grandmother, this scenario represented the end of her grandson’s Jewish life. I, however, saw this situation as the beginning.

Finding God and seeking hope through faith is a quest as ancient as the human species. Every religious endeavor begins with this quest as we seek a sense of meaning in response to the challenges life throws our way, and since no faith has all the answers, all faiths provide insights.

As Jews, we have a very long history of gaining insights about God through our interactions with other faiths.  This tradition dates back to Moses, whose interactions with his father-in-law Jethro (a Midianite priest), radically expands his ideas about God and religious responsibility.

Such has been our history as a people. Jews have always learned and usurped ideas from our non-Jewish neighbors.  Without Aristotle, we would not have the philosophy of Maimonides.  Without the cultural exchanges which took place in medieval Spain with Arab poets, Jewish literature would look very different today. Without our theological exchanges with those who follow the teachings of Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha and many other non-Jewish theologians, our abilities to articulate matters of the spirit would be greatly diminished.  In every age, Jews have not only contributed to the realm of spiritual matters, but we have consistently sought knowledge and understanding from outside of our heritage as well.

This was the purpose of the trip I took to Abu Dhabi in May and its follow up program in Morocco in October. As imams, ministers and rabbis gathered in each of these predominantly Muslim countries, we did so in the spirit of expanding our capacity to serve the world in positive ways. Rather than reject each other’s faith and practices, we seek to build bridges of cooperation, respect and shared learning.

The truth is that, in religious life, sometimes finding God and the value of faith in our lives takes a circuitous route. For this little boy, I strongly believe that the faith of his mother was the beginning of his spiritual journey.  It was certainly not the end, and how it would unfold from there was yet to be determined.