I have long shuddered at how the word "Nazi" was and is carelessly thrown around. What the Nazi's did is not comparable to anything, and to use it as such an easy epithet is a dishonor to the memory of those who perished in the Nazi death camps and during the war. Thus, I was pleased to see this op-ed piece in today's Los Angeles Times:

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-reich28may28,1,5492662.story?coll=la-news-comment-opinions

COMMENTARY

Last Word in Anti-Semitism

The epithet is hurled at Israel in a bid to make hatred of Jews respectable.
By Walter Reich

May 28, 2004

Genocidal mass murder continues to foul the world. So do large-scale massacres of civilians and brutal executions.

Yet the foulest epithet in any language — "Nazi" — is hurled not against any of the perpetrators of those crimes but, uniquely and systematically, against Israel.

It's not as if the real horrors are hard to find. To see a state-sponsored genocidal campaign, go to Sudan, where troops of the Muslim Arab government in Khartoum, and the Arab militias supplied by that government, are systematically targeting black tribes. Thousands have been murdered and a million driven from their homes by a program of bombing villages, shooting men, women and children, widespread rape and forced thirst and starvation. Yet the word "Nazi" isn't commonly used against the Sudanese authorities, whether by Arab countries or any others, just as it wasn't used against the Rwandan authorities who organized the genocide of about 800,000 Tutsis.

Deliberate massacres of civilians are even easier to find. During the last three years in the streets of Israel, numerous city buses, cafes and restaurants have been turned into bomb chambers by Palestinian organizations whose stated goal is to eradicate Israel and make the area free of Jews. In this way, they've systematically killed a dozen Israelis here, two dozen there, spraying arms, legs, lungs, livers, brains and strips of skin and muscle all over that country's streets. And at the World Trade Center in New York on Sept. 11, 2001, as many innocents were murdered as during a day's gassing in Auschwitz. All of these actions, though they don't justify the term "Nazi," have been deliberate exterminations of civilians by organizations with clearly stated agendas of mass murder. Yet the epithet "Nazi" hasn't been commonly used against the organizers of these or other massacres around the world.

The word "Nazi" is, however, regularly thrown at Israel, even though that country's policy is to avoid killing Palestinian civilians. It's hurled, first of all, by Palestinians and their Arab and other Muslim allies. And it's hurled by European critics of Israel. "What is happening in Ramallah," Portuguese Nobel laureate Jose Saramago said in 2002, "is a crime that may be compared to Auschwitz." Jewish settlers in the West Bank, the Oxford poet Tom Paulin said a year later, "should be shot dead. I think they are Nazis, racists. I feel nothing but hatred for them." That same year, the Irish writer Tom McGurk approved of the comparison between Israel's assault on Jenin with the Nazi destruction of the Warsaw ghetto. "How extraordinary," he wrote, "that so many in the liberal democratic West should feel so strangely muted, so emotionally strangled in the face of Nazi-style barbarism toward the Palestinians by the state of Israel."

Why the Palestinians call Israelis "Nazis" isn't hard to understand. It's an effective accusation to make against a country that itself rose out of the ashes of the Holocaust and that received its legitimacy from the world in 1948 in part because of it. If the word "Nazi" could be successfully attached to that country, then its right to exist could be brought into question.

Why non-Palestinians direct the accusation at Israel rather than at other targets is more complex. Some are simply trying to use the most damaging and effective verbal ammunition possible in the war against the Jewish state. But some are anti-Semites who have finally found a way to free themselves of the strictures that have been in place for 60 years. After all, for six decades after the Holocaust, anti-Semitism was seen as having led to the worst genocide in human history. It wasn't possible to be an anti-Semite in polite company. As the years passed, some anti-Semites tried to break free of this taboo by saying the Holocaust had never happened — after all, if it never happened, or was exaggerated, then anti-Semitism was falsely accused of having been a genocidal ideology and could once again enter the arena of acceptable discourse. Yet Holocaust denial could never achieve widespread credibility in the West, given the mountain of evidence.

But if the public could be convinced that Israel is no better than Nazi Germany, then the anti-Semites could again be back in business. In fact, if the public came to see Israel as having engaged in Nazi-like behavior, it might conclude that the Jewish state is even worse than Nazi Germany. When we hear the epithet "Nazi" aimed at Israelis, we should understand its purpose. And we should understand that — whether the term is part of a verbal war or of an effort to make anti-Semitism once again respectable — it will continue to be aimed at Israel rather than at countries and groups that engage in genocide and mass murder.


Walter Reich, a psychiatrist and professor of international affairs, ethics and human behavior at George Washington University, was director of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum from 1995 to 1998.

Copyright 2004 Los Angeles Times

This is what I've submitted for the June bulletin for my student pulpit up in Bremerton:

Shalom,

Learning is hard work. For not only is there much to learn, it never ends--it truly is a lifelong process. One way we learn is in the classroom, from our teachers and from our classmates. Another way we learn is through our life experiences. And one of the hardest ways to learn is when we make mistakes.

Nobody likes to make mistakes--nobody wants to miss the mark. But it happens. Mistakes are, to my mind, part of the learning process that can have the most important difference. For when things go well, great...but when they don't go well, it gives us a chance to review what happened, mull it over, and think about presented with the same situation again how to not make the mistake.

At HUC-JIR, we had a class last year in practical rabbinics where often the conversation would turn to how people were afraid of making mistakes, or mistakes they may have made in their student pulpit. We were all somewhat apprehensive: sure, we wanted to be rabbis, but who were we to go to our student pulpits and take on the highly important responsibility of being people's Jewish leader? What we are told by our teacher, a rabbi with nearly two decades in the field, is that we will always make mistakes because we are human, but that we can learn from them to try to avoid repeating them.

As I reflect back on the year that just past, I am pleased that so many things went well and am grateful for the positive feedback that so many have you have shared. I'm just as grateful for those of you who have shared with me or with others how I could improve or do things differently. Because as much as any of us enjoy hearing positive feedback, it is the honest advice that creates room for growth.

This congregation provides a particularly unique learning experience. So many people come from vastly different backgrounds and places and are seeking different things from their experiences. Some people have strong Jewish backgrounds and want services with more Hebrew and to veer toward the traditional (conservative) ; others enjoy coming to services, but also want explanation of what the service is about and want a more modern (reform) experience.

As someone who is studying at a reform seminary who grew up conservative, I am constantly aware of one thing: how can I bring the richness of what exists to help congregants continue along their Jewish journeys? How can I make the synagogue a place where people want to be, can find a prayer space and a community, even when people come from such differing places? It's not always easy, which is why the feedback that I've received has been particularly important in helping me do a better job of serving the community.

Two principles have guided me. The first is to do everything I can to, when we gather for prayer, to create a prayer space, a space that is different from all other environments from daily life. This is not easy to do given how the outside world continues to press-in on us (such as cellphones, email, pagers, net access everywhere...) In the sanctuary, I try to make it a true sanctuary for prayer, a place where the outside can stay out for a few moments and the holy work of prayer can take place, using the text on the page, the voice of song, Hebrew and English, and some explanation along the way to provide the "connective tissue."

The second principle is learning and access to learning. Given that during services time is limited and I am working to create an environment for prayer, I necessarily limit the amount of explanation that I do. . .but. . .I could go on and on. I love prayer and I love to share what I have been learning and give people resources to have greater access to our liturgical inheritance. Yet I necessarily hold back in services because I don't want to get too far away from praying and I don't want to turn it into a classroom. That being said, I have loved it when people have asked me questions or wanted to spend time learning more. Whether we meet one on one, or I recommend books, my goal is to give each person a jumping off point from where they are to draw closer to the richness of our heritage. And quite fortunately, there are a plethora of resources available, both in book form and online.

Learning, as I have learned, requires humility. I hope that I have demonstrated that humility, and I'm grateful that you have given me the opportunity to grow from learning from mistakes.

We will soon be together again to celebrate another community simcha at the end of August. I wish you all a wonderful summer.

L'shalom,

David

Thursday

Yom tov (hag) is two days in the United States, a custom that developed long ago that since we were exiled from Israel, we didn't know *exactly* when the holiday began and when it ended. Since 1948, and with the advent of technology, the ambugity around time is, well, gone. For example, I just set the time on this portable computer by setting a preference that aligns it with the clock at Apple America, which I'm sure is tied in to the Atomic Clock (which you can also look up online!) So in Israel Shavout out is one day, as is the first day of Sukkot and Pesach, while here in the Diaspora, we have two days! So I'm in the middle...I do a pseudo-second day, where it feels like the holiday sorta-kinda, but I'm basically doing my own thing.

So Shavout began on Tuesday evening with dinner at friends, then over to the home of a teacher from HUC for an all-night study session, fueled by caffeine, sugar, and most importantly, amazing Torah. There were presentations from students and teachers, as well as a close reading of the Book of Ruth, traditional on Shavout. When the sun began to rise, preceded for twenty minutes by the chirping of the birds waking up (yes, even here in LA) we began our davening. We had a Torah scroll, and after a beginning from another student, I did the preliminary prayers, followed by another classmate who did the morning service and Hallel, then I did the Torah service while a friend read from the Torah. By 7:30 we were done, studied out, davened out, and well, just plain outta energy. Ten of us had survived through the night (around 30 at the beginning), although one of the ten was my teacher's husband who was roused from bed at an early hour to particpate! What a good guy.

Arriving home around 8ish, I head to bed until 1, then out to lunch at friends, then back home to sleep, then up for an hour, then back to sleep. And now today! Every year I say I'm not going to do the all night thing again, but then it's just too darn tempting to have a night of unpressured Torah study, without having to race off, where you can take frequent breaks, and the only clock that matters is when the sun comes up. The "tikkun leyl Shavout" is an invention of the mystics--the reason that I like best for doing it is that we can't wait to receive Torah, so we stay up all night (as opposed to our ancestors who apparently got a better night's sleep!)

Erev Shavout

Tonight begins Shavout, one of my favorite of the three "sh'losh regalim", the three holidays where in ancient times people would gather with the harvest in Jerusalem. Now the holiday has taking on the meaning of the commemoration of receiving Torah at Sinai. So tonight I'm going to try to stay up all night learning with a group of people at a private home. Believe it or not, that's my idea of fun.

I just returned from the Northwest where I did my second bar mitzvah, and according to all present, it went well. More importantly, at least for me, is that I hope that I've created an enduring Jewish memory for Ben (the bar mitzvah) that will launch him into his Jewish future. Next year I will be doing four b'nai mitzvah, which is quite a trend for a small congregation.

On Sunday morning two of the families came in...it was a great chance for all of us to be together. At the picnic for the Sunday School, the teachers and children gave me a book that had pictures of all of them, along with personal wishes...such as "you're the coolest rabbi I've ever met"...and other sentiments like that. Nice to be popular!

Chag Sameach!

Tuesday

There are ten new rabbis in the world. On Sunday HUC-JIR ordained four folk, and last night the University of Judaism ordained six. Of course I knew the four being ordained from HUC as we've been in school over the past year, and I've known some of them from before. At the UJ, I knew four of the six. What was so funny is that when I went to the ordination last night at Sinai Temple here in LA how comfortable I was with the crowd which was a cross-section of folks affiliated with the Conservative Movement here in Los Angeles. So many of my friends are now rabbis that have been ordained from the UJ, and so many are still friends in school. It was funny: when they asked the rabbis to stand, I was virtually surrounded: two in front of me, one sitting next to me, three behind me.

The UJ's ordination has a bit more of a religious flair insofar as they have a "bet din," a court, which affirms the ordination of the rabbis. After each is presented by a mentor (and one was particularly moving--a father presenting his son, a fourth-generation rabbi--who is going to San Diego to work), the ordinees are given a tallit which is placed on their shoulders. Then, they stand until all have been presented. They do the beit din and then for the first time are introduced as "rav b'yisrael," or rabbi in Israel and are given their smichot/diploma.

At HUC, it's much more of a production. First of all, we were in Wilshire Boulevard Temple which is a historic building located in LA's mid-Wilshire neighborhood. It's a beautiful building with a huge sanctuary and murals surrounding it (painted by folks from the Warner Bros. Studio in the 1920's.) The ceremony began with shofars being sounded from the balcony, and then all of the students (in white robes) and faculty (in academic robes) march in, the students carrying a sefer Torah.

After some singing, some speechifying, etc etc, the students are also presented by their mentor. Then, the student walks to the front of the aron ha kodesh, the holy ark, and is joined by the president of HUC, David Ellenson. They ascend one more step and then David places his hands in the ordinee's hands and speaks to the ordinee. We witness this incredibly public and holy moment, but don't hear what David is saying. He then raises his hands to the ordinee's shoulders, and head, and places a kiss on the forehead. Then the new rabbi is presented by the dean of the College here in Los Angeles. So, a very different ceremony, a completely different feeling. Whereas the beit din is quite public, this is private, but public, but private. At HUC's ordination an original piece of music was also commissioned. And one student spoke, offering a blessing. At the UJ's ordination, a student also spoke, teaching a piece of text (a mishnah).

Usually when I went to the UJ's ordination in the past (I've been to all of them), I did so as a civilian who knew he couldn't get into the UJ because of the ongoing policies of the conservative movement. This time I went and didn't feel the resentment that I used to feel---and was surrounded by the love of many of my UJ colleagues who said to me, "You'll be soon!"

They're wonderful people, don't you think?

So mark your calendars, folks. Three years from now. . .

Yom Rishon a.k.a. Sunday

So today was ordination at the Wilshire Blvd. Temple...and three years from now it'll be me up there. It seems like it's far off, but I'm glad it's three years from now. There's so much learning still to do and I'm enjoying being out of the world in school right now. The ordination was beautiful--there were only four new rabbis from LA this year. Afterwards, a classmate and I went out with Yuval for a late breakfast. Tomorrow is the graduation at the College for people receiving their MAHL (Master of Arts in Hebrew Letters), and other degrees. I'm going to go to show support. Next year I'll receive my master's at this graduation. My sister reminds me that she will always be the first one in the family with a masters degree!

What I'm reading now:

Green, Arthur "An Introduction to Reading Zohar"
Heschel, Abraham Joshua "What is Man?"
Rashi, Soncino Commentary (linear English/Hebrew) on Genesis
Greenberg, Rabbi Steve, "Wrestling with God" a new book on an Orthodox rabbi's view of homosexuality and Jewish law
plus a whole bunch of children's books in Hebrew!

Books I'd like:

Abraham Joshua Heschel's The Prophets
Emanuel Levinas Nine Talmudic Readings
The Old Testament Parsing Guide

Yom Shishi, Right before Shabbat in LA

Well, you're reading the words of a third-year rabbinic student (grades willing). At the end of fall semester of 2004, I'll be halfway there. It's hard to believe because it feels like I just began! There's much to write about. I'll start with how much I'm missing being in Israel still. You would think that with everything going on the ground one wouldn't want to be there. My heart is aching for the parents of the 13 soldiers who have lost their lives since last Shabbat. There really are no words. The cover photo of this Friday's Yediot Achronot has a photo of soldiers on hands and knees going thorough the sand looking for the remains of their fallen comrades.

Meanwhile I've continued with my Zionist activities. I've joined the board (the executive committee!) of the American Reform Zionist Association, with the charge of ramping up the Zionism activities at the colleges of the Hebrew Union College, a job that I embrace with gusto!

In the learning department, well, I've learned...and most importantly, my thirst for learning has only grown. This summer I hope to do a Hebrew ulpan at the University of Judaism, as well as chevreuta study with a colleague and also chevreuta study with a friend. More Rashi and a first time pass at Levinas.

The books continue to pile-up. Thankfully there are libraries. I use both the HUC and the LA libraries heavily. It's nice to own books; it's even better to have money in the bank.

A few months ago at this time, it was already Shabbat. We're at the time of year here in Los Angeles where Shabbat doesn't begin to around 7:30 and goes out around 8:30...I love it. I love the long, long day tomorrow. It's the highlight of my week.

Next week, I'm back up to Bremerton for another Bar Mitzvah. It's my last time up there until the end of August when...another bar mitzvah! And three more are on the books (I think three, maybe two!) I have one more year doing this and then in my 4th year will have something here in Los Angeles.

More to come...for the three of you who may be reading this.

Shabbat Shalom.