Thank You Shabbat Four

March 9, 2018/23 Adar, 5778

Jews who Choose Judaism

Rabbi Mark Joel Mahler 

Jewish tradition may ask us never to call someone who has converted to Judaism a “convert.” Rather he or she should only be called a “Jew.” Nonetheless, Jewish tradition extols converts in ways that make converts exemplars of Judaism to all Jews.

The most famous and oft-repeated tale from the Talmud emanates from conversion. In fact, it is so famous that I’ll simply start it, and someone can then can volunteer to finish it.

One day, a man went to Shammai, a great Tanna, “Teacher,” at the turn of the common era, who earned his livelihood as builder. The man said to Shammai, “I will convert to Judaism on condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot.” Deeming such a request impudent, Shammai brandished one of his builder’s tools like a weapon and chased the man away. The man then went to Hillel, the greatest Tanna of the time, and repeated the same request: “I will convert to Judaism on condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot.”

Who would now like to finish the story with Hillel’s response?

…“What is hateful to you, do not do to any person. All the rest is commentary. Go and study.”

If you are familiar with Christianity’s Golden Rule “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” based on the Sermon on the Mount in the New Testament, where do you think Jesus learned this? Modern scholars have every reason to believe that Jesus was a disciple of Hillel.

Modern scholars also have every reason to believe that Hillel became the greatest Tanna of his day and the spiritual leader of the Jewish people, precisely because he hailed, not from Judea the Jewish nation, but from Egypt. The message he gave simply by his origins is that you don’t have to be a Judean to be a Jew. Judaism is not a religion of nationality, how much the more so geography. Unlike Zeus on Mount Olympus, Poseidon in the seas and Hades in the Underworld, God is the universal God. Thus Hillel became the champion of the great age of proselytism for Judaism across the Roman empire. So successful was Jewish proselytism of the day that the historian Josephus reported that one out of every ten citizens of the Roman empire was Jewish. By comparison, today’s American Jewish community is a mere 1.6 % of the U.S. population.

Once Emperor Constantine declared Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire circa 312 of the common era, conversion to Judaism and proselytism for Judaism became capital offenses, punishable by death. But when and where they could, people continued to convert to Judaism.

The story is told that the kingdom of the Khazars, a people residing on the Asian steppes between the Black and Caspian Seas, converted en masse to Judaism sometime roughly between the seventh and tenth centuries. Rabbi Judah HaLevi based his philosophical treatise, The Kuzari, on the Khazars’ mass conversion. The conversion of the Khazars also gave rise in our own day to Arthur Koestler’s best seller, The Thirteenth Tribe. However, modern scholars debate whether the Khazars’ mass conversion lies somewhere between fact and fiction. Nonetheless such grey areas have given light and inspiration to Judaism and the Jewish people ever since the patriarchs and matriarchs of the Torah.

Another such story is much closer to our time. Polish Count Valentine Potocki, was burned at the stake on Shavuot, 1749. While living in Paris, Potocki befriended a Jew who introduced him to the faith of Israel. The more Potocki learned, the more he was enchanted, until he converted to Judaism. When he returned to his native Poland, he was arrested for heresy, and tortured to recant his conversion. He refused. Facing execution, he was asked a final time to recant. Potocki responded, “I have discovered a chest filled with precious treasure. Why should I now give it away?”

Shavuot commemorates the revelation at Mount Sinai, the moment when all Jews embraced our covenant with God. Accepting the covenant is the essence of Judaism, and as such, the essence of converting to Judaism. As the story is told, as the flames engulfed Potocki, he recited Shema Yisrael.

The special grace note for Shavuot and conversion is the Haftarah assigned to the Holy Day: the Book of Ruth, highlighted by the words that Ruth spoke to her daughter in law Naomi, “Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay, your people will be my people and your God my God, where you die I will die, and there will I be buried.” Ruth’s words of devotion became the biblical benchmark for conversion to Judaism.

And lest we otherwise overlook it, Abraham and Sarah were the first Jews but they were not born Jewish. Therefore Abraham and Sarah were also the first converts to Judaism! What we may have overlooked was not lost upon our ancient sages. They ruled that the person who converts to Judaism is greater than the person born Jewish, because the person who converts has received the Ruach HaKodesh, the Divine Inspiration to convert, just as Abraham and Sarah received that Divine Inspiration. Therefore when a person converting to Judaism takes on a Hebrew name, he or she is noted as the son or daughter of Abraham and Sarah.

Over the years, I have worked with literally hundreds of people for conversion. I once asked Mrs. Marcovitz, the woman who ran the Mikveh for decades until the new Mikveh opened last year, “Which rabbi brings the most people to the Mikveh for conversion?” My question was borne of idle curiosity. She said, “You do.” Her answer surprised me then, but as I look back over these thirty-eight years that I’ve served the Pittsburgh community, Mrs. Marcovitz may indeed be correct.

Working with people who choose Judaism has been gratifying for me, in part because at times, I’ve sensed how difficult it has been for them.

For instance, I received a phone call on Monday from a person telling me that he’d like to convert to Judaism. I informed him that one of the requirements for conversion is attending the Introduction to Judaism course, which in fact began last night. With time of the essence, I suggested that we meet yesterday morning. He agreed. Yesterday morning came and went, and he never showed up, nor did I receive a phone call telling me why. This scenario was not all that unusual. If experience is any teacher, he may call me again and request that we reschedule our meeting. Experience also teaches that I may never hear from him again.

For every person I’ve guided in conversion over the years, there may be another person whose story is similar, if not identical, to yesterday’s no-show. More typically, they are people who meet with me once and never meet with again, nor with any other Reform rabbi, nor I am quite certain nor with any Conservative rabbi, and as logic would dictate, how much the more so, nor with any Orthodox rabbi.

Why?

I don’t think it’s necessarily easy to convert to Judaism. Perhaps this is true for every religion, but I speak with authority only regarding Judaism. I might cite dozens of different anecdotes describing the challenges that people face on their journey to Judaism, but ultimately one anecdote may tell all.

Years ago, I was meeting with someone who had completed all the requisites for conversion: Shabbat and holiday observances in the home and here at Temple, regular meetings with me for counsel along the path, completing the Introduction to Judaism course, team taught by the area Reform clergy, along with recommended readings. All these endeavors had taken the typical year or more. She was ready for her interview with the Beit Din and immersion in the Mikveh. She said to me, “How much chicken soup do I have to consume before I really feel Jewish?”

I have repeated this anecdote countless times because it is so illustrative of what being Jewish is and isn’t. There is no mitzvah among the 613 mitzvot that says “Thou shalt eat chicken soup.” But there are mitzvot to feed the hungry, to shelter and clothe the needy, to redeem the oppressed, on and on. Judaism is not a religion of common culture. Judaism is a religion of moral virtues and shared values, of rituals celebrated with family and community. One of the many reasons that synagogue affiliation is declining is because too many Jews have believed that eating bagels and lox while reading The New York Times on Sunday mornings are fundamental Jewish acts. Ditto now hummus and felafel. Or they shep naches, “take pride and delight” when Jews win Oscars, although this week not one Jew won a major Academy Award. …Or they feel shame at the antics this week of Sam Nunberg.

Neither is Judaism a religion conveyed by genes. My daughter Shira texted me this week that her fiance Ed has discovered through his father’s recent genetic testing that his DNA is 2% Jewish. Knowing that Ed is working his way through all the requisites to convert to Judaism, I texted back, “Pretty soon he’ll be 100% Jewish.”

Truth be told, we are living in a time when all of us, even those of us who were born Jewish, choose to be Jewish, or sadly, not to be Jewish. To wit, every demographic survey indicates that the fastest growing Jewish population in the U.S. are those who have no religious affiliation with Judaism.

Questions such as “How much chicken soup do I have to consume to feel really Jewish?” clarify and refine what it is to be Jewish. Being Jewish is not a “feeling.”   Being Jewish is “doing;” keeping as many of the mitzvot to bring God into your life and mine, to assert God’s goodness in this world that sorely lacks for goodness.

A Midrash teaches, “The convert is dearer than the Jews who stood before Sinai. Why? Because had those Jews not heard the thunder and the blasts of the shofars, nor seen the lightning and the mountain quaking, they would not have accepted the Torah. But the one who converts has neither seen nor heard any of these things, yet has come and surrendered to the Holy One and accepted the reign of heaven on earth. Could anyone be dearer to God?”

To all of you who chose to be Jewish, thank you for making all of us better Jews.

Temple Emanuel of South Hills’ Board of Trustees is pleased to announce the appointment of Rabbi Donald Rossoff, D.D., R.J.E., as interim senior rabbi of the South Hills Reform congregation. Rabbi Rossoff’s contract was approved at a congregational meeting on Sunday, February 11, 2018.

Rabbi Rossoff will begin his year-long tenure at Temple Emanuel on July 1, 2018. Outgoing Senior Rabbi Mark Mahler, who has served the congregation for 38 years, will retire June 30, 2018.

Board President David Weisberg is pleased that the congregation approved Rabbi Rossoff’s contract and is looking forward to the future. “Rabbi Rossoff will serve as a bridge for our congregation, from the strong foundation that Rabbi Mahler helped build to a future where we can continue to flourish,” he says.

Over the next several months, Temple Emanuel will begin searching for a settled rabbi and Rabbi Rossoff’s experience assisting synagogues in transition will prove invaluable.

“The Interim Search Committee has no doubt we found the right person in Rabbi Rossoff, and we are thrilled he will be joining us,” says Search Committee Chair Michelle Markowitz. “His experience and demeanor made him the ideal choice to lead us through this important transition.”

Rabbi Rossoff will move to the South Hills with his wife Francine, a registered nurse. The couple has four adult children: Marc, Jenna. Ilana and Nathaniel. He is excited about working at Temple Emanuel and understands the particular role of an interim rabbi. “I will walk with and guide this sacred community on a journey that will take them through the loss they will feel from Rabbi Mahler’s retirement and on to the visioning of the future they would choose for themselves,” he says. “It has been a joy and a privilege to walk that journey with three other congregations and I am excited about the opportunity to join with Temple Emanuel on the journey that lies ahead for them.”

Rabbi Rossoff served as interim rabbi at Barnert Temple in Franklin Lake, NJ (2017-18), Temple Beth Am in Framingham, MA (2016-17), and the Jewish Reconstructionist Congregation in Evanston, IL (2015-16). He also served as senior rabbi of Temple B’Nia Or in Morristown, NJ from 1990-2015. Additionally, he authored the children’s book, “A Perfect Prayer.”

“Thank You Shabbat Three”

January 12, 2018/26 Tevet, 5778

When Life has Met Death

Rabbi Mark Joel Mahler

This Shabbat we continue with my Thank You Shabbats, this evening for the people whose loved one’s funeral I officiated at. As a prelude to my thanks and to offer them fully, heartfully and soulfully, I begin with four personal reflections.

First. When I was accepted to rabbinic school at the New York campus of Hebrew Union College – Jewish Institute of Religion, the dean asked to meet with me. Our conversation was brief but to the point. The dean said to me, “Mark, being a rabbi is a difficult job. On any given day, you’ll have to deal with different emotionally charged situations. You may officiate at a funeral in the morning, then a wedding in the afternoon and then a Shiva minyan in the evening.” Waving his hand in front of his face to emphasize his point, the dean then said, “In these situations, what you have to do is change the mask.”

The dean was correct. Being a rabbi can be an extremely difficult job, fraught with emotionally charged situations. But the dean was also wrong, at least for me. I wasn’t about to contest his well-intentioned advice, but even as a young man just accepted to rabbinic school, I knew that I could never be a rabbi who merely “changes the mask.”

…Which leads to the second reflection. During my first two years as a rabbi, we lived in an apartment in suburban Philadelphia. One morning as I was walking into the building, I exchanged greetings with a neighbor, a young surgeon who was walking out. I said to him, “Off to the operating room?” He answered, “Yes, I’m going to slash for cash!” I replied, “I don’t think you want your patients to hear that.” He said, “Of course not, but I’m sure that you reach a point as a rabbi that you’re emotionally detached, for example, when officiating at a funeral becomes routine.” “Oh no,” I replied, “I have to give my heart in every circumstance.”

Now almost forty years a rabbi, on the days when I had a funeral in the morning, a wedding in the afternoon, and a Shiva minyan in the evening, as well as during the ups and downs on any given day, I have done my best to give my heart.

Third. It wasn’t easy. Years ago while visiting us in Pittsburgh, my sister Jackie observed, “Every time the phone rings in this house, the tension goes up.” The explanation is simple. So many times when the phone has rung over the years, it is a congregant or a funeral home calling for the saddest of all possible reasons.

Fourth. In fact at times it has been extremely difficult. Alice was invited to speak when Temple honored me on the occasion of my twenty-fifth year at Temple. She and I didn’t discuss beforehand what she could or should say. No need: no one knows me better, no one loves me more. Something she said struck deep: “With every death in the congregation, Mark dies a little bit.”

Indeed, sometimes it has been crushing. For each of your loved ones whom I buried, I mourned in my own way, with personal rituals to navigate this difficult emotional terrain.

I always touched the coffin and bid a personal farewell.

For anyone who ever wondered why I always drive myself to the funeral and the cemetery rather than by a funeral home’s limousine, a limousine was once late to pick me up, which then made me late for the funeral. Once was too often.

Over the many years, en route to the cemetery the only music I’ve listened to is Claude Debussy’s Claire de Lune, which for me sounds the perfect harmony of the beauty of this world with the mystery of the next world. Otherwise I listen to the news or turn off the radio altogether. Jewish tradition insists that the overall mood of L’vaiyat HaMet, “Accompanying the Dead” be solemn. Kalut Rosh, “Light headedness,” is explicitly discouraged. When people have joked with me at the cemetery, I am always uncomfortable but always polite.

O how I’ve worried each time pall bearers bear their burden at the cemetery. Every pall bearer is unnerved by how heavy any coffin is. Pittsburgh’s hilly cemeteries and frequent inclement weather render their burden even more daunting. As I lead the pall bearers to the grave, while reciting the traditional liturgy, I am quick to point out potential hazards: a muddy patch here, uneven ground there, or slippery artificial ground cover leading to the grave. Then comes their moment of truth when they must mount the planks on either side of the grave – the narrow flexible planks that spring under the weight of each step – in order to place their burden safely on the two narrow straps of the lowering device.

As the coffin is lowered, I recite the traditional Tziduk HaDin, Psalm 49, referring to God as a “Rock,” a poetic image as the coffin descends into the earth. I also watch the little bolt on the lowering device that spins around as the coffin descends. The little bolt stops spinning when the coffin comes to rest at the bottom of the grave. As I watch the bolt spin and then stop, I meditate on the simple yet profound fact that this human body had been in constant motion from the moment it was created at conception. Even after death it continued its unique journey to the funeral home, often to Temple and then to the cemetery. But having arrived now at the bottom of the grave, it has come to eternal rest. How appropriate that we identify this finale with “Rest in peace.”

I also observe a personal Shiva for your loved ones. For many of them, I had been praying for their healing daily for weeks, for months and sometimes for even years. I guesstimate that on any given day, I pray for fifty people or more, having memorized their names alphabetically. Memory then has no “delete” key. After people on my prayer list have died, force of habit keeps me reciting their name in the daily prayer for healing. Each time I do, the pain of their loss resurfaces. It generally takes me a week – Shiva – to remember to forget. Sometimes longer. And sometimes even after years, I remember a name during the prayer for healing that I had once prayed for years ago.

Moments of reflection such as this Shabbat evening demand an honest question. Could I have done better? The honest answer for me, and for everyone with at least a modicum of humility, is “Of course,” but I was always trying to do my best, to give my heart. However I thank you for making me feel that my best efforts were always more than good enough.

For your words of gratitude, I thank you. Given your grief, please know that I never counted on encomiums. Therefore I appreciated them all the more when you expressed them.

I thank you for your expressions of gratitude that my words in memory of your loved ones were indeed fitting tributes to their memory that you so cherish.

Everyone grieves differently, some effusively and emotionally, some stoically and privately. Sometimes it has been difficult for me to discern exactly how close I should come or how distant I should remain. If I erred in judgment, I thank you for your forgiveness.

No less is this true for dying as well as death. Sometimes I am greeted in the time leading up to death as a source of strength. Other times, I am spurned as death’s herald. Here too it has been difficult to discern which impact in particular I will have upon people, merely by my presence. Again, if I erred in judgment, I thank you for your forgiveness.

Sometimes your loved one’s funeral was quickly followed by someone else’s loved one’s funeral. Over the years, on average I’ve officiated at twenty-five funerals annually. Dying and death are never spread out smoothly at two or so per month. Often they have been preceded by vigils in the hospital, in hospice or in the home which also require my attention, to give my heart. If you understood these pastoral demands upon me, I thank you.

All funerals are sad, but some are tragic. These especially required me to give my heart. And such are the funerals that broke my heart. But they never shook my faith in God.

A final reflection….

When I was a young man first considering becoming a rabbi, I was inspired by several people, most of all by the rabbi who became my rabbinic mentor and who installed me here as Rabbi of Temple Emanuel in 1985, Rabbi Ely Pilchik of blessed memory. When I first met Rabbi Pilchik in 1972, among his many virtues, his eyes fascinated me. He had eyes like Albert Einstein: eyes that had seen eternity. I wanted to have those same eyes. I wanted to glimpse eternity. Little did I appreciate then exactly how one earns these eyes. Many decades later, I look at myself in the mirror, I see these eyes, and I understand what it has taken to earn them.

Indeed I have glimpsed eternity again and again:

Each time my phone has rung with the saddest of all possible news.

Each time we met thereafter and you’ve told me your loved one’s life story.

Each time I have written the eulogy honoring your loved one’s memory.

Each time I officiated at your loved one’s funeral.

Each time I have led the pall bearers with their heavy burden to the grave.

Each time I have watched that little bolt stop spinning.

Each time we tossed dirt into the grave.

Each time that we recited Kaddish together.

Each time that we have tried to make sense of life in light of death.

Each time that we pondered immortality’s unfathomable possibility measured against mortality’s inescapable reality.

Thank you.

I thank you for extending your hand and heart to me. I thank you for the trust you gave to me. I thank you for taking my hand. I thank you for touching my heart with yours.

We’ve heard what the URJ Biennial was like from Temple President David Weisberg and VP Michelle Markowitz, but adults weren’t the only ones who attended. Temple member Rebecca Schwartz, a junior at Mt. Lebanon Senior High School, shares her experience:

I often say that it takes two meetings to bring someone into your life: At the first meeting, you get to know someone; at the second meeting, you realize how much you missed them. For me the Biennial was first and foremost a chance to reconnect with the friends I met this summer at the URJ Kutz camp. Honestly, had I just been trapped in the teen lounge with them for the entire Biennial, it would have been enjoyable.

However, we weren’t trapped. For the first time, teens were fully integrated into the adult programming for Biennial. It was amazing; my friends and I were often the youngest ones in the room. We studied the entirety of Genesis chapter 37, learned about environmental activism, and attended an amazing workshop about the relationship between Judaism and Science. (If you have ever had a conversation with me, you can bet I enjoyed that workshop.)

The most amazing part of the conference was the services (yes, even the three hour Saturday morning service complete with a 40 minute sermon). All the teens sat together on the balcony. It is hard to describe how it feels to pray in a room of 6,000. The prayers echoed and resounded across the room. We even got to lead Havdallah on stage with Dan Nichols.

It was so amazing to be at the Biennial, running through the hallways with my friends to chase various Jewish musicians, waking my friends up super early to go to services, and taking nine flights of stairs in high heels because we were so full of energy that we didn’t want to wait for the elevator. Biennial was the first time I realized that adults could be just as into Judaism as teens. It was awesome.

Temple Vice President Michelle Markowitz was part of the Temple contingent that attended the URJ Biennial. Like President David Weisberg, this was her first time attending. David shared his thoughts with us; now it’s Michelle’s turn:

I had heard someone describe Biennial as “Jewish Disneyland.” After being there, I feel like that was a pretty accurate description. Everybody was happy to be there and excited about the future of Reform Judaism, both here in the United States and in Israel.

Temple President David Weisberg attended his first URJ Biennial last week. “[It was] unbelievable being with 5500+ fellow Jews from all across North America,” he says.

Weisberg was part of a Temple Emanuel contingent that traveled to Boston, Mass. for the opportunity to learn, share, and help shape the future of the Reform Movement. He shares more about his experience:

Q: What did you think it would be like, and what was it really like?

A: I was hopeful that I would be able to learn and further deepen my understanding of best practices across the Reform Movement. The Biennial was that plus more, including being able to meet with fellow congregational presidents and learn from them.

Q: What stands out for you?

A: The worship experiences at Biennial were like nothing I had ever experienced. For Shabbat services, singing the Sh’ma and having multiple Torahs cycle through the crowd of 5500+ was spectacular. Our prayers — along with the cantors and choirs singing — were uplifting and ultimately touched my soul.

Q: What are some things you learned?

A: Interestingly, I learned that there are a lot of Temple Emanuel (or Emanuel-El) across North America. I met congregants from other Emanuels in Toronto, Montreal, Dallas, New York, San Jose, and Hawaii. On a more serious note, I learned that we at Temple Emanuel have a lot of positives going for us. I also learned that there are steps we can take to build on the great foundation we’ve already established as we move into the future.

The next Biennial is in Chicago, Illinois on December 11-15, 2019. Perhaps you’ll join us?