FIGHTING THE HOLY WAR
THE ROLE OF THE WORLD’S RELIGIONS IN THE 21st CENTURY:
A BRIEFING FROM PARTICIPANTS IN
THE 2004 PARLIAMENT OF THE WORLD’S RELIGIONS
TUESDAY - SEPTEMBER 28th - 7 pm
JOIN A DISCUSSION WITH:
RABBI DANIEL BRENNER
DIRECTOR, CENTER FOR MULTIFAITH
EDUCATION - AUBURN SEMINARY
NURAH JETER AMAT’ULLAH
DIRECTOR, MUSLIM WOMEN’S INSTITUTE FOR RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT
SISTER JOAN KIRBY
U.N. REPRESENTATIVE, TEMPLE OF UNDERSTANDING
RENEE CHEROWE-O’LEARY
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR
COLUMBIA UNIVERISTY-TEACHER’S COLLEGE
MARK LARRIMORE
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR
RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY-EUGENE LANGE COLLEGE
MICHAEL GOTTSEGEN
SENIOR FELLOW
NATIONAL JEWISH CENTER FOR LEARNING & LEADERSHIP
@ AUBURN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY
121st and Broadway
23.9.04
13.9.04
Literary scribbles from New Jersey Transit
Poetry for the High Holidays 5765
I am allergic to prayer
I am allergic to prayer.
I write in the other slot.
Forms on a latex clipboard.
Doctor’s waiting room.
Checking off my imperfections.
To the rhythm of smooth jazz.
Soundtrack to boredom.
Supplications too.
And exultations, hoshannas,
Even hallelujahs.
I’m experiencing recurring liturgical aversions.
Is there some form of anti-something?
A booster shot? An elixir? A purple pill?
At fifteen I took a hayride around Stone Mountain, Georgia.
The flood gates of shiny liquid that I wiped on my hooded sweatshirt sleeve caused a thought bubble:
Hay fever – hay.
It was a great moment of ‘duh.’
Then it was grass, cats, dust.
And now this –
Sacred utterances, chants, even whispers –
Heck, I can’t even be around silent prayer.
I’m over-sensitive I guess.
So, Doc, please, I’m begging you,
Inject me with the strongest stuff you got.
I got to lead Kol Nidrei in two hours.
Overflow
The King sits on a high exalted throne
And here we are, in these folding chairs.
Overflow
They call it
But there is no flow
I can’t see the stage
They could be doing Falun Gong up there for all I know
And they’ve run out of prayerbooks
So I just stare down at my shoes
They need polishing
Maybe it’s time for new shoes
But I hate shopping
Better stick with the old ones
Maybe I can clean ‘em up a bit
And that’s when it hits me
That’s what this whole thing is about
Ahh! The shofar!
That is the kind of prayer I understand.
Who Shall Live
A layer of Saran Wrap
Protection
A shpritz of lemon juice
Secret
These red delicious will remain white
Without sin.
Who shall live?
And who shall dye their hair?
Who by pestilence?
Who by Pilates?
Nobody knows.
What is this ‘Jeopardy’?
Well it’s
Another year, spaceship earth has made one more elliptical orbit
-Planetarium narrator.
And I’m still here.
We’re still here.
God is the King
May the thorny crown be replaced by something more comfortable,
Say with a sweatband,
Perhaps in size six.
Heed the cry of the shofar!
Heed the blast of the shofar!
It is the cue for the kitchen help,
off with the Saran Wrap.
- Daniel Brenner
I am allergic to prayer
I am allergic to prayer.
I write in the other slot.
Forms on a latex clipboard.
Doctor’s waiting room.
Checking off my imperfections.
To the rhythm of smooth jazz.
Soundtrack to boredom.
Supplications too.
And exultations, hoshannas,
Even hallelujahs.
I’m experiencing recurring liturgical aversions.
Is there some form of anti-something?
A booster shot? An elixir? A purple pill?
At fifteen I took a hayride around Stone Mountain, Georgia.
The flood gates of shiny liquid that I wiped on my hooded sweatshirt sleeve caused a thought bubble:
Hay fever – hay.
It was a great moment of ‘duh.’
Then it was grass, cats, dust.
And now this –
Sacred utterances, chants, even whispers –
Heck, I can’t even be around silent prayer.
I’m over-sensitive I guess.
So, Doc, please, I’m begging you,
Inject me with the strongest stuff you got.
I got to lead Kol Nidrei in two hours.
Overflow
The King sits on a high exalted throne
And here we are, in these folding chairs.
Overflow
They call it
But there is no flow
I can’t see the stage
They could be doing Falun Gong up there for all I know
And they’ve run out of prayerbooks
So I just stare down at my shoes
They need polishing
Maybe it’s time for new shoes
But I hate shopping
Better stick with the old ones
Maybe I can clean ‘em up a bit
And that’s when it hits me
That’s what this whole thing is about
Ahh! The shofar!
That is the kind of prayer I understand.
Who Shall Live
A layer of Saran Wrap
Protection
A shpritz of lemon juice
Secret
These red delicious will remain white
Without sin.
Who shall live?
And who shall dye their hair?
Who by pestilence?
Who by Pilates?
Nobody knows.
What is this ‘Jeopardy’?
Well it’s
Another year, spaceship earth has made one more elliptical orbit
-Planetarium narrator.
And I’m still here.
We’re still here.
God is the King
May the thorny crown be replaced by something more comfortable,
Say with a sweatband,
Perhaps in size six.
Heed the cry of the shofar!
Heed the blast of the shofar!
It is the cue for the kitchen help,
off with the Saran Wrap.
- Daniel Brenner
7.9.04
what i did this summer
A Report from the Parliament of the World’s Religions
By Rabbi Daniel Brenner
Over the drone of the harmonium in the Sikh’s makeshift Gudwara, I overheard a Buddhist monk and a Sikh discussing species extinction and reincarnation:
“What if a person’s soul is destined for a near extinct species, like the spotted owl?” the monk asked.
“If the species becomes extinct then would that soul be stuck in limbo for eternity?”
The Parliament of World’s Religions, an idea that was born at the Columbia exposition of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, was abuzz with questions sprung from the scuffle between traditional religious thought and new realities. Held this July at Barcelona’s new seaside conference center, the Parliament attracted some eight thousand religious adherents from around the globe to hear recent Nobel Prize winner Shirin Ebadi and countless other presenters listed in the two hundred and fifty-nine page program book address what has become a world increasingly torn by religious conflicts.
What message can be heard over F-15s and car bombs? Can we teach religious tolerance and understanding to those who see the world through the lens of conflict? For the year leading up to the conference, Lee Hancock and I met with leaders of ten other New York based religious organizations to debate that question. The result was planning the largest symposium of the parliament – a three-day focus on interfaith education. Our collaborative, called the Consultation for Interfaith Education, put together an international program of twenty-five sessions, with nearly fifty presenters keynoted by the XIVth Dalai Lama.
Spain, which suffered national turmoil during the massive terror attack in Madrid this past year, turned out to be an ideal location for the conference. And though surveillance was high, with two airport like security searches required to attend the sessions, crowds flocked to hear moderate Muslims, like Ayatollah Hadvhi Tehrani, speak on coexistence.
And while the Dalai Lama’s poor health prevented him from joining us, the consultation turned out to be a big draw. Here are a few stories:
The minute after I checked into my hotel, a gentleman with a dark beard approached me in the lobby.
“You Jewish rabbi?” He asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you like Martin Buber?” He asked, mispronouncing the name of one of Judaism’s most influential philosophers, rhyming it with Flubber.
“Yes.” I replied.
“I translate him for graduate students, University of Teheran!”
I immediately invited him to join us in the symposium, and a few days later we both ended up having a conversation about religious extremism with an Indian woman who teaches in South Africa.
“My grandfather would be so upset if he saw what was going on in the Middle East right now” she said.
“What did your grandfather do?” I asked.
“He was Mahatma Gandhi.”
Whoops.
On another day of the conference, Dr. Hasan Al-Assady, an Iraqi psychologist, spoke of both the fears he held regarding extremists and the promise of a new era of freedom in Iraq.
“Did you have any trouble getting out of Iraq during a time of military occupation?” someone from the audience asked after his speech.
“Yes. My truck overheated!” Al-Assady answered, which turned out to be a refreshing humorous moment during a rather academic session.
There were also moments that were touching. After a panel of religious leaders from Israel debated the legacy of Isaac and Ishmael, one of East Jerusalem’s Imam’s gave a long and lovely bear hug to Rabbi David Rosen from West Jerusalem. And at a panel that my wife Lisa attended, for women only, I heard that deeper breakthroughs were taking place. An Orthodox Jewish woman whose son had been severely injured by a Palestinian terrorist’s bomb was listening to the story of a Palestinian woman whose child had been killed by an Israeli soldier. “I carried so much anger in my heart” the Palestinian woman said, “that it began to poison me.”
The Parliament affirmed that religious dialogue has the potential to overcome underlying mistrust. And although the parliament is a microcosm of those already committed to such work, it displays the growing international efforts to bridge traditional religious communities.
A final note - One of my personal highlights was the opportunity to moderate a panel with the renowned Catholic theologian Raimon Pannikar. Pannikar, who was born in Barcelona in 1918 to a Hindu father and a Catholic mother, is regarded as a local saint. Overflow crowds gathered to hear him speak of a cosmotheandric vision in which understanding the simultaneous unity and trinity of the divine, human, and earthly realms is the unifying theme of world religions. Pannikar also had the most quotable remark from the symposium. Claiming that exclusivists, those who insisted that the world could only be understood through the lens of their own tradition, are colorblind he called out “Let us see the colors through this dialogue!”
By the way, the answer to the monk’s question about the spotted owl is that the cycle of reincarnation can be disturbed by species extinction. Proof again that sometimes it is the most esoteric of ideas that push us humans to value the diversity of the planet.
By Rabbi Daniel Brenner
Over the drone of the harmonium in the Sikh’s makeshift Gudwara, I overheard a Buddhist monk and a Sikh discussing species extinction and reincarnation:
“What if a person’s soul is destined for a near extinct species, like the spotted owl?” the monk asked.
“If the species becomes extinct then would that soul be stuck in limbo for eternity?”
The Parliament of World’s Religions, an idea that was born at the Columbia exposition of the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, was abuzz with questions sprung from the scuffle between traditional religious thought and new realities. Held this July at Barcelona’s new seaside conference center, the Parliament attracted some eight thousand religious adherents from around the globe to hear recent Nobel Prize winner Shirin Ebadi and countless other presenters listed in the two hundred and fifty-nine page program book address what has become a world increasingly torn by religious conflicts.
What message can be heard over F-15s and car bombs? Can we teach religious tolerance and understanding to those who see the world through the lens of conflict? For the year leading up to the conference, Lee Hancock and I met with leaders of ten other New York based religious organizations to debate that question. The result was planning the largest symposium of the parliament – a three-day focus on interfaith education. Our collaborative, called the Consultation for Interfaith Education, put together an international program of twenty-five sessions, with nearly fifty presenters keynoted by the XIVth Dalai Lama.
Spain, which suffered national turmoil during the massive terror attack in Madrid this past year, turned out to be an ideal location for the conference. And though surveillance was high, with two airport like security searches required to attend the sessions, crowds flocked to hear moderate Muslims, like Ayatollah Hadvhi Tehrani, speak on coexistence.
And while the Dalai Lama’s poor health prevented him from joining us, the consultation turned out to be a big draw. Here are a few stories:
The minute after I checked into my hotel, a gentleman with a dark beard approached me in the lobby.
“You Jewish rabbi?” He asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Do you like Martin Buber?” He asked, mispronouncing the name of one of Judaism’s most influential philosophers, rhyming it with Flubber.
“Yes.” I replied.
“I translate him for graduate students, University of Teheran!”
I immediately invited him to join us in the symposium, and a few days later we both ended up having a conversation about religious extremism with an Indian woman who teaches in South Africa.
“My grandfather would be so upset if he saw what was going on in the Middle East right now” she said.
“What did your grandfather do?” I asked.
“He was Mahatma Gandhi.”
Whoops.
On another day of the conference, Dr. Hasan Al-Assady, an Iraqi psychologist, spoke of both the fears he held regarding extremists and the promise of a new era of freedom in Iraq.
“Did you have any trouble getting out of Iraq during a time of military occupation?” someone from the audience asked after his speech.
“Yes. My truck overheated!” Al-Assady answered, which turned out to be a refreshing humorous moment during a rather academic session.
There were also moments that were touching. After a panel of religious leaders from Israel debated the legacy of Isaac and Ishmael, one of East Jerusalem’s Imam’s gave a long and lovely bear hug to Rabbi David Rosen from West Jerusalem. And at a panel that my wife Lisa attended, for women only, I heard that deeper breakthroughs were taking place. An Orthodox Jewish woman whose son had been severely injured by a Palestinian terrorist’s bomb was listening to the story of a Palestinian woman whose child had been killed by an Israeli soldier. “I carried so much anger in my heart” the Palestinian woman said, “that it began to poison me.”
The Parliament affirmed that religious dialogue has the potential to overcome underlying mistrust. And although the parliament is a microcosm of those already committed to such work, it displays the growing international efforts to bridge traditional religious communities.
A final note - One of my personal highlights was the opportunity to moderate a panel with the renowned Catholic theologian Raimon Pannikar. Pannikar, who was born in Barcelona in 1918 to a Hindu father and a Catholic mother, is regarded as a local saint. Overflow crowds gathered to hear him speak of a cosmotheandric vision in which understanding the simultaneous unity and trinity of the divine, human, and earthly realms is the unifying theme of world religions. Pannikar also had the most quotable remark from the symposium. Claiming that exclusivists, those who insisted that the world could only be understood through the lens of their own tradition, are colorblind he called out “Let us see the colors through this dialogue!”
By the way, the answer to the monk’s question about the spotted owl is that the cycle of reincarnation can be disturbed by species extinction. Proof again that sometimes it is the most esoteric of ideas that push us humans to value the diversity of the planet.
26.8.04
Spirituality and Health hitting the newstands
I just got my first article in a glossy magazine -- Spirituality and Health -- October issue. This is the piece I wrote awhile back on 'under God'
While I proudly placed the mag on the radiator by the toilet (I got an advanced copy in the mail) it has a bizarre ad for a biofeedback video game on the back cover that is freaking me out.
http://www.spiritualityhealth.com/newsh/items/blank/item_3019.html
Under God
By Rabbi Daniel S. Brenner
Now that the Supreme Court has ruled not to hear the “under God” case, and to basically let this insertion into the pledge stand, I think that we as a nation have become stuck, theologically speaking.
As a child sent to a religious day school I could not help but feel that God was watching me from above every time I sat on the toilet. I also sensed that God watched sporting events, occasionally guiding basketballs into hoops from half-court (Dick Vital yelling “Hail Mary!”). In fact, all people were living under God – a deity above us peering down like the manager of the A&P from his perch atop the customer service desk. Where did we get the idea that God was on top of us? How did we get under God in the first place?
I ask this question because as my theology has matured, I have come to learn that God, as conveyed in the Five Books of Moses, is not only up in the sky, but very down-to-earth. God is present in rocky valleys, bushes, even inside of tents. Jacob wakes up from sleeping on a stone pillow and says, “God was in this place and I, and I did not know it!” God in a thorn bush says to Moses “I will be what I will be,” a cloud called “God’s glory” enters the sacred tent before the children of Israel.
So how did God become on high – and as a result we become under God? The source for the phrase “God on high” is an obscure name for God in the Book of Genesis that is uttered by Melchizedek of Salem, one of the Kings who tries to butter-up Abraham. In doing so, he praises Eyl Elyon, which literally means “God on top” but is translated as “Most High God” or “God on High.” Interestingly, none of the patriarchs or matriarchs ever refers to God with this name. Rather, they have a more expansive knowledge of God, and elsewhere in Genesis, we can hear it echoed in Jacob’s blessing: “by the God of your father, who will help you, by El Shaddai, who will bless you with blessings from the sky above and blessings from the deep, lying below, blessings from the breasts and the womb.”
One of my teachers in seminary, the historian Tikve Frymer-Kensky, spoke of the Biblical God as one that is synthesized from the ancient sky gods and the ancient earth gods (as well as a few other gods with varying genders) into one deity. The innovation was to create one unified name for all of the powers that compelled the natural world. And in the Bible, God speaks from within these forces-- "Out of the heavens God let you hear His voice to guide you,” we read in the fourth chapter of Deuteronomy, “and on earth God let you see His great fire, and you heard His words from the midst of the fire.”
So, from this expansive Biblical vision of God in which God permeates all of reality, in both the elemental and the human realms, how did we get into thinking of ourselves as simply ‘under’ God?
The vast majority of the metaphors used to describe God on high come in later books, most notably the Psalms, which are replete with poetic language that describes God in this way. God is ‘above the heavens,’ is the ‘King of Kings’, is the ‘Judge on high seated on his throne’. Those metaphors would surely place us under God - but the author of the Psalms also includes conceptions that are more earthbound. God is a rock, God a fortress, God a dwelling place. And there are conceptual names for God – God as truth, salvation, exceeding joy – that have nothing to do with location.
Why does it matter so much for us to dissect the phrase under God? In part this matters because we are increasingly becoming a more religiously diverse nation.
At a time when religious totalitarianism is making a comeback around the globe, we should recognize our diversity – the fact that while some Americans do envision that believers are below and God is above, others see God within, God as permeating all things, God as manifest in multiple realities or God as a force that by definition can not be limited to human conceptions. There are even a few folks who proudly call themselves ‘godless.’ In short, if the pledge were an actual reflection of America's theological diversity it would have to have a section with a "fill in the blank."
But there is a more important reason for us to revise the language ‘under’ God. We live in an era where it is not only up to God’s watchful eye whether we live or die – but also up to us. As we continue to poison the planet and march faster to ecocide, both God’s immanence in creation and human responsibility as caretakers for the earth should be implicit in our theology.
Yes, God is cosmic. When I look up at the night sky, I see a reflection of God’s glory. But I also see it as I dig in the muck of growth and decay in the garden. And that time that I went snorkeling in the Gulf of Aqaba – that was a blessing from the depths. But most importantly, I sense God’s presence as a force that exists between people when they are reflecting the attributes of understanding, kindness, support, mercy, and justice.
So I think that it is unfortunate that the Supreme Court has passed this opportunity to examine “Under God” and recognize the phrases’ limits. The phrase reverts us back to the ancient sky god and reinforces the notion that God can only be understood as a judge or king who looks down on us. God is much more.
While I proudly placed the mag on the radiator by the toilet (I got an advanced copy in the mail) it has a bizarre ad for a biofeedback video game on the back cover that is freaking me out.
http://www.spiritualityhealth.com/newsh/items/blank/item_3019.html
Under God
By Rabbi Daniel S. Brenner
Now that the Supreme Court has ruled not to hear the “under God” case, and to basically let this insertion into the pledge stand, I think that we as a nation have become stuck, theologically speaking.
As a child sent to a religious day school I could not help but feel that God was watching me from above every time I sat on the toilet. I also sensed that God watched sporting events, occasionally guiding basketballs into hoops from half-court (Dick Vital yelling “Hail Mary!”). In fact, all people were living under God – a deity above us peering down like the manager of the A&P from his perch atop the customer service desk. Where did we get the idea that God was on top of us? How did we get under God in the first place?
I ask this question because as my theology has matured, I have come to learn that God, as conveyed in the Five Books of Moses, is not only up in the sky, but very down-to-earth. God is present in rocky valleys, bushes, even inside of tents. Jacob wakes up from sleeping on a stone pillow and says, “God was in this place and I, and I did not know it!” God in a thorn bush says to Moses “I will be what I will be,” a cloud called “God’s glory” enters the sacred tent before the children of Israel.
So how did God become on high – and as a result we become under God? The source for the phrase “God on high” is an obscure name for God in the Book of Genesis that is uttered by Melchizedek of Salem, one of the Kings who tries to butter-up Abraham. In doing so, he praises Eyl Elyon, which literally means “God on top” but is translated as “Most High God” or “God on High.” Interestingly, none of the patriarchs or matriarchs ever refers to God with this name. Rather, they have a more expansive knowledge of God, and elsewhere in Genesis, we can hear it echoed in Jacob’s blessing: “by the God of your father, who will help you, by El Shaddai, who will bless you with blessings from the sky above and blessings from the deep, lying below, blessings from the breasts and the womb.”
One of my teachers in seminary, the historian Tikve Frymer-Kensky, spoke of the Biblical God as one that is synthesized from the ancient sky gods and the ancient earth gods (as well as a few other gods with varying genders) into one deity. The innovation was to create one unified name for all of the powers that compelled the natural world. And in the Bible, God speaks from within these forces-- "Out of the heavens God let you hear His voice to guide you,” we read in the fourth chapter of Deuteronomy, “and on earth God let you see His great fire, and you heard His words from the midst of the fire.”
So, from this expansive Biblical vision of God in which God permeates all of reality, in both the elemental and the human realms, how did we get into thinking of ourselves as simply ‘under’ God?
The vast majority of the metaphors used to describe God on high come in later books, most notably the Psalms, which are replete with poetic language that describes God in this way. God is ‘above the heavens,’ is the ‘King of Kings’, is the ‘Judge on high seated on his throne’. Those metaphors would surely place us under God - but the author of the Psalms also includes conceptions that are more earthbound. God is a rock, God a fortress, God a dwelling place. And there are conceptual names for God – God as truth, salvation, exceeding joy – that have nothing to do with location.
Why does it matter so much for us to dissect the phrase under God? In part this matters because we are increasingly becoming a more religiously diverse nation.
At a time when religious totalitarianism is making a comeback around the globe, we should recognize our diversity – the fact that while some Americans do envision that believers are below and God is above, others see God within, God as permeating all things, God as manifest in multiple realities or God as a force that by definition can not be limited to human conceptions. There are even a few folks who proudly call themselves ‘godless.’ In short, if the pledge were an actual reflection of America's theological diversity it would have to have a section with a "fill in the blank."
But there is a more important reason for us to revise the language ‘under’ God. We live in an era where it is not only up to God’s watchful eye whether we live or die – but also up to us. As we continue to poison the planet and march faster to ecocide, both God’s immanence in creation and human responsibility as caretakers for the earth should be implicit in our theology.
Yes, God is cosmic. When I look up at the night sky, I see a reflection of God’s glory. But I also see it as I dig in the muck of growth and decay in the garden. And that time that I went snorkeling in the Gulf of Aqaba – that was a blessing from the depths. But most importantly, I sense God’s presence as a force that exists between people when they are reflecting the attributes of understanding, kindness, support, mercy, and justice.
So I think that it is unfortunate that the Supreme Court has passed this opportunity to examine “Under God” and recognize the phrases’ limits. The phrase reverts us back to the ancient sky god and reinforces the notion that God can only be understood as a judge or king who looks down on us. God is much more.
23.8.04
A Message for the New Year
Here is the piece that I'll be submitting to the String of Pearls newsletter:
Elohim, ten li et h'atikvah lekabel ma she'ein Ten li et hakoach leshanot et ma sheken. et haomets lenasot letaken et ha'olam.
G-d, give me the hope to accept what there isn't
Give me the strength to change what is
Give me the courage to try to fix the world.
These words, although they could have been chanted in a Psalm by King David, a poem by Yehudah Halevi, or a prayer by Levi of Berdichev, are from Israeli hip hop artist Subliminal. He writes:
You promised a dove, in the sky there's a hawk
Brother, poisonous twig pricks, this is not an olive branch
Living in a dream, everybody talks about peace
But they shoot, oppress, pull, squeeze the trigger
In a world of suicide attacks, the people are still talking
Living in an illusion of righteousness, they widen the rift in the nation.
Pass madness every day in order to survive
Don't want to live in order to fight,
I fight in order to live
Plant hope, send out roots Shield in my body for the dream so it won't be shattered to splinters
Enough, enough with the hurt, enough with the tears
A year that the land bleeds not sleeping and why?
The line I love to repeat is “plant hope, send out roots, shield in my body for the dream.”
And this summer I had an amazing opportunity to plant some hope within me. In July, Lisa and I traveled (sans kids – thanks Silbermans!) to the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Barcelona. This event, held every five years, brought eight thousand religious people from across the globe for religious dialogue. At a time when religious extremists seem to have grabbed hold of our global steering wheel, this gathering was like a collective act of putting on the brakes, saying, “Stop – What are we killing each other over?” Sitting on the floor of the Sikh Gudwara eating a simple bowl of lentils and speaking with religious leaders from Iran, Iraq, and elsewhere, I felt that perhaps voices advocating peace can take the wheel back and steer it in the direction that we all need to go in – towards a sustainable planet. But I know that it will take much work to do this.
The High Holidays are also about taking hold of the wheel. We ask: What direction am I headed in? How do I get back to that place where I did feel at peace? How can I drive through this storm?
To answer these questions we must stop our routine and enter into another space. We put the brakes on – and we reflect. At the end, perhaps we can plant some hope - Hope that will send out roots for the coming year.
Shana Tovah U’Metukah
Elohim, ten li et h'atikvah lekabel ma she'ein Ten li et hakoach leshanot et ma sheken. et haomets lenasot letaken et ha'olam.
G-d, give me the hope to accept what there isn't
Give me the strength to change what is
Give me the courage to try to fix the world.
These words, although they could have been chanted in a Psalm by King David, a poem by Yehudah Halevi, or a prayer by Levi of Berdichev, are from Israeli hip hop artist Subliminal. He writes:
You promised a dove, in the sky there's a hawk
Brother, poisonous twig pricks, this is not an olive branch
Living in a dream, everybody talks about peace
But they shoot, oppress, pull, squeeze the trigger
In a world of suicide attacks, the people are still talking
Living in an illusion of righteousness, they widen the rift in the nation.
Pass madness every day in order to survive
Don't want to live in order to fight,
I fight in order to live
Plant hope, send out roots Shield in my body for the dream so it won't be shattered to splinters
Enough, enough with the hurt, enough with the tears
A year that the land bleeds not sleeping and why?
The line I love to repeat is “plant hope, send out roots, shield in my body for the dream.”
And this summer I had an amazing opportunity to plant some hope within me. In July, Lisa and I traveled (sans kids – thanks Silbermans!) to the Parliament of the World’s Religions in Barcelona. This event, held every five years, brought eight thousand religious people from across the globe for religious dialogue. At a time when religious extremists seem to have grabbed hold of our global steering wheel, this gathering was like a collective act of putting on the brakes, saying, “Stop – What are we killing each other over?” Sitting on the floor of the Sikh Gudwara eating a simple bowl of lentils and speaking with religious leaders from Iran, Iraq, and elsewhere, I felt that perhaps voices advocating peace can take the wheel back and steer it in the direction that we all need to go in – towards a sustainable planet. But I know that it will take much work to do this.
The High Holidays are also about taking hold of the wheel. We ask: What direction am I headed in? How do I get back to that place where I did feel at peace? How can I drive through this storm?
To answer these questions we must stop our routine and enter into another space. We put the brakes on – and we reflect. At the end, perhaps we can plant some hope - Hope that will send out roots for the coming year.
Shana Tovah U’Metukah
17.8.04
Responses keep popping up to my article (originally in the Forward) about ground zero
from www.nickdenton.org
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you
A brilliantly counter-intuitive idea from Daniel Brenner about the rebuilding of the site of the World Trade Center. "Building a mosque on the site would also send a message to the Islamic world about America, and our commitment to the freedom of religion. At a time when many Muslims are being fed endless distortions about America and what we value, it will take more than a publicity mission by Muhammad Ali to change America’s image."
From Nick Bruner
Build a Mosque on Ground Zero
I love this idea. Daniel Brenner, writing on BeliefNet, suggests that we use Ground Zero in part to build an inter-faith center, featuring a mosque, a church and a synagogue. Personally, I'm an athiest, or agnostic at best, but I can't think of a better message to send to Al Qaeda and their like than to demonstrate the openness of our society with action.
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you
A brilliantly counter-intuitive idea from Daniel Brenner about the rebuilding of the site of the World Trade Center. "Building a mosque on the site would also send a message to the Islamic world about America, and our commitment to the freedom of religion. At a time when many Muslims are being fed endless distortions about America and what we value, it will take more than a publicity mission by Muhammad Ali to change America’s image."
From Nick Bruner
Build a Mosque on Ground Zero
I love this idea. Daniel Brenner, writing on BeliefNet, suggests that we use Ground Zero in part to build an inter-faith center, featuring a mosque, a church and a synagogue. Personally, I'm an athiest, or agnostic at best, but I can't think of a better message to send to Al Qaeda and their like than to demonstrate the openness of our society with action.
On Humanism and "God"
Nothing drives me more crazy than when I hear an athlete thanking God for a 3-pointer, a twenty foot putt, or a touchdown. “Do you mean to tell me that God sits around guiding balls into particular places?” I wonder, “A God in the sky with two hundred channels of ESPN watching and working magic with each play?”
Moments like these make me tempted to buy into the philosophy of men like Sherwin Wine. Sherwin Wine, the Michigan Rabbi and chief proponent of Humanist Judaism has a lot to say about God. “God is an ordinary English word like ‘table’ ‘chair’ or ‘rug’”, Wine argues, a word which he is “sick and tired of using.” Wine views God-talk as irrational, and ultimately as a source of human confusion that undermines our ethical strivings.
So, would it be better to rid ourselves of the irrational God-talk that we hear from athletes, hurricane victims, movie stars, even public officials? Would it be in our interest to replace the outmoded prayers of synagogue life with poetic musings of a different sort?
After many years dwelling on this question, I’ve come to some conclusions.
The word “God” is not like “table” but a lot like the word “love”. Imagine writing a valentine to your sweetie which said “We are mutually compatible partners and we have developed a trusting relationship which I value very deeply”
They’d respond “What about saying ‘I Love You’?”
You’d argue—“Hey, I don’t ‘believe’ in ‘love’. But all the things that you mean by love are in my letter to you.”
They’d say “Just tell me that you love me!”
You’d reread the card. They’d begin packing their socks.
Here’s my analogy, “Love” like the word “God” is used to describe a totality of experience that we can’t fully describe.
For example, someone recovers from an illness, and they say “thank God”. I hear this a lot, but I don’t understand them as saying “thank the chief executive officer of bodily function in the sky”—what I hear is “I am in a state of gratitude to the totality of my experience—the doctors, the medicines, the nurses, the support of my family, the elements of chance, everything.” It is that everything which we cannot fully describe that we call God.
And that is what I use the word “God” to mean-- “the totality of connections that I can’t even begin to describe.”
Sherwin Wine would call my desire to reconcile with the word God a “apologizing, redefining, and explaining” of theology.
But I think that this definition of God is a healthy one, and one grounded in the tradition. The Kaddish says “God is beyond all blessings, poems, and worship” The Yigdal reads “God is unknowable, and there is no end to God’s unity” i.e. no language can capture what the word “God” means. In prayer “God” is a code word for “totality beyond description” like “love” is a code word for “feelings beyond description”
I could give other examples of how I understand Judaism to advocate for such a God. Yet the basic understanding is this—by removing God from the earth-bound (no idols or men are God) we have made “God” a force that is beyond body and language. And even though we may use body and language to speak of God, we are doing so poetically, conscious that the real picture is more than our personal descriptions.
The reality is that if we don’t take it into our own hands to “redefine” / “reconstruct” God, then we’re leaving it in the hands of some rather narrow-minded people. They will define “God”, and they have a pretty nasty track record concerning how their definition leads to irrational ends.
So there you have it, I believe in God. And though I cringe when I hear God attributed to a home run or a slicing backhand or a 7-10 split, part of me says “Yeah, this ball moving in such a way at this very moment is beyond description, and this person is experiencing the totality of existence…so, hey, why not?”
Moments like these make me tempted to buy into the philosophy of men like Sherwin Wine. Sherwin Wine, the Michigan Rabbi and chief proponent of Humanist Judaism has a lot to say about God. “God is an ordinary English word like ‘table’ ‘chair’ or ‘rug’”, Wine argues, a word which he is “sick and tired of using.” Wine views God-talk as irrational, and ultimately as a source of human confusion that undermines our ethical strivings.
So, would it be better to rid ourselves of the irrational God-talk that we hear from athletes, hurricane victims, movie stars, even public officials? Would it be in our interest to replace the outmoded prayers of synagogue life with poetic musings of a different sort?
After many years dwelling on this question, I’ve come to some conclusions.
The word “God” is not like “table” but a lot like the word “love”. Imagine writing a valentine to your sweetie which said “We are mutually compatible partners and we have developed a trusting relationship which I value very deeply”
They’d respond “What about saying ‘I Love You’?”
You’d argue—“Hey, I don’t ‘believe’ in ‘love’. But all the things that you mean by love are in my letter to you.”
They’d say “Just tell me that you love me!”
You’d reread the card. They’d begin packing their socks.
Here’s my analogy, “Love” like the word “God” is used to describe a totality of experience that we can’t fully describe.
For example, someone recovers from an illness, and they say “thank God”. I hear this a lot, but I don’t understand them as saying “thank the chief executive officer of bodily function in the sky”—what I hear is “I am in a state of gratitude to the totality of my experience—the doctors, the medicines, the nurses, the support of my family, the elements of chance, everything.” It is that everything which we cannot fully describe that we call God.
And that is what I use the word “God” to mean-- “the totality of connections that I can’t even begin to describe.”
Sherwin Wine would call my desire to reconcile with the word God a “apologizing, redefining, and explaining” of theology.
But I think that this definition of God is a healthy one, and one grounded in the tradition. The Kaddish says “God is beyond all blessings, poems, and worship” The Yigdal reads “God is unknowable, and there is no end to God’s unity” i.e. no language can capture what the word “God” means. In prayer “God” is a code word for “totality beyond description” like “love” is a code word for “feelings beyond description”
I could give other examples of how I understand Judaism to advocate for such a God. Yet the basic understanding is this—by removing God from the earth-bound (no idols or men are God) we have made “God” a force that is beyond body and language. And even though we may use body and language to speak of God, we are doing so poetically, conscious that the real picture is more than our personal descriptions.
The reality is that if we don’t take it into our own hands to “redefine” / “reconstruct” God, then we’re leaving it in the hands of some rather narrow-minded people. They will define “God”, and they have a pretty nasty track record concerning how their definition leads to irrational ends.
So there you have it, I believe in God. And though I cringe when I hear God attributed to a home run or a slicing backhand or a 7-10 split, part of me says “Yeah, this ball moving in such a way at this very moment is beyond description, and this person is experiencing the totality of existence…so, hey, why not?”
The Big Mess
The Big Mess about Messianic Jews
By Rabbi Daniel Brenner
As a rabbi who works each day with Presbyterian ministers and lay people at a historic Presbyterian seminary, I have to admit that I was deeply concerned when I received word that a “Messianic Jewish Community” opened in a Philadelphia suburb with over $300,000 of Presbyterian Church USA money. The new church (which does not call itself a church) is named Avodat Yisrael, which literally means “sacrifice of Israel”, and it opened in Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania. Since its first service, on Rosh Hashanah, I’ve heard that few people have actually joined the congregation but that many questions have been raised. Some have asked - What is so offensive to the Jewish community about Messianic Jews? Others want to know –Is there any way that Presbyterian churches can reach out to Jews without causing a media frenzy?
These are challenging times for those of us who are committed not just to individual clergy or houses of worship, but to national religious organizations. More people are choosing their religious identity the way they choose items at a salad bar, a story told best in books like Generation of Seekers and Spiritual Marketplace by Wade Clark Roof. As a result, there is theological fluidity, borrowing of ritual, and a general freedom to create religious life that is unprecedented.
These forces are not necessarily detrimental to traditional religious communities. As a rabbi, I have viewed genuine Christian interest in Jewish ritual and practice as an overwhelmingly positive development, one that is by no means a new phenomenon. The many Christian communities who hold Passover Seders are just one example of this flowering of Jewish ritual in the church. Rabbis across the country who serve on local clergy councils have truly enjoyed teaching for Christian groups and have seen first hand the sincere desire for spiritual dialogue that exists between Christians and Jews. It is of no surprise to me that some Christians are even interested in learning Hebrew, studying kabbalah, and reading Chassidic tales. I know that many Christians have discovered the Judaica section of their local Barnes & Noble or independent bookstore and have begun to read about Jewish history and religious life. The vast majority of Presbyterians and others who seek out Jewish practices and Jewish insights, or even read a Bruce Feiler book on the Bible, do so in a desire to deepen their relationship to Christ and do so with a genuine respect for Judaism.
It is also true that in a society that is increasingly open, people choose to convert to a religion that they did not grow up with. The latest National Jewish Population study found that many Christians have found homes in the Jewish community and that many Jews have chosen to join Christian communities. In working with Presbyterians, I have heard stories of the Jewish men and women who have become active in churches across the country. Many of these folks are Jews who have married committed Protestants, but some fall into the category of intellectual or spiritual seekers. In their new homes they have found the religious community that they were seeking. Lauren Winner’s recent book Girl Gets God tells her story of a Jewish seeker finding Christ, and in my work I have met not only Christian lay leaders, but Christian ministers who grew up in Jewish homes. Their spiritual journeys led not simply to an embrace of Christ’s teachings, but to a decision to become part of the Church, to enter the covenant of the church community, and to carry on the church’s historical legacy. These folks do not call themselves Messianic Jews. Rather, they are proud to be Christians, and carry in their hearts the Church’s struggles between tradition and innovation.
Messianic Jews are a different type of spiritual seeker. In contrast to Jews who become Christians, most Messianic Jews do not want to be called Christians (hence the title “Messianic Jews” instead of “Hebrew Christians” – an earlier manifestation of their religious community) or to call their congregations churches. Instead, they emphatically state that they are Jewish – Jews who pray in the name of Jesus. Among Messianics there is some disagreement about what type of Judaism they are. To quote one Messianic Jewish leader, Michael Wolf, his mission is to “Commit to, and grow in a lifestyle of faith called Biblical Judaism.” A leader of another wing of Messianic Jews, Stuart Dauerman, claims that “Messianic Judaism is a Judaism, and not a cosmetically altered "Jewish-style" version of what is extant in the wider Christian community.” Many Messianic Jews view Christianity from the third century onward to be an aberration of Christ’s teachings and they argue that to join a Christian church would be to “assimilate” into a European Christianity that is antithetical to Jews. The Union of Messianic Judaism’s recent paper Defining Messianic Judaism calls Presbyterians and others “the Gentile Church”. In some communities there has even been heated discussion about whether Christians who join Messianic Synagogues must convert to Judaism to be full members or to participate in all activities in the congregation – for example, the Union has stated that “Gentiles are certainly welcome within Messianic Jewish Congregations…but congregations remain Jewish, not expressions of ‘one new man’ that is neither Jew nor Greek. Much of their life is based, not strictly on Scripture or on universal precepts for all believers, but on Jewish teaching and tradition. Gentiles moved by Ahavat Yisrael will participate in the Messianic Jewish congregation on these terms.”
Messianic Jews are creating an interesting hybrid religious identity – one that satisfies their personal desires to carry on talmudic based religious rituals and one that gives them a Hebraic path to accepting Yeshua, Jesus. They have taken two traditions that were often at odds with one another (with Jews often the persecuted party) and have inherited the theological, ritual and historical confusion inherent in syncretism. And while both Catholic and Protestant church bodies have worked to correct the bloody legacy of crusaders and church sponsored persecutions against the Jews, and have affirmed that Jews still remain in covenant with God, Messianic Jews continue to target Jews for evangelization – often in deceptive ways. As a result, their eclectic mix does not fly well in a Church or Synagogue. For these reasons, both Jews and Christians have declared Messianic Jews to be a “fringe religious development” – one that stands outside the boundaries of both the Church and the established Jewish religious movements.
That said, though, perhaps someday Messianic Jews will have the makings of a genuine religious movement – a well articulated philosophy and theology, an accredited seminary, a national network of religious schools, shared educational curricula, a mechanism to provide social services for those who are in need - and the other components those of us affiliated with religious movements work so hard to sustain. But today they are a loosely connected group (or groups – they have numerous “national” bodies) with a unknown number of adherents. From my initial research, I see that their “seminary” amounts to one class taught by an adjunct faculty member at an Evangelical seminary and their “Yeshiva” is a series of audio lectures. Their teachings and practices vary greatly from congregation to congregation, and with a few exceptions (the minister in Plymouth Meeting one of them), they are currently served by leaders who have little or no formal religious training. Some of them call themselves rabbis, other ministers. Perhaps half of their adherents come from Jewish backgrounds.
So what does this all mean for Presbyterians who wish to grow the church and to reach out to new communities?
It is obvious to me as an observer of the Presbyterian Church that the new energy brought into the church by Chinese, Korean, and Pakistani Presbyterians has given many communities new hope. But when one funds a new religious category in the name of attracting new members, such as Messianic Judaism, one has generated the opposite effect. Instead of evangelizing in a way that welcomes people into the Church community, the Church has funded a separate entity – one that borrows from both Christianity and Judaism - and only further distances both Christians and Jews from their spiritual homes. It is clear to me that the Messianics do not want their followers to become Presbyterians nor do they personally want to follow Presbyterian practices. But apparently they have no problem spending money collected from the members of the Presbyterian Church USA to fund a congregation that not only hides the cross and baptismal font, but advertises to Jews in a manner that has been described as deceptive. The minister of this Messianic Jewish congregation took a great leap of faith to leave Judaism and to join the Presbyterian Church and become an ordained minister. I imagine that when he was ordained he vowed to uphold the theology and practice of the Presbyterian Church - isn’t it ironic that he does not urge his followers to do the same?
It is no surprise to me that my fellow Jews view the new church Avodat Yisrael as a cheap advertising gimmick. It is as if mainstream Jews funded a savvy Conservative rabbi to sing Amazing Grace, recite the Lord’s Prayer and read selected New Testament verses in an attempt to lure inter-faith couples.
So how should the Presbyterys respond to inter-marriage and outreach to inter-married families? There are other, more dignified paths. Many churches already have adjusted to new American religious trends and now offer classes for young families entitled "When mommy is Jewish" or "When daddy is Jewish" to help inter-faith families face their issues in an open, non-judgmental environment. Others offer classes particularly on Hebrew Scripture or create a book group that includes a book of Jewish interest. Some have invited in rabbis to teach. Probably the most interesting development in this arena is the award winning local television program in Larchmont, New York that features a Presbyterian minister and a rabbi discussing theological issues over breakfast at a diner. These activities send the message to Jews that they will be welcomed without judgment and spoken of with respect within the Church. When that happens, inter-married families will not only join churches but become amazing assets for furthering the Church’s goals. I’m sure that many of you have seen this with your own eyes.
Decades of work have gone into building a strong relationship between Presbyterians and Jews. In the wake of the holocaust, theological dialogue led to new understandings of an ancient connection. Both Jews and Presbyterians are challenged by America’s new religious realities. It is my hope that Presbyterians across the country will continue to affirm the spiritual journey that Jews and Christians walk together in light of God’s teachings and that further efforts to outreach to inter-married families can be done with true sensitivity and compassion. I hope that in the upcoming assembly that the Presbyterian Church USA’s membership will raise their voices, put an end to further allocations to Messianic Jewish groups and reaffirm the Church’s historic principles regarding Jewish-Christian relations.
By Rabbi Daniel Brenner
As a rabbi who works each day with Presbyterian ministers and lay people at a historic Presbyterian seminary, I have to admit that I was deeply concerned when I received word that a “Messianic Jewish Community” opened in a Philadelphia suburb with over $300,000 of Presbyterian Church USA money. The new church (which does not call itself a church) is named Avodat Yisrael, which literally means “sacrifice of Israel”, and it opened in Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania. Since its first service, on Rosh Hashanah, I’ve heard that few people have actually joined the congregation but that many questions have been raised. Some have asked - What is so offensive to the Jewish community about Messianic Jews? Others want to know –Is there any way that Presbyterian churches can reach out to Jews without causing a media frenzy?
These are challenging times for those of us who are committed not just to individual clergy or houses of worship, but to national religious organizations. More people are choosing their religious identity the way they choose items at a salad bar, a story told best in books like Generation of Seekers and Spiritual Marketplace by Wade Clark Roof. As a result, there is theological fluidity, borrowing of ritual, and a general freedom to create religious life that is unprecedented.
These forces are not necessarily detrimental to traditional religious communities. As a rabbi, I have viewed genuine Christian interest in Jewish ritual and practice as an overwhelmingly positive development, one that is by no means a new phenomenon. The many Christian communities who hold Passover Seders are just one example of this flowering of Jewish ritual in the church. Rabbis across the country who serve on local clergy councils have truly enjoyed teaching for Christian groups and have seen first hand the sincere desire for spiritual dialogue that exists between Christians and Jews. It is of no surprise to me that some Christians are even interested in learning Hebrew, studying kabbalah, and reading Chassidic tales. I know that many Christians have discovered the Judaica section of their local Barnes & Noble or independent bookstore and have begun to read about Jewish history and religious life. The vast majority of Presbyterians and others who seek out Jewish practices and Jewish insights, or even read a Bruce Feiler book on the Bible, do so in a desire to deepen their relationship to Christ and do so with a genuine respect for Judaism.
It is also true that in a society that is increasingly open, people choose to convert to a religion that they did not grow up with. The latest National Jewish Population study found that many Christians have found homes in the Jewish community and that many Jews have chosen to join Christian communities. In working with Presbyterians, I have heard stories of the Jewish men and women who have become active in churches across the country. Many of these folks are Jews who have married committed Protestants, but some fall into the category of intellectual or spiritual seekers. In their new homes they have found the religious community that they were seeking. Lauren Winner’s recent book Girl Gets God tells her story of a Jewish seeker finding Christ, and in my work I have met not only Christian lay leaders, but Christian ministers who grew up in Jewish homes. Their spiritual journeys led not simply to an embrace of Christ’s teachings, but to a decision to become part of the Church, to enter the covenant of the church community, and to carry on the church’s historical legacy. These folks do not call themselves Messianic Jews. Rather, they are proud to be Christians, and carry in their hearts the Church’s struggles between tradition and innovation.
Messianic Jews are a different type of spiritual seeker. In contrast to Jews who become Christians, most Messianic Jews do not want to be called Christians (hence the title “Messianic Jews” instead of “Hebrew Christians” – an earlier manifestation of their religious community) or to call their congregations churches. Instead, they emphatically state that they are Jewish – Jews who pray in the name of Jesus. Among Messianics there is some disagreement about what type of Judaism they are. To quote one Messianic Jewish leader, Michael Wolf, his mission is to “Commit to, and grow in a lifestyle of faith called Biblical Judaism.” A leader of another wing of Messianic Jews, Stuart Dauerman, claims that “Messianic Judaism is a Judaism, and not a cosmetically altered "Jewish-style" version of what is extant in the wider Christian community.” Many Messianic Jews view Christianity from the third century onward to be an aberration of Christ’s teachings and they argue that to join a Christian church would be to “assimilate” into a European Christianity that is antithetical to Jews. The Union of Messianic Judaism’s recent paper Defining Messianic Judaism calls Presbyterians and others “the Gentile Church”. In some communities there has even been heated discussion about whether Christians who join Messianic Synagogues must convert to Judaism to be full members or to participate in all activities in the congregation – for example, the Union has stated that “Gentiles are certainly welcome within Messianic Jewish Congregations…but congregations remain Jewish, not expressions of ‘one new man’ that is neither Jew nor Greek. Much of their life is based, not strictly on Scripture or on universal precepts for all believers, but on Jewish teaching and tradition. Gentiles moved by Ahavat Yisrael will participate in the Messianic Jewish congregation on these terms.”
Messianic Jews are creating an interesting hybrid religious identity – one that satisfies their personal desires to carry on talmudic based religious rituals and one that gives them a Hebraic path to accepting Yeshua, Jesus. They have taken two traditions that were often at odds with one another (with Jews often the persecuted party) and have inherited the theological, ritual and historical confusion inherent in syncretism. And while both Catholic and Protestant church bodies have worked to correct the bloody legacy of crusaders and church sponsored persecutions against the Jews, and have affirmed that Jews still remain in covenant with God, Messianic Jews continue to target Jews for evangelization – often in deceptive ways. As a result, their eclectic mix does not fly well in a Church or Synagogue. For these reasons, both Jews and Christians have declared Messianic Jews to be a “fringe religious development” – one that stands outside the boundaries of both the Church and the established Jewish religious movements.
That said, though, perhaps someday Messianic Jews will have the makings of a genuine religious movement – a well articulated philosophy and theology, an accredited seminary, a national network of religious schools, shared educational curricula, a mechanism to provide social services for those who are in need - and the other components those of us affiliated with religious movements work so hard to sustain. But today they are a loosely connected group (or groups – they have numerous “national” bodies) with a unknown number of adherents. From my initial research, I see that their “seminary” amounts to one class taught by an adjunct faculty member at an Evangelical seminary and their “Yeshiva” is a series of audio lectures. Their teachings and practices vary greatly from congregation to congregation, and with a few exceptions (the minister in Plymouth Meeting one of them), they are currently served by leaders who have little or no formal religious training. Some of them call themselves rabbis, other ministers. Perhaps half of their adherents come from Jewish backgrounds.
So what does this all mean for Presbyterians who wish to grow the church and to reach out to new communities?
It is obvious to me as an observer of the Presbyterian Church that the new energy brought into the church by Chinese, Korean, and Pakistani Presbyterians has given many communities new hope. But when one funds a new religious category in the name of attracting new members, such as Messianic Judaism, one has generated the opposite effect. Instead of evangelizing in a way that welcomes people into the Church community, the Church has funded a separate entity – one that borrows from both Christianity and Judaism - and only further distances both Christians and Jews from their spiritual homes. It is clear to me that the Messianics do not want their followers to become Presbyterians nor do they personally want to follow Presbyterian practices. But apparently they have no problem spending money collected from the members of the Presbyterian Church USA to fund a congregation that not only hides the cross and baptismal font, but advertises to Jews in a manner that has been described as deceptive. The minister of this Messianic Jewish congregation took a great leap of faith to leave Judaism and to join the Presbyterian Church and become an ordained minister. I imagine that when he was ordained he vowed to uphold the theology and practice of the Presbyterian Church - isn’t it ironic that he does not urge his followers to do the same?
It is no surprise to me that my fellow Jews view the new church Avodat Yisrael as a cheap advertising gimmick. It is as if mainstream Jews funded a savvy Conservative rabbi to sing Amazing Grace, recite the Lord’s Prayer and read selected New Testament verses in an attempt to lure inter-faith couples.
So how should the Presbyterys respond to inter-marriage and outreach to inter-married families? There are other, more dignified paths. Many churches already have adjusted to new American religious trends and now offer classes for young families entitled "When mommy is Jewish" or "When daddy is Jewish" to help inter-faith families face their issues in an open, non-judgmental environment. Others offer classes particularly on Hebrew Scripture or create a book group that includes a book of Jewish interest. Some have invited in rabbis to teach. Probably the most interesting development in this arena is the award winning local television program in Larchmont, New York that features a Presbyterian minister and a rabbi discussing theological issues over breakfast at a diner. These activities send the message to Jews that they will be welcomed without judgment and spoken of with respect within the Church. When that happens, inter-married families will not only join churches but become amazing assets for furthering the Church’s goals. I’m sure that many of you have seen this with your own eyes.
Decades of work have gone into building a strong relationship between Presbyterians and Jews. In the wake of the holocaust, theological dialogue led to new understandings of an ancient connection. Both Jews and Presbyterians are challenged by America’s new religious realities. It is my hope that Presbyterians across the country will continue to affirm the spiritual journey that Jews and Christians walk together in light of God’s teachings and that further efforts to outreach to inter-married families can be done with true sensitivity and compassion. I hope that in the upcoming assembly that the Presbyterian Church USA’s membership will raise their voices, put an end to further allocations to Messianic Jewish groups and reaffirm the Church’s historic principles regarding Jewish-Christian relations.
11.8.04
Praying With Lior
A few months ago, I met with Ilana Trachtman, director of Praying with Lior which is in the final stage of development. I saw a rough cut of the film, which is about the remarkable prayer skills of Lior Leibling, a young man with Down's Syndrome who just had his bar mitzvah. Ilana is doing a phenomenal job with a difficult subject.
9.8.04
16.7.04
Remarks at Rensellearville Church
Spiritual Activism: From Moses to Bob Marley’s Redemption Song
Rabbi Daniel Brenner
I begin with a story:
The Parable of the Two Scrolls:
A traveler walks down a path holding a scroll of paper in each hand. Every few minutes, the traveler stops along the way and unrolls one of the scrolls.
“The whole world was created for me.” reads the first scroll.
After reading this message, the traveler walks with pride, taking long strides on the journey, enjoying each step, paying little attention to the world as it passes by.
After a while the traveler stops and unrolls the scroll in the other hand
“I am from dust and will return to dust!” it reads.
Suddenly the traveler begins to shuffle along the road in a state of despair, head hanging to the ground, despondent until the next time that the scroll in the other hand is read.
This Chassidic tale is often recalled during the month of reflection that precedes the Jewish High Holidays. Life, we are told by this teaching, is a delicate balancing act between two truths. Hope and despair are those two truths and they are always present.
Today, many political theorists are talking about two truths as well. Two Harvard professors are at the center of this debate. One, Francis Fukuyama, has argued that globalization and the rise of the digital market will eventually create a peaceful world with one language and one culture. The other, Samuel Huntington, has argued that a violent clash of civilizations is upon us - most notably between Islam and the West. In short, these visions predict either a world that is populated by those who wish to forget the past in the name of peace or by those who wish to fight to recreate the glory of the past.
Are either of these predictions proving to be accurate?
While it may seem that the clash is upon us, I want to suggest that in some ways both men are right. We are moving towards a global village and we are more interconnected than we have ever been. Education of millions is now happening via online resources. More young girls are learning than ever before. These could be hopeful signs. Yet, we also live with the images of 9/11 and images of the numerous attacks against Americans and other Westerners who are aid workers, journalists, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who perpetrates these attacks?
In most cases, they are carried out not by those who are directly oppressed under the economic conditions dictated by the West on Arab nations – but those Arab students who can afford to come to the West to seek education and fortune. Sadly, many of them end up feeling more and more alienated from both their ancestral land and the modern world.
The root of the attacks is not Islam or the Quran – but the conflicted soul that rages towards the West (a rage that has been building since the colonial era) and desires the West (for individual autonomy, technology, and political freedom)
That conflict, in a digital world, becomes the impetus for a media spectacle of violence.
So how do we address this conflicted soul? How do we address the alienation that is at the heart of the transition from the local to global village?
We do not have to go to the apartment blocks of Paris, Manchester or Hamburg to see Muslims making the difficult transition from local to global village. They are also here in our midst. And when I have spoken with them, I understand how vulnerable they feel.
Since 1965, America has undergone a radical change in religious diversity that Professor Diane Eck has titled the “New Religious America.” It is an America that includes Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, and more. It is an America that is a microcosm of the world’s religions – and a place in which new forms of those religions are blossoming.
And while America may have not received as much public attention as France has with ‘headscarf crimes’, America is facing a similar challenge of diversity. So we must ask a historical question:
How did America respond to the first wave of immigration that brought religious diversity to these shores– the wave between 1880- and 1920?
While it took nearly three decades for Jews and Catholics to feel accepted in America, we have countless of righteous Protestants to thank for making this nation a welcoming one for religious difference. In 1927, when the National Conference of Christians and Jews began with one Protestant, one Catholic, and one Jewish leader, it sent a message that this nation was one which not only tolerated, but found strength in diversity. John F. Kennedy’s presidency was historic, as was Joseph Leiberman’s candidacy. And these events could not have happened without thousands of local events like this one here today.
For Jews, finding acceptance in America was not only vital in the 1920s, but was especially salient after the horrors visited on our people in Europe during World War II. Jews not only came to see America as a refuge, but to call it home. I grew up with the U.S. Army issue Passover Haggadah that my father used as a G.I.
The same efforts that Protestants pushed forward in solidifying this nation as a Judeo-Christian one must now be advanced to widen the tent. And while I hope that both polytheists (like Hindus) and non-theists (like Buddhists) will be included around the table, it is our fellow monotheists, Muslims, that we must reach out to at this hour.
But bringing them to the table is only the first step. The real question regarding diversity is not simply who we can gather around the table, but what can we accomplish together. Jews, Protestants and Catholics came together and played a major role in healing the nation’s racism and establishing civil rights. Today there is a new set of issues to tackle. So where should we begin? We might draw on some spiritual resources.
In the Book of Exodus, the young Moses “Goes out to see his brethren” – The Midrash, the collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Torah, asks “what did he see?”
He saw the burdens of the young on the backs of the old and the burdens of the old on the backs of the young. He saw the burdens of women on men and men on women.
So how did he respond?
Moses began to shift the burdens, running back and forth. He hoped that Pharoah would be pleased, seeing how much more efficient the work had become. But Pharoah forbid him from interfering. It was then that Moses knew that he would have to stand up to Pharoah.
Today we live in a nation in which our collective burdens are being carried by those whose voices of anguish go unheard. Rather than create a society in which there is a chicken in every pot, we have created a gap between rich and poor that has grown larger each year. Fewer people have health insurance – and even those who have it cannot afford decent health care. And there are thousands of workers in this country – men who work the fields among the pesticides, women who are held in captivity and exploited sexually– who are carrying unjust burdens. It is appalling to me that a Wal-mart janitorial employee from Poland was forced to work 364 days a year, twelve hour shifts and denied medical care when she had a work related accident.
Of course we will not change our society overnight, but the one thing that we can change is our minds.
Bob Marley sang:
Emancipate yourselves from inner slavery/ none but ourselves can free our minds/have no fear for atomic energy / none of them can stop the time/ how long will we kill our prophets/ while they stand aside a look/ we’ve got to take part in it/ got to fulfill the book/ redemption song/this song of freedom/ all I ever had
We can change our minds – and through the electoral process we have the ability to change the policies that impact our nation’s most vulnerable. It is said that the worst part of Egyptian slavery was that the Hebrews had given up hope that they would ever be anything other than slaves. But we should not lose hope that it is possible to create a compassionate and caring society. We can shift the energy we have used to become the world’s military superpower to address the AIDS crisis, environmental crisis, and the desperate need for education.
We carry two scrolls with us. One scroll that gives us hope and one that instills despair.
Today, let us look at the new religious diversity in America as a sign of hope. It will take much work, but we can utilize this diversity to touch the lives of people in every nation. Let us dedicate ourselves to building a wide tent, in which all can rest safely and find nourishment. And let that tent be an inspiration for all our fellow travelers on planet earth.
Rabbi Daniel Brenner
I begin with a story:
The Parable of the Two Scrolls:
A traveler walks down a path holding a scroll of paper in each hand. Every few minutes, the traveler stops along the way and unrolls one of the scrolls.
“The whole world was created for me.” reads the first scroll.
After reading this message, the traveler walks with pride, taking long strides on the journey, enjoying each step, paying little attention to the world as it passes by.
After a while the traveler stops and unrolls the scroll in the other hand
“I am from dust and will return to dust!” it reads.
Suddenly the traveler begins to shuffle along the road in a state of despair, head hanging to the ground, despondent until the next time that the scroll in the other hand is read.
This Chassidic tale is often recalled during the month of reflection that precedes the Jewish High Holidays. Life, we are told by this teaching, is a delicate balancing act between two truths. Hope and despair are those two truths and they are always present.
Today, many political theorists are talking about two truths as well. Two Harvard professors are at the center of this debate. One, Francis Fukuyama, has argued that globalization and the rise of the digital market will eventually create a peaceful world with one language and one culture. The other, Samuel Huntington, has argued that a violent clash of civilizations is upon us - most notably between Islam and the West. In short, these visions predict either a world that is populated by those who wish to forget the past in the name of peace or by those who wish to fight to recreate the glory of the past.
Are either of these predictions proving to be accurate?
While it may seem that the clash is upon us, I want to suggest that in some ways both men are right. We are moving towards a global village and we are more interconnected than we have ever been. Education of millions is now happening via online resources. More young girls are learning than ever before. These could be hopeful signs. Yet, we also live with the images of 9/11 and images of the numerous attacks against Americans and other Westerners who are aid workers, journalists, or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who perpetrates these attacks?
In most cases, they are carried out not by those who are directly oppressed under the economic conditions dictated by the West on Arab nations – but those Arab students who can afford to come to the West to seek education and fortune. Sadly, many of them end up feeling more and more alienated from both their ancestral land and the modern world.
The root of the attacks is not Islam or the Quran – but the conflicted soul that rages towards the West (a rage that has been building since the colonial era) and desires the West (for individual autonomy, technology, and political freedom)
That conflict, in a digital world, becomes the impetus for a media spectacle of violence.
So how do we address this conflicted soul? How do we address the alienation that is at the heart of the transition from the local to global village?
We do not have to go to the apartment blocks of Paris, Manchester or Hamburg to see Muslims making the difficult transition from local to global village. They are also here in our midst. And when I have spoken with them, I understand how vulnerable they feel.
Since 1965, America has undergone a radical change in religious diversity that Professor Diane Eck has titled the “New Religious America.” It is an America that includes Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, and more. It is an America that is a microcosm of the world’s religions – and a place in which new forms of those religions are blossoming.
And while America may have not received as much public attention as France has with ‘headscarf crimes’, America is facing a similar challenge of diversity. So we must ask a historical question:
How did America respond to the first wave of immigration that brought religious diversity to these shores– the wave between 1880- and 1920?
While it took nearly three decades for Jews and Catholics to feel accepted in America, we have countless of righteous Protestants to thank for making this nation a welcoming one for religious difference. In 1927, when the National Conference of Christians and Jews began with one Protestant, one Catholic, and one Jewish leader, it sent a message that this nation was one which not only tolerated, but found strength in diversity. John F. Kennedy’s presidency was historic, as was Joseph Leiberman’s candidacy. And these events could not have happened without thousands of local events like this one here today.
For Jews, finding acceptance in America was not only vital in the 1920s, but was especially salient after the horrors visited on our people in Europe during World War II. Jews not only came to see America as a refuge, but to call it home. I grew up with the U.S. Army issue Passover Haggadah that my father used as a G.I.
The same efforts that Protestants pushed forward in solidifying this nation as a Judeo-Christian one must now be advanced to widen the tent. And while I hope that both polytheists (like Hindus) and non-theists (like Buddhists) will be included around the table, it is our fellow monotheists, Muslims, that we must reach out to at this hour.
But bringing them to the table is only the first step. The real question regarding diversity is not simply who we can gather around the table, but what can we accomplish together. Jews, Protestants and Catholics came together and played a major role in healing the nation’s racism and establishing civil rights. Today there is a new set of issues to tackle. So where should we begin? We might draw on some spiritual resources.
In the Book of Exodus, the young Moses “Goes out to see his brethren” – The Midrash, the collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Torah, asks “what did he see?”
He saw the burdens of the young on the backs of the old and the burdens of the old on the backs of the young. He saw the burdens of women on men and men on women.
So how did he respond?
Moses began to shift the burdens, running back and forth. He hoped that Pharoah would be pleased, seeing how much more efficient the work had become. But Pharoah forbid him from interfering. It was then that Moses knew that he would have to stand up to Pharoah.
Today we live in a nation in which our collective burdens are being carried by those whose voices of anguish go unheard. Rather than create a society in which there is a chicken in every pot, we have created a gap between rich and poor that has grown larger each year. Fewer people have health insurance – and even those who have it cannot afford decent health care. And there are thousands of workers in this country – men who work the fields among the pesticides, women who are held in captivity and exploited sexually– who are carrying unjust burdens. It is appalling to me that a Wal-mart janitorial employee from Poland was forced to work 364 days a year, twelve hour shifts and denied medical care when she had a work related accident.
Of course we will not change our society overnight, but the one thing that we can change is our minds.
Bob Marley sang:
Emancipate yourselves from inner slavery/ none but ourselves can free our minds/have no fear for atomic energy / none of them can stop the time/ how long will we kill our prophets/ while they stand aside a look/ we’ve got to take part in it/ got to fulfill the book/ redemption song/this song of freedom/ all I ever had
We can change our minds – and through the electoral process we have the ability to change the policies that impact our nation’s most vulnerable. It is said that the worst part of Egyptian slavery was that the Hebrews had given up hope that they would ever be anything other than slaves. But we should not lose hope that it is possible to create a compassionate and caring society. We can shift the energy we have used to become the world’s military superpower to address the AIDS crisis, environmental crisis, and the desperate need for education.
We carry two scrolls with us. One scroll that gives us hope and one that instills despair.
Today, let us look at the new religious diversity in America as a sign of hope. It will take much work, but we can utilize this diversity to touch the lives of people in every nation. Let us dedicate ourselves to building a wide tent, in which all can rest safely and find nourishment. And let that tent be an inspiration for all our fellow travelers on planet earth.
12.5.04
My Invocation at the George Rupp lecture
I was asked to deliver the invocation at a time when the world was reeling from the revelations from Abu Gharib. Here's what I came up with:
INVOCATION
Rudin Lecture, May 11, 2004
Eternal One, may it be your will that our coming together here, tonight, for a short time, will inspire and renew us.
Though we come together from diverse religious traditions, with particular theologies and practices that guide us, may we invoke your name tonight together as a sign of shared gratitude for the ability to join together in this space. May we use the freedom and wealth that we are blessed with to make the lives of others more joyful and bearable.
Blessed Holy One, this week our hearts have been heavy. At this time of war and images of brutality, may we be given the courage and strength to put aside the inner cynic, the nasty, brutish and short voice that leads us to look at an atrocity and say “well, this kind of thing always happens.” Give us the strength to say “It does not have to be this way.” Give us the wisdom to learn from this as a nation– and to move forward as a world power with both humility and responsibility. In the face of increased hostility towards us, even in the face of acts of vengeance aimed to rattle us, help us to rise to our highest ideals, and to respond to chaos with calm and clarity.
Source of Life, as you heard the cries of the stranger’s child, of the enslaved Hebrews in Egypt, of the repentant King David in his chambers may we hear the voices that call out at this hour. May we hear, and respond with our own outsretched hands.
INVOCATION
Rudin Lecture, May 11, 2004
Eternal One, may it be your will that our coming together here, tonight, for a short time, will inspire and renew us.
Though we come together from diverse religious traditions, with particular theologies and practices that guide us, may we invoke your name tonight together as a sign of shared gratitude for the ability to join together in this space. May we use the freedom and wealth that we are blessed with to make the lives of others more joyful and bearable.
Blessed Holy One, this week our hearts have been heavy. At this time of war and images of brutality, may we be given the courage and strength to put aside the inner cynic, the nasty, brutish and short voice that leads us to look at an atrocity and say “well, this kind of thing always happens.” Give us the strength to say “It does not have to be this way.” Give us the wisdom to learn from this as a nation– and to move forward as a world power with both humility and responsibility. In the face of increased hostility towards us, even in the face of acts of vengeance aimed to rattle us, help us to rise to our highest ideals, and to respond to chaos with calm and clarity.
Source of Life, as you heard the cries of the stranger’s child, of the enslaved Hebrews in Egypt, of the repentant King David in his chambers may we hear the voices that call out at this hour. May we hear, and respond with our own outsretched hands.
The Big House
This past Monday I taught in Sing Sing to a group of inmates in the Masters of Theology program. 10 Christians, 4 Muslims, most of them lifers. It was intense being in the complex -- located on a magnificent site overlooking the Hudson -- and the students were clearly engaged. One of the best questions was "Have they come out with a new edition of the Encyclopedia Judaica? Our edition in the prison library in 1972, and I was wondering if there have been any discoveries of new aggadic materials!"
5.5.04
Sacred Space
Yesterday we had our Sacred Space conference. University of Chicago's Jonathan Z. Smith was the highlight - an eccentric Durkheimian. We also visited the Manhattan Mormon Temple. Here are some photos. . One of the protestant ministers on the tour said "Gosh, it looks like a funeral home."
30.4.04
Embracing Beliefnet
My book has recently been excerpted on beliefnet, which allows folks to write in their commentary. So far there are a few stories from folks who have dealt with loss.
26.4.04
A classic cartoon from my rabbinical school days
I came acroos this masterpiece, a cartoon from the good old days when I taught Hebrew School. I sort of miss it. sort of.
22.4.04
Blackboards in Abu Gosh
Yesterday we had an event at Auburn with Ron Kronish a rabbi in Jerusalem that does Inter-religious dialogue. He came with a Palestinian educator, Issa Jabar, who was equally eloquent. At one point during the event, a reporter from a rather anti-Israel magazine felt that it was an opportunity to challenge the charge that Palestinians are being taught to hate Israelis in schools. "Is it true," she asked Jabar, "that Palestinain teachers are teaching hate?" Jabar's response: "Yes - but during Oslo we worked on a new curriculum and we are still hoping to implement it!" May it be speedily and in our days.
16.4.04
Pharoah on Audio
The session I did with Rabbi Art Waskow in D.C. "Speaking Truth to Pharoah" is now available on tape. If you are interested, you can order the tape.for 10 bucks plus 7 shipping.
15.4.04
God Bless Omaha
The Harvard School of Divinity Pluralism Project listed one of the op-eds I wrote after 9/11 in its interfaith section. My op-ed was quoted by the editors at the Omaha newspaper. Who knew that folks in Nebraska read the Forverts?
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